by Armae
“Then I must face my foe.”
“I will tend to the Tribe while you are away and, rest assured, no harm shall come to them. Neomina will be safe as well.”
Lazarus let out a deep sigh. He ran a nervous hand through his thick black hair and alluded to the distress stalking his soul. “Neomina is yet another concern of mine.”
He strode across the room and took a seat in an old Egyptian chair which had once belonged to his grandfather.
“Her mother was a very powerful Tracker, the council member among her family. When she rescued and rehabilitated Delacroix, she willed her powers to him. A Tracker's power can be either passed on through blood or willed away by choice.” Lazarus raised a hand to his chin and rubbed his jaw line. A slight twitch jumped beneath his skin. “Delacroix also inherited additional powers from his adoptive father, a former leader of the Trackers. When Neomina's mother was murdered, she was defenseless against her enemy because she had previously given her powers to her husband, Gerard. The Dark Breeder who killed her must have known that when he set out to seek her. Her powers were not passed to Neomina.”
Montgomery had a look of confusion settling on his face. “What happened to Gerard's powers when he died?”
“Neomina inherited some of them, but she also inherited those of the Dark Breeder that survived hidden within Delacroix's soul. When Gerard and I agreed to the marriage pact between Neomina and myself, he told me his wife had willed away some of her powers to her brother, Roderick. The reason behind this was so the Tracker powers possessed by Neomina would never amount to as much should she become Vampyre.
“Her mother knew of my grandfather's connection to the relics and that one day they would return to me. She also knew I loved Neomina from the first moment I laid eyes on her. At the time I made the pact with Gerard, I didn't think about courting danger as I am now. And because of all this, I'm quite concerned for Neomina.”
“Then bring her across.”
Lazarus shook his head. “No, I can't bring Neomina over until she decides for herself what path to follow. The Tracker in her will be strong enough to keep the Vampyre at bay and the Vampyre will be powerful enough to strengthen whatever supernatural abilities Neomina already possesses. If I bring her over now she will be forever tormented by the internal struggle.”
“And what about your own internal struggle? The match between you and Neomina was made for a reason and it was not intended to be based on love.”
He thought about Montgomery's words. His marriage to Neomina was arranged so one day he would have back both the St. John Stake and the Amulet containing Christ's blood. Lazarus was to be given back his mortality. The notion of such a fact seemed trivial to him now and he had just set his mind to battling the Dark Breed.
“My mortality means nothing to me anymore. I have existed as Vampyre my entire life, save for a few months. I have no memory of any life other than this one. Neomina will either agree to be brought over or I will agree to adjust my life to accommodate our marriage. In any case, I will deal with the matter on my return. Until then, there is nothing I can do.”
Montgomery closed his wings and changed his appearance. A linen shirt worn over leather breeches skimmed his muscular form as he made his way to the door. “I will dine with the Tribe tonight. They must be assured of your return.”
He stopped in the doorway before entering the hall. “I can't help but feel something is amiss, Lazarus. If Gerard wanted you to know about being left alone in this battle, I would think he would have written more than just a comment about the St. John Stake.”
Lazarus didn't answer. Despite Gerard's insistence, he didn't want to tell Montgomery about Percival until Lazarus was sure of the connection between his uncle and this other being. He sensed in his soul that by telling Monty he would do more damage than good.
CHAPTER 14
Neomina waited for Lazarus, but he never came for her.
With anxious steps, she hurried through her chambers toward Lazarus’ private rooms and opened the separating door. She never bothered to knock.
He stood there, tall and tense, staring into the flames dancing in the fireplace. His muscular body rested against the stone mantle, his weight borne on an elbow.
Neomina sensed his torment. She remained silent, not knowing how to approach him.
He felt her presence entering the room and it distracted him. Lazarus directed his gaze from one fire to another. The sight of Neomina dressed in a blood-red gown filled him with the burning desire to take her. He needed her and he wanted her. A teasing temptation nagged at his soul.
