by Armae
"Percival lives."
She knew no such soul and felt frustrated at being left in the dark. Lazarus had promised to find her father's killer, but had said nothing about Percival. “Percival,” she said. For reasons unknown to her, and for feeling pressed by an unnatural force to do so, Neomina called out to the stranger. His name rolled off her tongue in a possessed manner and made Neomina feel as if she was breathing life into the unknown entity. She held her breath and, for the moment, erased all thoughts of her father's last words from her mind. She had the sudden fear Percival was near and he would find out about the note she had given to Lazarus if she should think of her father. She closed her eyes and cleared her thoughts.
Dressed in a simple linen shirt and tan breeches, Montgomery approached her.
“Are you all right, Neomina? You look as if you have just seen a ghost and I can assure you no such being exists within the walls of this keep. The dead do not die at Sanctum Hall. They live on in physical form.”
The realization caught her off-guard.
“Have you seen Lazarus?” she asked, opting to change the subject of conversation.
“No, but I would imagine my nephew takes to the forests surrounding Sanctum Hall at present. He rarely dines with the Tribe, but usually joins them later.”
“Oh, I didn't know that. I mean Lazarus never told me about his dining habits.”
No, I didn't think he would have. The angel offered Neomina his arm.
She accepted with great relief. The contemplation of encountering the Tribe alone was unnerving.
“I will meet the Tribe tonight, yet I am not one of them. Lazarus once told me that to be truly accepted among the Vampyre I would have to become one. Do you think they will accept me in any manner?”
“I am sure you will be well-received, Neomina. After all, the Tribe is Lazarus’ kin.”
With the angel at her side, Neomina entered the main hall of her husband's keep.
* * * *
Topped with large, chunky candleholders from which flaming towers of dripping wax burned, long narrow tables sat scattered about the room. Their flickering lights illuminated the chamber.
Neomina took a deep breath. The heavy scent of spicy incense filled the air and made her feel as if she had just set foot inside a church. Nothing could have been farther from the fact. She wondered if any of Lazarus’ kin even prayed anymore. The New Breed was an odd group of beings, exorcized by Christ, bound by darkness. She wondered how they truly felt living among the undead. An odd sensation of turmoil and acceptance filled the very core of her being.
Cold, dark eyes rose up to greet Neomina as she made her way through the great hall.
She didn't like being the center of their attention.
Each member of the Tribe studied her from head to foot to see what type of soul had stolen Lazarus’ heart. They were not accustomed to having strangers among them, especially during their nightly gatherings, and for only this reason, she excused their unwanted stares.
Silence descended upon the room like a hawk sweeping its prey and every breath was audible in the quiet, dead air. Neomina felt uneasy among the stares. The Tribe sat assessing her and she wondered if she would prove to be friend or foe. But strangely, amid her worries, a sudden calm came washing over her as she felt for the first time the true power of the Vampyre. The strong, overpowering sensation rose inside her and filled every fiber of her body. Voices flooded her mind. The preternatural force stirred Neomina in ways she had never imagined possible. She felt the rush of power flood her senses heightening her awareness of the world around her. She could sense what the Tribe was feeling and what they were thinking. The realization she could easily read the Tribe's thoughts frightened her. She backed off, freezing in mid-aisle between the rows of long wooden tables.
Althea must have perceived her uneasiness as well as her naturally accelerated powers. The pale, odd-looking woman rose from her seat, offered Neomina a welcoming hand and broke the cold barrier rising between the Tribe and herself.
“It is with great pleasure I make your acquaintance, Neomina. I have heard much about you from Lazarus. I am his cousin, Althea.”
Neomina accepted the welcome, but still felt oddly out-of-place among the Tribe. Althea's pale face and dead, cold hand sent a chill up Neomina's spine. She never remembered Lazarus’ flesh feeling as icy as his cousin's.
Montgomery stepped up to her. “May I introduce you to Lazarus’ mother? She waits for you at the head table.” He slightly nudged Neomina forward and then left to take his place at another table.
