Come The Night

by Armae

  “Are you up to taking me outside? I thought a view of Rome from the hillside would be a nice thing to see. I feel it is appropriate for my life to end exactly where it began.”

  “But, must you?”

  “Octavia, I can no longer live. Even should I desire to, I cannot. When I brought Lazarus across I gave him all my knowledge, all my power, all my secrets. There is no longer a need for my soul in this world. I exchanged Lazarus’ blood with my own so I could give him everything I had to offer this earth, this lifetime. I knew taking me outside would be difficult for you. If you wish to remain inside, I will understand.

  “But nothing, not even my own will, can keep me here now. The sun will call me home and I will not be able to resist. It is the way of the Vampyre. We exist in this world only as long as our soul serves a purpose. Be it good or be it evil, it matters not. And now my time must come to an end. I am no longer patriarch of my tribe because Lazarus is the new leader of my Vampyre kin. Since he is yet a child, you will rule my tribe until Lazarus comes of age, until he understands the Vampyre that dwells inside.”

  Romulus headed for the heavy gilded doors that guarded his chamber. He struggled to pry them open and his face flushed from exertion. In an instant, sunlight filtered into the room and entered like an army laying siege to a defeated city.

  Squinting in the bright light, Octavia followed her father. She raised a hand in front of her face to shield her eyes from the sun. She had never imagined it could be like this, like a fiery illumination blinding her vision.

  Slaves stood in horror as they watched their master emerge from his darkened chamber. Some froze; others fell to the floor, even fearful of laying eyes upon him. Octavia knew the slaves were well aware of her father's Vampyric soul but she never knew how much they feared him until now. Their mumbled prayers echoed through the central hall of the palace.

  Octavia paid them no heed. She clutched Lazarus to her breast and kept him from any harm she thought might be lingering near by. She eyed the sight of Rome in the distance. Holding her son and remaining near her father, she cautiously stepped onto the balcony.

  “In your rehabilitated state,” her father said, “you will never have to fear the sun. Bask in its warmth, my sweet Octavia. Never let the light be stolen from you.”

  “You said Lazarus would rule your tribe and bring forth an heir.”

  Romulus reached out for his grandson. For the last time, he took the child from Octavia and placed a tender kiss upon the infant's forehead.

  “In time he shall encounter the one person capable of bringing him out of the darkness. A Tracker who will see the destiny of his soul. This, too, was part of the Nazarene's prophecy. Tracker blood runs in your veins, my sweet Octavia. If you ever have need of them, go to your mother's people; they will help protect Lazarus.” He held the infant near to him and whispered to the child. “My spirit will be with you always.” He sighed and returned Lazarus back to Octavia. “Go inside now. My life's purpose has been fulfilled.”

  Octavia wept. She turned away from her father.

  Romulus placed his hand gently on her shoulder. “Know that I always loved you and always will, despite the events of the past.”

  She turned around. “And I—”

  “Go. Please.”

  Octavia left the balcony in tears. As she stepped onto the marble floor of the inside corridor she heard her father cry out in pain. He moaned and gasped for air and then called out to the Heavens.

  “Lazarus, rise from my death. Rise, Lazarus, let the Vampyre wake your soul and take you beyond a mere mortal existence. Rise for my death brings you renewed life.”

  His voice filled her ears like an unending echo. Octavia froze. She wanted to turn back, to reach out and bring her father back into the palace, into the safety of her own arms. But the Vampyre that now ruled her soul could never allow that to happen. She was bound to the way of the Vampyre, to Lazarus, and to the Tribe. To keep her father from dying would be to interfere with destiny and Octavia knew better than to turn her back on fortune's plan. She could not interfere with Romulus’ fate.

  Lazarus let out a scream like that of a man's and cried out with his grandfather's pain.