With a suggestive gaze, Lazarus caressed the soft flesh of Neomina's neck and settled his eyes on the jugular under her ivory skin. The scent of Neomina's blood fueled his savage hunger and stirred the Vampyre within his soul.
Lazarus fought the temptation.
Neomina took a step forward, the curves of her body swaying slightly against the silk folds of her gown. Little was left to the imagination beneath the sheer fabric that caressed her skin.
“Stay away, Neomina.” Lazarus lifted his hands in front of him and took a step backwards. “This is not a good time to be close to me. I have decided to go in search of your father's killer and to do so successfully, my mind needs to be clear of all trappings.”
He saw the look of hurt that filled her dark-violet eyes. He hadn't meant for his words to come out the way that they did. They just happened like that. Neomina stirred him and caused him to lose all sense of reason when he was around her. She owned his heart, his soul and even his mind. The thought of losing his self-composure to the frenzy of passion frightened Lazarus. He didn't know what type of beast it was that he struggled with on a daily basis that resided beneath his controlled façade.
Neomina ignored his warning. She marched across the cold, stone chamber with deliberate steps. Lazarus was all she had left in this world and she refused to let him leave Sanctum Hall without so much as a tender embrace.
Her eyes meeting his glare, she stared at him. Neomina had never defied a soul before, but she summoned the courage to do so now. Standing in front of him, she reached out and wrapped her arms around Lazarus and reveled in the heated warmth emitted by their embrace. The spicy scent of sandalwood and herbs filled her sense of smell. She rested her cheek on the hard muscles of his chest, took a deep breath, burned his scent to memory and drank in every last bit of him.
“Do not leave me, Lazarus. Please say you'll return, please.”
He lifted her chin with his finger and stared down at her with a loving gaze falling from his eyes.
“I can never leave you, Neomina. Never.”
Lazarus gave in, succumbing to the temptation that now conquered him. He lifted Neomina into his arms with one swift move and headed straight for his bed. He eased her onto the soft silk sheets and gently covered her with his own body.
He leaned forward, brushed his lips against hers and sent sparks igniting through her body. Neomina savored every tingling sensation and arched her body closer to his. He ran his tongue over her lips and she cried out.
Driven by the fierce desire burning inside, Lazarus pulled back briefly and in mere seconds removed his clothing. The yearning to feel Neomina's soft, warm flesh against his own skin was overwhelming. He reached out and tugged at the sheer gown covering her body. Commanded by his hands, the thin silk slid off her in moments. Lazarus tossed the dress away and fell hard atop Neomina.
He possessed her lips with a single, savage kiss that attested to the raw passion fueling his soul. The sweet essence of her mouth catapulted him over the edge when he felt the pointed tips of his fangs emerge downward.
A slight pinch pricked Neomina's tongue. Lazarus tried to back away, but met with resistance from Neomina.
Insuring a strong hold upon him, she entwined her hands behind his neck and laced her fingers together. Without so much as a second glance, Neomina turned her head and offered Lazarus the life force coursing through her veins that sustained h
er.
He broke free from her grasp and slid his head down to her breasts and took in a deep breath. Lazarus forced the Vampyre inside him to remain at bay. His deadly fangs shortened and pulled back in an instant.
The rosy pink peaks of Neomina's breasts swelled in response to Lazarus’ caress. He slid his tongue teasingly over her taut nipples and extracted a wild response.
Lazarus sensed that Neomina's need grew more demanding as he became her addiction. He delved into her thoughts. She feared she could never get enough of him, of his hot, passionate touch. He roamed her body with his hands and increased the pleasures that bolted through her. He knew all the right places to touch, to tease. Neomina shut her eyes and indulged in the pleasure Lazarus gave to her.
He slid his hand down over her silken belly and caressed Neomina with small, circular motions. An electric heat emanated from the friction of their mingling flesh. Lazarus felt satisfied by the pleasure expressed in Neomina's face. She responded passionately to his wicked touch and pleased him beyond all other satisfaction.