Octavia sat at the main table and looked every bit the regal Vampyre that possessed her soul. She had hair as black as night and deep, fathomless eyes the color of rich chocolate. Yet something about the woman comforted Neomina. She sensed warmth in Octavia not found in any of the other members of Lazarus’ Tribe. The notion of a fellow ally among the Vampyre settled Neomina's ruffled nerves.
“Come, child. Sit with me.” Octavia motioned with her hand to the empty seat at her right. “My son, it seems, has lost all sense of manners tonight. I assure you I did not raise him to be so callous and uncaring. You must forgive him.”
Neomina took her place next to Octavia and accepted the glass of berry wine and plate of fruit given her.
“I do not expect Lazarus to change his ways merely because he is married to a mortal,” she said. “I shall grow accustomed to dining alone as he shall accept the fact I am not Vampyre.”
Octavia smiled. “I welcome a daughter-in-law with a strong sense of pride. I believe, Neomina, you are exactly what Lazarus needs. And how is your father? I have not seen him these past few days.”
You knew my father?
“Why, of course, child. I have met with him on an almost daily basis to discuss business between the Tribe and the Trackers. Has he not told you of our acquaintance?”
“No.”
“Well,” said Octavia. “I must speak to him of this. Surely he should tell you—”
“My father is dead,” Neomina said, her voice rising and then she realized how loudly she had spoken.
The great hall fell silent once more as all eyes turned to the main table.
Montgomery closed his eyes and let out a sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose as if dreading what might happen next. Octavia raised an eyebrow to her brother-in-law. Montgomery appeared at her side in an instant.
“I did not feel it necessary to discuss Gerard's death with you until I was certain of it,” the angel whispered in a low, harsh voice.
“Not necessary?” Octavia balked with irate fury. “Are you mad? Delacroix was our ally, our one true friend among the outside world. What now, Montgomery? What now?”
Looking away from Octavia's wide-eyed glare, Monty turned his gaze to the entrance of the great chamber.
Passing through the low archway, Lazarus walked in.
“Mother.” Lazarus nodded curtly to Octavia and brushed a kiss upon her cheek. With his look he warned her to change the subject of conversation. He reached for a peach and bit into the succulent fruit, reveling in its sweet juices.
No one said a word. Lazarus stared at the Tribe all glaring back him.
“The state of Delacroix's existence never concerned any of you before; neither does it now,” he said, his voice capped with ice. He knew the Tribe was well aware of the Dark Breeder that had once inhabited Gerard's soul, but his words were a warning to them not to speak about the matter in Neomina's presence. “I will have no further mention of the matter tonight. Do I make myself clear?”
Whispers began to fill the chamber as the members of the Tribe resumed their previous conversations. The whooshing noise of pewter goblets splashed with berry wine and the soft sound of teeth biting into fruit echoed through Lazarus’ head. He tuned out his preternatural abilities.
“I have no answers for you at this time, Mother,” said Lazarus, speaking through gritted teeth. “But I assure you, if I have my own way, I will find the soul who murdered
Delacroix and take from him the very same essence he took from Gerard. Now, let it rest.”
Raising a glass to her lips, Octavia acknowledged her son's request.
Lazarus stared across the table, his gaze falling to Neomina. He read her mind. She sat there in silence, her thoughts wandering off in a million places unable to control the force that was slowly taking over her soul. She was reading the minds of the Tribe and hearing the words of those who sat across the room. Lazarus closed his eyes and allowed himself to feel what Neomina felt, yet made sure to conceal his thoughts from her. The Vampyre that once controlled her father was beginning to now control her.
He swore to himself. The Vampyric blood that flowed in Neomina's veins was stronger than he had previously thought and he dreaded that it might even be darker than he had ever considered it to be. Now that Delacroix was dead, his daughter had inherited his Vampyric legacy. The essence of the Dark Breed flowed wild in his wife's soul. Gerard was the only Dark Breeder Lazarus knew to ever father an offspring and that thought caused him to shudder. What would come of Neomina, he had no idea.
