Immediately, Stephan could sense a change in the lighting on his left side. Not completely blind? As he wondered over it, the nurse seemed to be inspecting the damage done while relating, “I'm still surprised you didn't lose both eyes.”
I lost an eye?
Slowly coming to realize his left eye was now his only eye, Stephan grimaced at the thought before he could stop himself.
The reaction must've been noticeable because the woman asked, “Sir? Are you awake?”
After a moment of consideration, he finally rasped on a groggy tone, “Who are you?”
“Jennifer Kivsey,” she answered immediately, pressing another gauze over his right eye—or the empty socket anyway. “Is your name Stephan?”
He had no idea how she knew that, but decided not to answer outright, asking instead, “Wh-where am I?”
“Somewhere safe,” she supplied genuinely, and her tone was almost enough to make him believe her. Almost.
Yet, before the explanation could continue, the door creaked open again and another voice joined in on the conversation, this one a man's deep baritone.
“Is he awake?”
“Yes, but I don't know how alert. He's still heavily medicated.”
Silence ensued the comment as the nurse continued adjusting Stephan's bandages, and once a new gauze was in place, the man directed her to leave them.
“Okay,” she agreed. “Stephan, I'll be back to finish changing them shortly.”
He didn't respond as the sound of her footsteps hit his ears just before the click of the door's latch came, and the man still present in the room introduced himself.
“My name is Ardilon, and I know you have questions. But first, do you have any idea what's happened to you?”
That was something Stephan didn't want to talk about, mostly because he didn't know how. The words I was taken captive by vampires and locked in a lair so they could use me for blood would probably buy him a straightjacket—not that he was convinced he didn't belong in one.
“If you're worried I won't believe you, then don't,” Ardilon added after a moment of silence passed between them. “I know your explanation would probably sound insane to the average person, but I am not average.”
Finally, Stephan attempted to open his left eye to see who was speaking, but it was a wasted effort. All he could detect were murky blobs, some stationary, others floating about, and he promptly closed it.
“I take it the vision in your left eye is impaired now.”
The observation grated on Stephan's nerves, causing him to ask impatiently, “What the hell do you want?”
“To help,” Ardilon returned, but despite the sympathetic claim, he sounded rather casual, adding, “or at least make the situation easier to deal with.”
“Then tell me where I am.”
“Very well. The simplest explanation is that, for the past two weeks, you've been recovering in the medical facility of a Bastion compound.”
Two weeks? Stephan had no idea what a Bastion compound was, nor was he certain just how long he'd spent in that vampire lair. But learning he'd been unconscious for half a month convinced him that anyone he'd known before probably thought he was dead.
Before he could really consider it, Ardilon repeated his earlier question. “Now tell me if you know what's happened.”
Hesitantly, Stephan answered, “I was abducted by … vampires, locked in a lair. They used me for blood, but I don't know how I got here.”
Ardilon released a regretful sigh that suggested he'd hoped the experience was forgotten, or perhaps not so horrible. But Stephan didn't care about that.
All he wished was that they'd actually finished him off.
Instead, he'd woken in a hospital bed, disabled and plagued by memories of what they'd done, not just to him, but to his sister.
And there was nothing he could do about it.
Such helplessness was enraging, causing Stephan to grate accusingly, “So how did I get here?”
“A mercenary was paid to destroy the lair you'd been kept in, and he attacked under the impression that there were no humans currently being held in the underground chamber. When he realized his mistake, he delivered you to us. Do you recall an explosion?”
“Just before I blacked out,” Stephan answered, finding himself more and more perplexed despite the thorough explanation he was receiving.
What kind of mercenary could take out a vampire lair, and why had they saved his life?
Furthermore, who was Ardilon exactly? Or what? Another vampire?
As Stephan questioned it, Ardilon explained, “That explosion is what stole your vision of course, but there's more you need to know. We've run tests on you since you've been in our care, and discovered a pertinent issue concerning your health.”
“Like?”
The man released a breath as if he thought the answer was decidedly unpleasant. “You've contracted a rare disease, something we informally refer to as Ithrim. It can be treated to slow the progression, but make no mistake, it is lethal, and there's no cure as of yet.”
Stephan had never heard of such a thing before, but regardless, he wasn't sure if contracting a deadly illness was actually bad news. Seems like the vampires may have killed me after all.
Uncertain, he asked, “What the hell does it do?”
“You won't notice anything for a while,” Ardilon answered factually, “but in early stages, it causes lethargy and sporadic periods of symptoms similar to influenza, such as fevers and aches. Thankfully, it's not airborne, but regardless, I have to figure out how you contracted it. So tell me, have you ever felt chronically ill before, but couldn't trace the cause?”
“No,” Stephan answered honestly.
“Then you likely picked it up in that lair as it transmits through bodily fluids, and I have no doubts you were exposed to blood, correct?”
Stephan remained silent at first, still vividly able to recall the warmth of a prison mate's blood spattering across his face and chest as the man was killed, the copper scent thick in the air.