Captivated by Neomina's response, Lazarus slid his hand further down her body and caressed the smooth velvet-like skin of her inner thighs. She wriggled beneath him and arched her body closer to him. In the darkness, the soft touch of her hand met with his and guided him to her most private places. Neomina's willingness to enjoy their shared passion aroused him. Lazarus felt his body quiver at the realization.
Reaching up, Lazarus laced his fingers into Neomina's and held her hands firmly on the bed. Melding their bodies into one, he took her.
Lazarus knew when ripples of pleasure flooded Neomina's body and sent her into a rapture of ecstasy and when she lost herself completely.
In the midst of passion Lazarus leaned forward and buried his mouth against the soft flesh of Neomina's neck. His deadly fangs bit down, sinking deep into her flesh, sucking forth the life force that sustained her. The warm, oozing liquid was addictive.
His thirst ran deep and he drank as if he were a parched being left to wither in the dry, arid desert with no other means of salvation. A sigh escaped from Neomina's mouth.
He pulled back. The sight of blood trickling down Neomina's neck disgusted him. He hated himself for taking her in such a raw, hideous manner.
Lazarus released his hold of her, fell back on his knees and knelt between Neomina's smooth, pale thighs.
A dazed look crossed her face.
Sure his lips were stained with Neomina's blood, Lazarus reached up and wiped a hand over his mouth. He was right. The dark liquid smeared across his palm.
With a deep, mesmerizing gaze, Lazarus stared down Neomina. “Sleep, my sweet,” he whispered. “Sleep, Neomina, and remember none of this when you wake.”
He leaned forward once more and slid his crimson-stained tongue over the puncture wounds at Neomina's neck. The holes closed in an instant and left no trace of his deed.
The Vampyre inside gnawed at Lazarus’ soul. He had drunk blood and too much of it at that. His grandfather had forbidden Octavia from ever allowing him to satisfy the constant hunger that would one day tempt him. He was only to drink when it was necessary to bring one of his kin across and now Lazarus knew why. A strange sensation overcame his soul and stirred an insatiable hunger.
He left Neomina's side and dressed.
Armed with no more than the fury and hunger that rose inside him, Lazarus took to the night sky and headed for the camps of the Dark Breed.
CHAPTER 15
Lazarus landed at dawn on the outskirts of the villages near Dark Breed territory. He had spent the night prowling the surrounding areas looking for animals and mortals who could offer him relief from the growing hunger that now ached in his soul. After feeding off ten beings, he stopped taking count.
He felt different somehow, the morning sun causing his skin to itch, to slightly burn with a tingling sensation. His linen shirt and leather breeches did nothing to help fight the hot solar rays. The odd feeling filled the very core of his being and spread throughout his body like wild fire. He didn't like the change that was taking place inside of him. He had been warned about feeding off mortals but he never imagined it to be like this.
Octavia had told him about the dangers, about the painful hunger and the never-ending desire for the hunt and conquest of mortals. Members of the Tribe rarely killed their prey and they never feasted on blood from a Tracker. The fruits and wines of Paradise had a potent effect on the New Breed. They satisfied the hunger. Lazarus couldn't figure out what had happened to him last night. He had never felt the ache of the Vampyre's hunger like this before, not even when he brought his kin across. Something was wrong and for the life of him he didn't know what.
Raising his hand to his eyes, Lazarus squinted. He surveyed the vicinity and looked for an easy route through the lands claimed by the Dark Breed.
In caves inaccessible to man, the camps were set on the edge of the sea. Lazarus surmised it to be a good distance before he would reach the Dark Breed's marked territory and decided that since he was feeling tired, he needed a horse to take him there.
For the first time in centuries, he felt drained of his energy. He sluggishly traveled on foot to a nearby village inhabited by thieves and the disreputable. A bearded, rough-looking man approached him.
“What can I offer you, son?”
The man followed Lazarus as he mingled among the beggars and crude merchants. “A meal, some mead, a woman. Or... whatever your rich soul fancies.” The man eyed him up and down as if studying his fine clothing.