He continued to stare at her. A look of exhaustion filled her eyes. Wanting nothing more than to see to his wife's comfort, Lazarus rose from his seat. “It has been a long day, Mother.”
He bent down and kissed Octavia goodnight. Neomina stood and waited for Lazarus to walk around the table.
At her side, he placed a strong arm possessively around her waist and exited the room in silence haunted by the stares of his kin. He knew the Tribe was not accustomed to seeing him with Neomina, a mortal, and their gawking at the two of them unsettled him.
In the outer corridor, Lazarus stopped dead in his tracks. Neomina's thoughts flooded his mind as she wondered about where he had gone off to before joining the Tribe.
“Why do you think I feasted on animals?” he asked.
“What?”
“You were thinking I went into the woods for a blood hunt.”
Neomina flushed with embarrassment. Her cheeks turned a bright red and tears filled her eyes. “Please stop doing that. You must not read my mind all the time. It's most unsettling.”
He swore under his breath. “I am not accustomed to holding back on my abilities, Neomina. Forgive me.” Lazarus reached out his hand and gently wiped the tears from her face.
“Where did you go?”
“I went to check on the wolves. I do so every night before the gathering.”
“Wolves?”
Lazarus peered directly at Neomina but knew his words would not be easily understood. He braced himself for whatever reaction she was about to give him.
“They are part of me, part of my soul. On both sides of my mother's family, the wolf has played a major role in our ancestry. A Conlon's soul is known to be as strong as the wolf for the animal's blood runs through its veins. And my grandfather was descended from the ancient kings of Rome suckled by the she-wolf.
“The wolves I keep are a pack as immortal as is my own soul. They cannot die unless killed by a Dark Breeder. Even man has no power over them. I brought them with me when the Tribe left Rome hundreds of years ago.”
She simply stared at him. The realization of a soul existing for centuries was more than a bit mind-boggling to her and Lazarus knew this was only the beginning. He had so much to tell Neomina and to share with her. He began to wonder if perhaps his wife was not meant to live in the world of the Vampyre.
If only Delacroix had told you the truth. If only he had told you that he was an old soul. If only he had told you he was Vampyre.
“What did you say?” she asked.
Lazarus stood dumbfounded. He hadn't spoken aloud a single word, yet Neomina had heard him. He had not expected Neomina to read his thoughts and he'd have to be more careful.
“I said nothing.”
“I'm very tired,” she said, walking ahead of Lazarus. “My mind must be playing tricks on me for I thought you commented on my father.”
He felt a pinch of guilt grip his soul. To tell Neomina that Gerard was once a Dark Breeder would cause her more pain and more fear. Now simply was not the right time.
Heading toward his bedchamber, Lazarus let the incident be and felt it was far better for Neomina to think herself tired than to allow her to realize the power of the Vampyre that now rose inside her soul.
* * * *
Lazarus waited until Neomina's soul lingered in a state of dreams. Only then did he allow the power of the Vampyre to consume him.
Rising from bed, Lazarus left the darkened rooms of his private chamber and entered Neomina's sleeping quarters. The thought of his wife alone and unguarded troubled him.
In silence, he made his way across the warm, airy bedroom to the large four poster draped in velvets and silks. The scent of his wife's blood stirred him like never before and sent his senses whirling into an endless sea.
Lazarus stopped at Neomina's bedside and refrained from going any further. He came to protect her, not to take her.
He stood there for what seemed like hours, watching, staring, guarding her as she slept, slowly becoming one with her. He delved deep into Neomina's soul and reached for the secrets that stirred her beating heart.
Using his preternatural hearing, Lazarus listened intently for the pulsing echo of flowing blood coursing through the chambers of Neomina's heart and melded his own rhythm with hers. The beating pulse echoed in his ears.
The union of souls was intoxicating, addictive and made Lazarus feel more satisfied than he ever had in all his six hundred years.
