Lovers Awakening

by R. A. Steffan

  The plan for six simultaneous terrorist attacks against large, soft targets in major Middle Eastern and North African cities would produce catastrophic results. It was a stroke of genius.

  Thousands of lives would be lost right away. More importantly, though, every nation in the world would be thrown into disarray, pointing fingers at each other and trying to find someone to blame for the atrocity. Christians would blame Muslims. Capitalists would blame communists. The West would blame the East, and vice versa. Markets would crash, security would be increased a hundred-fold.

  And all the while these petty, pathetic little countries would become more and more divided, more suspicious of one another, until someone’s finger slipped and pressed a button, bringing down Armageddon. It was a masterstroke for engineering the fall of the world to Bael’s power, and Bastian would be squarely at the heart of the transformation.

  He and the undead had already been turned by Bael, so they had nothing to fear from the coming nuclear fallout. They could enter the hot zone and find trapped victims. It would be easy to turn them into more undead soldiers for the great army of the apocalypse. Their chances of detection would be minimal under the cloud of chaos that would descend across the planet in the wake of the attacks.

  And the families of those lost would never question the lack of a body to bury.

  Bastian could barely keep his energy leashed. He stood and walked over to a broken window, staring out across the ruined landscape of bombed-out buildings in the watery moonlight. A sea of bleached and crumbled concrete stretched before him, with blank windows staring into the night like empty sockets in a skull.

  The bleak vista extended as far as the eye could see. Despite the torpid summer night, a chill wind gusted through the room. Dust and filth swirled around Bastian, an appropriate shroud for the power that he was about to unleash.

  “What targets do you anticipate will be taken out, sir?” a voice said from behind Bastian.

  He recognized the voice as belonging to one of his top men—a leader, of sorts, among the undead, who still retained a shred of personality and will. Bastian did not turn to answer him. He continued facing toward the window with his hands clasped behind his back.

  Breathing in, he replied with satisfaction. “Many targets will fall, here in Damascus. Several media outlets and various government buildings will be totally destroyed in the blast. We must make sure that we surround the area before the local authorities arrive on the scene to begin rescue and recovery operations. It won’t be difficult. They will hesitate to approach too near the center of the blast, due to the radiation.”

  Feeling euphoric, Bastian smiled, still looking out across the city towards the western horizon, where he could just make out the silhouette of the skyline denoting his future hunting ground.

  I am coming for your deaths. Your utter destruction, he thought with something like glee. A shiver traveled down his spine, and his mouth began to water at the thought of all the blood that would be spilled. It would be his moment to avenge himself against humanity. Humanity had never done anything for him except toss him in the gutter and grind his face into the filth. Humanity had made him what he was, and now it would reap what it had sown.

  As he stood gazing out of the window, the softest brush of something grazed against the edges of his mind. The sensation was so faint and fleeting that, for a moment, he thought he’d imagined it.

  But, no. He went completely still, like a dog on the hunt. His patience was rewarded long minutes later, when he felt the presence again, closer than before.

  The presence both drew and repelled; it was like him, yet not.

  Turning slowly on the spot, Bastian stared around the room. Several of the undead looked up as his eyes settled on them, but again, none of them spoke. As he approached the window on the adjacent wall, he finally turned away from his suspicious examination of those with him and looked out the window again.

  Could one of Bael’s six abominations truly be approaching alone? Could they be so lucky on this auspicious day?

  He felt certain that there was only a single vampire, but he was hesitant to stretch out with his mind and reveal himself without knowing more about the situation.

  As the breeze from outside swirled through the broken widow, bringing the smells of the night with it, Bastian inhaled deeply. He caught the faintest hint of a vampire’s scent on the air—sweet and metallic. A single male, approaching from the southwest. His presence was light as air, and Bastian caught the whiff of something animal. Something large, feathered, and predatory.

  A wide smile split Bastian’s face as he scanned the dark sky around the abandoned building. He couldn’t see the abomination yet, but he knew it was close by. The strange feeling of being simultaneously drawn and repulsed grew stronger, like an approaching beacon. Bael was no longer present after his brief appearance earlier, but Bastian knew that his master must be warned of the abomination’s approach.

  He consciously relaxed his body and called for his master. Moments later, Bael descended like a malevolent aura around the bombed-out complex. The demon’s eagerness was infectious as he, too, sensed the approach of one of his failures.

  Find him, Bael commanded, triumphant. Question him. Break him.

  “Yes, master,” Bastian vowed. He could hear shuffling around him as the undead sensed Bael’s excitement. The prospect of catching and torturing a vampire—one of his failed creations—seemed to fill Bael with the same frenzy that had possessed Bastian earlier as he contemplated the coming nuclear war.

  Discover all that he knows about me, about the prophecy, and about the Council of Thirteen. Show him the meaning of pain.

  “It will be as you say, my master,” Bastian assured as he moved towards the door.

  *

  Swirling through the air over the two hundred kilometer stretch of open water near Damascus in the form of fast-moving mist, Eris allowed his thoughts to wander back to Nicosia. He knew that Snag was going to have his head once he returned, and Tré would probably tear apart whatever was left. Both had urged him, quite sensibly, to wait until the others arrived before setting off to confront whatever awaited them in Damascus.

  Eris had disregarded their advice with good reason, though. He could not ignore the feeling of impending doom that had settled over his senses like a pall. His awareness of Bael’s power had seemed to grow tenfold, even in the short time since he convinced Trynn to stay with them at the hotel. It was impossible for him to ignore. Soon, the demon’s power would grow so strong that Eris would be unable to protect his mate.

  Her kiss lingered like a phantom on his lips, and even in mist form, he could still feel the brush of her skin against his. He wanted to revel in the sensation, but needed to remain focused on his destination. He could not allow himself to become distracted now. It was important that he be on guard.