  Heat radiated from the balcony. Behind Octavia, Romulus must have burst into flames. His burning body would soon turn to dust. The sound of pouring sand filled her ears, made her turn around. The desire to gather the ashes and scatter them over Rome consumed her thoughts. To Octavia, Romulus was Rome. Her father had lived for the empire and now it seemed appropriate that his remains be returned to the city. A chill coursed through her body and caused the hair at the nape of her neck to stand on end. The sensation overcame her as if the gods who ruled the old empire's beliefs had heard.

  Upon her back, Octavia felt the breeze of a warm wind kiss the balcony. She twisted around. Her father's ashes were being gently gathered and scattered across the city below.

  She wondered if Rome's gods would always hear her.

  “No. And yes.”

  The voice startled her. She scanned the balcony but to her surprise, it was empty.

  “Forgive me for my abruptness. I am Montgomery. Lexliel's brother.”

  From out of nowhere an angel wearing a suit of leather armor over a red tunic appeared on the balcony. He looked much like a soldier of Rome.

  “I owe my brother a debt and I have come to repay him,” he said.

  Octavia clutched her son even more tightly than before. “What do you mean the gods will not always hear me?”

  “You are the gods, Octavia. We all are. I could never figure out why mortals fail to see how great their souls are, how much of the gods are within them. In truth, there is only one God, the Soul of Paradise. But man lives in a world with many cultures and many belief systems. Greek gods, Roman gods, names matter not. God as the all-consuming force dwells within us, around us.” He stretched and his massive wings expanded over the entire width of the balcony. “But enough of that. Such talk bores me and I do bore easily. Have you no other questions for me? Do you not wish to know the reason why I have come here?”

  She wasn't sure she wanted to know. “You said you came to repay a debt owed to Lexliel.”

  “Yes. But aren't you curious as to what that debt is?”

  Octavia shook her head. “That part of my life is over. I have only my son to think about now. Go away. Leave us be.” A sudden fear filled her soul. She had lost the man she loved because of God and his war with hell. The thought of trapping Lazarus in the same world frightened her. She wanted nothing to do with her husband's brother.

  “Unfortunately, fate doesn't work that way. You see, my brother died because of me. My body should have fallen on the Devil's sword and not Lexliel's. But there is nothing I can do about that now.” He stared at her. His deep blue eyes made her feel uneasy and a bit frightened. Octavia was certain Montgomery could see through to her soul. What would he do to a creature like herself, like Lazarus, a creature now neither dead nor alive?

  A look of annoyance crossed his brow. “I'm here for one reason and one reason only.”

  “Very well. What is that reason?”

  “I'm searching for the soul who was born to destroy your son.”

  “Well, search for him elsewhere, for I have neither want nor need of your help. Your presence will only lure my son's destroyer to him”

  He shook his head. “I can't leave you. In a twist of irony, I've been appointed as Lazarus’ guardian. So get used to me. For the road ahead shall be a long one.” He closed up his wings. “Oh, and by the way. As for your thoughts on what I would do to a creature such as yourself, I can say only this...” A slice of sarcasm cut through his voice. “I loathed the Vampyre.”

  CHAPTER 1

  Connacht, Ireland 1095

  It was back again. The terror that had stalked him in Rome had finally crept its way north to Connacht and invaded his home. He sensed it in the shadows. It was an icy-cold chill that taunted him at every passing. In truth, he had sensed
it for a while now, a little uneasiness here, an odd feeling there. It came and went in such subtle ways the average soul would never have noticed. But Lazarus Conlon wasn't your average soul and neither were his kin. He wondered if the others in the Tribe felt it, too. If they did, they never said a word to him and that made him feel even more uncomfortable.

  He thanked God last night had finally come to an end. Something sinister lingered over Sanctum Hall and stirred his kin like never before. Lazarus shuddered at the thought. He had hoped that by taking his grandmother's name and moving the Tribe to her native land, he could keep them safe. He had been wrong.

  The enemy that terrorized him in the past had allowed him one escape, but only because he was a boy then. Now he had to face this unseen, unknown force, this evil that lurked in the shadows. His soul felt unsettled.

  Picking up a crooked stick, he toyed with the embers remaining in the hearth from last night's fire.