He took advantage of the Grigori essence in his soul once more, but this time he used it to sustain his energies. Calling the angel that melded with the Vampyre inside his body gave him great advantages over other beings. He needed little, if any, sleep most of the time and protecting his wife from harm was proving to be a never-ending task. He remained at Neomina's bedside until she stirred sometime before noon, then vanished without leaving so much as a trace of his watchful presence lingering behind.
CHAPTER 13
At dusk, Lazarus summoned Montgomery to his rooms. Dressed in tan breeches and white shirt, he paced the floor and clasped his hands behind his back.
“I have decided to go in search of Delacroix's killer,” he said. “Neomina believes him to be a Dark Breeder and I have to agree with her on the matter. Gerard told me he was meeting with another soul that night and he carried the St. John Stake with him. I think he expected trouble.”
Lazarus lifted his head and glanced over to Montgomery. The angel wore a blue tunic, the same hue as his eyes, and a leather breastplate. He appeared much like a Roman soldier left over from the empire. His feathery wings for some odd reason were fully unfurled.
“I think the Dark Breeder Delacroix expected to meet is the same soul who left me bleeding in the woods.”
“Then you'll need my help. I will prepare to join you.”
Lazarus stopped dead in his tracks. A fair warning bracing his stare, he glared at his uncle. “No.”
“Surely you do not mean to take on this beast single-handedly.”
“I've given this a lot of thought, Montgomery. My enemy left me to bleed when he could have easily done away with me. That fact has bothered me to no end.”
Monty eyed his nephew with caution. He'd seen Lazarus determined like this once before and that incident had turned into a catastrophe which had forced the Tribe to flee Rome. He shuddered at the thought of repeating such a scene.
“So, because you were left to live, you now seek the Dark Breed. Have you lost all reason?”
Lazarus resumed pacing. The sound of his boot-clad feet treading across the hand-loomed rug echoed softly about the stone chamber.
“He wants me face-to-face. Two souls equal in strength.” He paused. “And blood.”
A chill ran down Montgomery's spine and sent pricking sensations through the fibers of his wings. “What did you just say?”
“We are connected,” answered Lazarus, his voice low ye
t firm. “I can feel it in my soul and Neomina senses it, too. I do not know how, but the entity that has stalked me my entire life is in some way a part of the Tribe. We share the same blood.”
Montgomery's heart chilled. His soul churned in tight, twisting knots and left him to feel the icy touch of Hell as it reached up and roamed about his body.
“It cannot be,” he said, shaking his head. “It simply cannot be.”
“Why? Because you find no reason with which to validate my claim?”
Montgomery raised an eyebrow. “Yes.”
“Gerard left a note. In it he said the St. John Stake rested in his heart. What do you make of the man's words?”
Montgomery took a deep breath and raised his hands to his temples. A piercing stab penetrated his head. Visions of his brother's death flashed before him and caused pain to bolt through his soul. He couldn't think of any reason why he'd remember the long-ago incident at present.
“Delacroix was not killed by the Dark Breeder,” he said.
“Of course he was. Who else would have done such a thing?”
Monty shook his head. “No. The Trackers must have killed Gerard. He himself said the St. John Stake rests in his heart. The Trackers are the only ones who have possession of the relic. They drove the stake into his heart. A Dark Breeder cannot turn against his own kind.”
“But neither can a Tracker and Delacroix had returned to his mortal state years ago. The Dark Breeder that once ruled his soul no longer existed.”
“You're wrong about that. The soul who left you in the woods killed the mortal in Delacroix. The Trackers killed everything else and that is the symbolism in his words.”
Montgomery hated to admit it, but Lazarus was right about one thing. He had to face his enemy single-handedly. The Tribe was only as strong as was their patriarch, and if he didn't face his enemy alone, he would never conquer him. “Gerard was telling you not to trust anyone but yourself. You'll find no ally among the Trackers. They will see you as one with Delacroix, one with the Vampyre and as nothing else.”