Finally, he muttered a quiet, “Yes.”
His stomach churned over the memory, and his complexion must've grown pale in addition because Ardilon began speaking as if to distract him.
“Then you'll be relieved to know that most of the vampires who did this to you are dead now. Only three escaped, and the people here are doing all they can to identify them.”
“Who are the people here?”
“Humans like yourself. Most have had some type of supernatural encounter, and now work to keep others from experiencing the same thing if possible.”
“Humans like myself?” Stephan didn't like the sound of that. “So what are you?”
“That's a long story, but I'll start by saying that no, I'm not human, though I'm definitely no vampire.” Quietly, he asked, “Did you know anything about the existence of supernatural creatures before your encounter with them?”
“No,” Stephan returned, which somehow felt like too simple an answer, but he didn't expound.
“I didn't think so,” Ardilon sighed, “and it's harder to describe what I am to those who are unfamiliar, confusing even. But the most important thing to know about me is that my goals involve safeguarding mortals.”
During his litany, Stephan heard scraping, like a chair was being dragged across the floor, suggesting Ardilon was preparing to offer a longer explanation—and it was just as perplexing as he'd claimed.
“You're probably aware of how reports of inexplicable events come up in the news so consistently. Someone goes missing never to be seen again, or a murder occurs and there's no logical explanation for how or who committed the crime. I belong to an Order of supernaturals that monitors these situations closely as, if no human explanation can be given, it's likely a supernatural cause. This Order is called The Crucible, and I am what you would refer to as a divinian.”
“What the fuck is that?”
“Put simply, a holy warrior,” Ardilon explained, �
�one who's proven their worth and been marked by the pantheon to carry out the will of the deities. The gods call us Aethrene, servants of Divinity.”
That was no small pill to swallow, though, after Stephan's run in with vampires, he didn't doubt the validity of Ardilon's explanation. But if one of their goals was to safeguard mortals, they'd done a piss poor job of it, and he had no qualms with pointing it out.
“So your job is to keep mortals out of trouble with supernaturals, but this still happened?”
“That's not our sole purpose, Stephan, though some call it a fine line.”
“If protection isn't your sole purpose, then what is?”
Ardilon didn't answer, perhaps because he didn't think Stephan needed to know, but it didn't matter anyway. He wanted nothing to do with any of them, muttering, “Whatever. Just leave me the fuck alone.”
“Unlikely, not with the disease you carry,” Ardilon countered. “An epidemic cannot be risked, so wherever you go from here, you'll have to be monitored and given regular treatments to ensure it doesn't spread to others.”
Stephan groaned, but not because he disliked the idea of being monitored, muttering, “If that's the case, just let it finish me off. How long would it take?”
There was a silent pause, and Stephan could only guess that it was because the divinian, or whatever he was, hadn't expected such a request.
But he finally gave a response. “Without treatment, you'd live a year at best, though I'm not certain I'd be willing to allow you to die.”
“Fuck off. It's my life,” Stephan countered. Or lack thereof, he qualified inwardly, and the thought had him scowling as he added, “I don't have a single thing to go back to, and even if I did, there's no fucking way I'd risk passing some deadly disease onto anyone else. So let it do what the vampires should've done.”
Ellen was gone, and so was their legal guardian, Tom, both murdered by the same vampires who'd imprisoned him, leaving Stephan alone in a world he only thought he knew—and seeing its true face wasn't incentive to stick around.
Ardilon sounded a low sigh over his demand just as the door opened, though there was no way to tell who'd entered the room, or if Ardilon had actually exited. Then, the door opened and shut a second time, and the frustration Stephan felt at not being able to simply look and see who was there—or not there—only increased his determination to let it all end.
Yet then Ardilon spoke, “I just received confirmation on the identity of a vampire who survived the mercenary's attack. Perhaps you know the name. It's Lillian Deavlis.”
At the mere mention of that name, Stephan clutched his fists. Lillian was the one who'd killed his sister—he knew because she'd made a point of bringing Ellen's body back just to show him. I'd promised to return your sister once I was done, and here she is, Lillian had stated with a cold indifference, adding sadly, she wasn't the right type.
His ire over the atrocity must've shown on his face because Ardilon remarked, “I see you do know her.”
“She murdered my sister,” Stephan grated angrily.
A brief pause. “Did she have reason, or was it just out of cruelty?”
“Ellen was seven years old!” Stephan snapped. “What reason would there be other than fucking cruelty?”
Still, even as he yelled the words—or tried to—Lillian's statement about Ellen not being the right type stood out. Perhaps that meant something more, but in that moment, all Stephan wanted was for the vampires who'd abducted and terrorized them to answer for their transgressions.
Some already had, but only some, meaning Stephan could think of a reason to live—seeking justice. If whatever gods existed actually wanted to spare him from death, that had to be the reason.
But he'd lost most of his vision, and had a strange disease that was slowly killing him, rendering him helpless. So what's the fucking point?