  He was safe in the daylight, safe from the prying eyes of the Tribe. He thanked God the night had ended without incident and all tribal business had been settled by dawn. His kin were a jovial bunch, always ready for good fun and an abundant feast, always consuming more Paradisian wine and fruits than he ever thought possible. But Lazarus never denied his kin such pleasures. He had heard tales of horror, of whole tribes feasting on mortal blood, but no such tale could be told of his kin and for that he thanked the Heavens above.

  Last night, however, had left him with an uneasy feeling stirring his soul.

  He had been with the tribe for almost every passing phase of the moon for centuries. They were supposed to gather to celebrate their unity, their kinship. But something had stirred them last night and Lazarus couldn't quite put a finger on it. For the first time in years he felt uneasy being among them—so much so it had disturbed him all evening. They seemed to have watched him like hawks watching their prey. He shook his head and tried to dispel the notion.

  The Tribe consisted of his grandfather's people, his own flesh and blood. They meant well—always watching him, waiting on him, and hanging on his every word. But the constant companionship of the Vampyre was not what Lazarus Conlon craved. He preferred a life of peace, a life separate from that of the night. A life shared with the woman who had stolen his heart.

  And all that he longed for awaited him in the daylight hours. He welcomed the morning with its bright, life-giving sun and ventured out from Sanctum Hall.

  * * * *

  The woods surrounding Lazarus’ home came alive in the sun's warm rays and freed his soul from the dark bondage he endured during the night. Leaving his home, he mounted his favorite black stallion and rode out into the woods into the peaceful morning. A dense forest of mighty oaks, thick pines and choking shrubbery stretched for miles in the distance. Lazarus felt a sense of serenity here.

  He took in a deep breath, savoring the fresh smell of spring and the distinct fragrance of roses mixed with fruit. It was her scent, the sweet smell of Neomina Delacroix. She was here in the woods waiting for him and he couldn't have been happier.

  He remembered the day they first met, the day he agreed to marry her. An ancient pact between the Trackers—the Vampyre hunters—and Romulus had sealed Lazarus’ fate. He was destined to marry the woman, heir to the Tracker legacy—the woman who would one day take possession of the Amulet of Christ, the ancient relic that had belonged to his grandfather. The union would strengthen the ties between the Trackers and his tribe and for that Lazarus would have agreed to anything. Never did he expect to lose his heart to her.

  The memory of their first meeting came back to him in vivid recollection. She had stood in her father's apothecary where she mixed fragrant oils and teased him with her potent charm. Neomina had that natural ability to make a man go weak in the knees merely by looking at him and Lazarus fell in love with her immediately. In an instant, she bewitched him with her spell.

  * * * *

  “Good morning, Lord husband. You're late.”

  Lazarus noted the cool tone with which she greeted him.

  “There was a full moon last night,” he said. “The Tribe gathered until dawn, making it so I couldn't get away.”

  She glared at him. Framing Neomina in its wispy fabric, her thin ivory gown ruffled around her in the morning breeze. With her looking so much like an image in a dream, Lazarus had to pinch himself to make sure his eyes didn't fool him.

  “And I suppose you took them each by the hand and helped them one by one into their coffins. Vampyres, apparently, need more care than mere mortals such as myself.” A touch of ice capped her words. She had disappointment in her voice.

  “Neomina, you know I had no choice.” He dismounted from the black stallion and approached her. His tight-fitting leather breeches and white tunic did little to conceal his muscular body, but Lazarus knew that. His mock arrogance his only defense, he was never one to match Neomina's fiery tongue. He was the husband her father had chosen for her, and as such, he always felt the need to try to win Neomina's heart and soul. He watched with pleasure as she eyed him from head to foot and the color of rising passion touched her cheeks.

  In her present snit, Neomina appeared every bit the flaming temptress. Her long golden hair gleamed with sparks of red and her slender swan-like neck appeared warm for the taking.

  He drew her into his arms with one swift move. “I missed you, my sweet.” He gave her no chance to respond. His lips ravaged hers with a savage intensity. She tasted like warm, sweet honey and he wondered how he had survived all those years without her. Neomina was full of life, full of the sun's fiery rays. The night afforded him no such satisfaction. This was where his heart belonged.