Lazarus came to a sudden stop. He glared at the man with dark, hypnotic eyes and curbed the vagrant's desire to steal from him. He sensed the man's wayward soul.
“Bring me a horse,” he said. “I want the finest you have.”
Like a bewitched zombie, the man obliged and left Lazarus standing amid an aisle of filthy beggars as he disappeared into the noisy crowd. Leading a horse by its reins, the man soon returned.
Lazarus dropped a pouch of silver in the man's opened palm and mounted the horse.
He rode at lightning speed. The sun seeming now to lightly sear his skin. As he approached the empty beaches, his ears filled with the roar of the sea. Lazarus felt the cool air strike his face and tussle his hair. He felt the strange sensation of being lured in by his enemy and it stirred his soul.
Waves crashed against jagged, pointy rocks that jutted out into the distance and spewed forth a white foamy brew of seawater on the soaked earth. The horse galloped through the wet, sticky sand and kicked it up in clumps behind them. Lazarus glanced back and stared at the tracks. Someone could find him, but he prayed the sea would wash his trail away.
At the edge of the land, he dismounted and sent the animal back to where it had come from. He didn't know how long his search would keep him in Dark Breed territory and the horse would do him no good should he take days to return from the camps.
He mustered his strength, took to the morning air and flew out across the sea. Filled only with the water's crashing waves a number of caves lined the seascape. He flew close to every darkened entryway and hoped to sense the soul he came in search of.
The odor of foul-smelling blood filled his nostrils and caused nausea to rise from his stomach. Lazarus turned away. He flew out over the sea and drew in a deep, crisp breath of air. As he did so, a slight tingling sensation crept along his spine and alerted him to the danger that lurked in the caves. The soul he had come in search of was nearby. Lazarus sensed his enemy with an awareness more keen than ever before. He felt his enemy's soul as if it had reached out and touched his own. He shuddered at the thought. This was the call of an angered soul, a Vampyre unsettled in his own world.
Lazarus remembered feeling the same sensation back in Rome and hated the idea of reliving that nightmare. But he was here to settle this matter once and for all and to avenge Gerard Delacroix's death. He knew his enemy to be in the cave from which the putrid odor drifted. Lazarus turned back and swooped close to the sea as he head
ed for the open caverns.
He followed the pungent odor and singled out the cave he believed it to come from. Lazarus dove down and entered the jagged, rocky opening just as a wave crashed against it. He was soaked from head-to-toe.
Flying deep into the hidden cavern, Lazarus landed on a seaweed-covered ledge. He brushed away the wet, tangled plant and dropped down on the rocks.
His hair was pasted to his forehead. Annoyed, he raised his hand, pushed it back and freed his eyes from the black strands. His vision quickly adjusted to the dark surroundings.
In the distance, Lazarus heard the crackling of fire and saw the flickering of orange-red flames. He stood up, drenched, tired and disgusted beyond all limits of irritation. He wanted nothing more than to rest, to take a moment to gather his thoughts and catch his breath. But to do so would show his weakness and put him in worse danger.
He swore an oath and trod deeper into the cave.
A pair of soft leather boots and a suit of dry clothes waited for him as he turned a corner. The Conlon crest sewn with silver threads was visible on the shirt fabric. Lazarus froze. Using his preternatural eyesight, he searched into the depths of the cave and looked for the soul who was obviously expecting him, but he couldn't detect any other being but himself. He picked up the leather breeches and linen shirt and changed into the clean clothing. The dry fabric felt good against his cold, damp skin.
“Take me, sir.”
Lazarus spun around. A small boy stood waiting in the shadows of the cave.
Lazarus stared at him. Dark circles surrounded the child's deep-set eyes and cast a look of death about the boy's face. His paler-than-alabaster skin was pulled taut over his small face and revealed a delicate bone structure underneath.
“Take me, sir. I am here to do your bidding.”