“You have options, Stephan,” Ardilon began as if reading his thoughts. “They won't be noticeable until you let your body heal, but you need to be aware of them before making a rash decision. Give yourself another week.”
“What options? And what good will a week do? I'll still be infected with whatever-the-fuck you were talking about, still blind.”
Ardilon said there were treatments to slow Ithrim's progression, and Stephan would've liked to consider it, but couldn't. Without his vision, all he'd be able to do was dream of retribution, and that would be even more torturous than having three vampires drinking from him at once.
The thought prompted Stephan to add, “So unless you have a way to magically restore my sight, I've already made up my mind.”
“And if there was a way, what would you do with your vision?”
Stephan didn't have to think about his answer. “Find the vampires who escaped and kill them.”
“And after that?”
“Hell if I know, have a drink and dance on their fucking graves.”
“Then you want vengeance.”
Vengeance? Perhaps killing those vampires could've been called revenge. But to truly get even, Lillian would be his sole target, and he'd have to chain her, traumatize her, and throw the body of some loved one at her feet—saying she even had the capacity to love anyone.
He also would've taken joy in watching her suffer, and wouldn't that make him just as bad as she was? Never.
Knowing those vampires had paid the price for thinking they could ruin lives with no consequences would be enjoyment enough. Ellen, Tom, and two other humans had suffered and died, and as it stood, no one was answering for it—and it didn't look like they were actually going to.
“No, I want justice,” Stephan finally answered. “Who gave them the right to do what they've done? I know it wasn't the first time either. They had a fucking chamber set up just to hold people captive, and no one's stopped them. Why? If protecting mortals is even just a part of your job description, you've done some fucking bang up work, pal, and I'd rather take matters into my own hands.”
Ardilon offered no initial response, and there was no way to tell what he might've been thinking. But Stephan's comment stood—the only reason he'd been freed was due to some random mercenary who'd been paid to destroy that lair. Perhaps Ardilon could've set the same thing up, but lives were still lost, and wasn't the point of protection to prevent such atrocities from happening to begin with?
As soon as he had the thought, Ardilon announced, “You're right, those vampires would've done this several times before, and it is important to stop them, possibly for more reasons than you realize. So I offer you this; there is a way to gain the justice you seek, Stephan, and your answer has impressed me enough to consider it. It would restore your vision, even enhance it, among other benefits.”
The possibility sounded too good to be true, and Stephan could only imagine what was involved, and whether or not the price was too high. But on the other hand, he wasn't sure what he wouldn't give to have the chance to right the wrongs done to him, to his sister, and who knew how many others.
So his answer was clear.
“I'm listening … .”
2
♦ ♦ ♦
5 Years Later
The Bastion Compound
Charlotte, North Carolina
A fetid stench permeated the air inside the torture chamber as a result of a UV light fixture burning away the flesh of a vampire bound to a gurney beneath it.
Just as those who'd come before him, Ignacio hadn't been willing to test its power. The creature struggled against his binds—wrists, ankles, and neck strapped down to the metal frame, making escape from the blazing light impossible.
But if he wanted out, all he had to do was talk, and Stephan was more than willing to listen.
“Just name a place, Iggy. Or I can get some aloe for the sting,” Stephan suggested casually from his spot leaning against a wall directly behind the gurney and out of the vampire's sight.
Still struggling, Ignacio growled weakly, “Piss off, mortal. I don't know where Lillian is!”
But there was a very good reason why he wasn't so quick to offer this particular vampire a pass.
For five years, Stephan had hunted the three remaining vampires responsible for his torment and the murder of his sister, and two of them were now dead, leaving only Lillian Deavlis—who was proving to be the most difficult to track of all.
But he'd been warned before starting his hunt that she was particularly slippery, so it wasn't surprising. Lillian had connections, was secretive, and most of the people who knew anything about where she'd been or her recent activities were those who wouldn't give a mortal such as himself the time of day.
Topping it off, several contracts had been placed on her life, meaning mercenaries would compete when they learned someone else was out for her death, leaving him in a tenuous position. No one he could actually question knew where she was, or their greed kept them silent.
And all of the constant dead ends had gotten extremely old.
But a little luck finally came in a recent wave of rumors concerning several Rymid vampire lairs that had been destroyed in the past two weeks. With the gossip came whispers of a vampire who'd disappeared, and Stephan checked it out.
Doing so led him to Ignacio Ramirez, a two hundred year old vampire who not only happened to be one of Lillian's closest confidants, but she was also his sire.
As Stephan had come to understand, vampires possessed close ties with those who'd turned them. The blood exchange acted as an eternal bond, and even dictated the type of relationship they had. Some sires were like a parent, others like siblings, and as far as Stephan knew, Ignacio was Lillian's brother.
Such a tie would make him more protective than a random vampire who was simply acquainted. So despite Stephan's recent bad luck with interrogations, he wasn't at all inclined to believe Ignacio's claims so easily.
Fallen Hearts Page 2