  She pulled back. Her hands fisted against his chest.

  He felt a slight twist of pain churn in the depths of his soul. “Is something wrong?”

  “I want you to bed me in a proper bed, Lazarus. I want you to take me to Sanctum Hall.”

  “I can't,” he said. “The Tribe would never allow such an arrangement.” He lied to her. He wanted nothing more than to take her to his home, to present her to his kin. But that could never be. Gerard Delacroix had forbade him to take his daughter to live among the Vampyres. And Lazarus couldn't tell her that. He wouldn't tell her that.

  He chided himself for being such a righteous fool. Neomina meant the world to him and here he was holding her tight and watching the tears fall from her eyes because he wouldn't tell her that her father wasn't the man she thought him to be. She knew nothing of her father's past, of the evil Vampyre that had once dwelled in his soul.

  You don't love me, Lazarus. You don't love me at all.

  His heart broke. Her thoughts were so far from the truth it pained him to sense them. He reached up and cradled her tear-stained face in his hands. “I do love you, Neomina. I love you more than you'll ever know.”

  “I don't believe you. And I won't until you prove it to me.” She pulled away from him.

  He let her go. Gerard Delacroix had accepted his word and he wouldn't betray the man. Lazarus knew all about the strengths and weaknesses of the Trackers. They were strong against the Vampyre but, according to the ordinances of good and evil, only one member of each generation could defend his family. For now, Neomina's safety fell to Gerard. She wasn't safe in Lazarus’ world, in the world of the Vampyre. At least, not while her father lived.

  “I won't come back, Lazarus Conlon. I won't come back until you're ready to make a proper husband of yourself.”

  “Neomina!” He shouted after her, but it did him no good. She mounted her mare and rode off into the woods.

  CHAPTER 2

  His mind plagued by tormenting thoughts, Lazarus returned to Sanctum Hall. He worried about Neomina, the Tribe and the terror that stalked them all. If the uneasy feelings that had haunted him last night were to remain—and he had a sense they weren't going to fade anytime soon—he needed to find out what was causing them.

  The long wooden tables and benches that had been scattered about th
e great hall last night now rested against the far wall of the room. They had been wiped clean and pushed to the side until the next time he would have need of them. A cold, damp chill settled in the room. Lazarus felt the same empty feeling tug at his soul. He strolled over to the fireplace and rested his elbow against the mantle.

  “Perhaps some sleep would do you good, nephew,” a strong voice called out from under the low, rounded archway at the entrance to the room. It was Montgomery, his late father's brother. “You cannot stay awake forever.”

  “Not now, Monty. Besides, I couldn't sleep if I wanted to. I have too many things circling about in my head.”

  “I sensed it, too, last night—that odd, chilling sensation. It was almost as if dead spirits watched our every move.” Montgomery straightened his posture after passing through the low doorway and into the room.

  A pair of tan breeches and a cream tunic accentuated the fine sculptured lines of his angelic body. Of all the tribe, only Lazarus himself matched Monty's strength. This was a soul to be reckoned with and certainly not a soul to anger. With Montgomery, Lazarus never really knew where he stood and the uncertainty of that made him cautious.

  Lazarus glared at him. “I don't need you telling me about last night. In fact, that's the last thing I need right now.” Just go away. Resentment filled his soul. The fact Montgomery survived instead of his father pained Lazarus.

  You don't trust me, do you?

  “I didn't say that.”

  “You didn't have to.” Monty ambled across the room toward the tables. The sound of his footsteps echoed though the great hall. He leaned against one of the tables, faced Lazarus and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

  “I would have thought that after all these years you'd know I was your ally and not your enemy. I guess I was wrong.”

  You killed my father, bastard. He died by the Devil's hand when it should have been you. Like that would make me welcome you?

  Lazarus looked away from his uncle. He hated the man with every fiber of his being and blamed him for his father's death.