  Would Bael become aware of his presence? Eris was taking care to shield his thoughts, but he knew he would have to proceed carefully in order to scope out the base where Bael’s servant was holed up. If he were detected, the consequences could be catastrophic.

  Though they’d have to catch me first, he thought grimly.

  Eris thought back to Trynn’s words about a simultaneous nuclear attack in multiple cities. This was no longer just about saving her life, even if that had been his primary motivator for running out on Snag. No, this was about saving all of humanity.

  As vampires, fate had arrayed the six of them—seven, now—against Bael’s vile power. Fighting him any way they could was, at this point, their only reason for existing. They would never surrender in their effort to prevent the complete desolation of the Light and rise of the Darkness.

  In the distance, Eris thought he could make out the shore. Twinkling light from the port city of Beirut glinted off the water, and Damascus lay barely a hundred kilometers beyond. Eris sped up as his goal approached.

  He would not allow Bael to destroy his mate—his life—again.

  Stay
focused, he reminded himself. He needed to remain aware of his surroundings. He could not afford the smallest lapse in concentration.

  Thanks to Snag’s transfer of power earlier, he now had a mental fix on the beacon blazing from Damascus like a sickly green flame in the darkness. Indeed, now that his eyes had been opened, so to speak, he could scarcely banish the nauseating awareness of it.

  This is a living hell, no wonder Snag never speaks, he thought wryly.

  The evil miasma smothering him like a thick cloud was both familiar… and wrong on every level. He could tell that the life force behind the beacon was an undead soul, twisted and mutilated by Bael, but the power emanating from it was shocking. It was much stronger than anything he had sensed before from the undead—even when he and the others had been elbow-deep in the things’ entrails, fighting to protect Della and Tré.

  No. This was something different. Something new.

  As Eris ate up the distance separating him from his goal and passed into the city, he tried to devise a strategy to assess this new and unknown threat. The force drawing him like a moth to flame was centered to the east, away from the bustling central hub of life within the war-torn city.

  He approached the source of the taint and circled, trying to get his bearings. He could tell he was very near his goal. Pulling in his life force, he transformed into a great, dark owl. Borne aloft on powerful wings, he glided gracefully through the darkness, barely flapping, approaching in total silence. One building in the bombed out area he was circling held the flickering, insubstantial light of a lit fire. He zeroed in on the structure, focusing all his senses on the interior, and the faint signs of life coming from inside.

  He could see a figure standing, outlined by a blazing brazier behind him, gazing through a blown out window. Their eyes met, and dread that he could not explain gripped his mind like a vice. A moment later, the figure vanished.

  Before Eris could do more than register his disappearance, a freezing cold mist surrounded him. The particles were like ice against his feathers, weighing him down, dragging him towards the earth.

  The owl flapped wildly, letting out a piercing screech of anger as Eris fought to free himself from the all-encompassing icy vapor. Like quicksand, though, the more he struggled, the more he became ensnared by the trap, which closed tightly around him.

  In desperation, Eris tried to push his life force out and explode into mist to escape the situation, but his power met a hard, invisible wall that surrounded him and kept him in his avian form.

  Trapped as an owl, unable to fly and plummeting towards the earth, Eris let out a mental cry towards the heavens, hoping beyond hope that someone, anyone, would hear him.

  If I survive, I am never, ever going to live this down, he thought as his body smashed into the windshield of an abandoned car with a deafening crash of breaking glass.

  Agony shot through his left wing, which had taken the brunt of the impact. Eris felt muscles tear and heard a telltale crack as it was crushed beneath him, totally useless. His body bounced once, sliding across the hood to land on the cracked pavement.

  Even on the ground, the cold mist continued to press down on him, flattening his lungs and crushing his damaged wing even more. Unable to draw breath, Eris stared up at the starry sky as the world faded into darkness.

  *

  Back in Nicosia, in the dark hotel room where Trynn slept restlessly in Eris’ bed, Snag sat in a chair by the window, silent and unmoving. His head was bowed, his fingertips pressed together as if in meditation, as his consciousness expanded out into the night.

  He was breathing deeply, listening to the night sounds of the hotel and world around him, gauging the growing strength of the cloud of malevolence emanating from the mainland across the Levantine Sea.

  All was silent and still. But it was not the still of peace. It was the still of waiting.

  From nowhere, a distant cry of pain and rage rent the stillness—terrible in its familiarity.

  The ancient vampire’s head snapped up; his eyes flew open.

  If Trynn had been awake, she would have seen the deep-set orbs glowing white, like a cold, furious fire.

  TWELVE

  TRYNN BLINKED AWAKE to find the pale light of morning glowing from behind the curtains. Thank god for that, she thought as she sat up in the rumpled bed. The night had seemed to drag on forever. She had woken often, frightened and restless from half-remembered dream images.

  It was a relief to finally rise and face the day.

  Padding her way to the bathroom, she showered quickly and brushed her teeth with a disposable complimentary toothbrush from the hotel. As she wandered out into the suite’s living area, she found Snag sitting by the window, staring at the heavy curtain as though he could see through it, miles away. His face held none of the stony neutrality it had the previous day. Instead, it was set in gaunt lines of cold rage.

  She glanced around, searching for Eris, a sinking feeling growing in her stomach. After a moment, it became clear to her that he had not returned from his night’s travels.

  Spinning on her heel, Trynn rounded on Snag. “Where is he? Why didn’t he return?”

  Snag, who barely seemed to have moved since the previous evening, turned his head towards her but did not answer. His eyes glowed, deep in their sockets, and she had to cover a flinch.

  “Where. Is. He.” She took a step towards Snag, her fists clenching. “Tell me!”

  He remained completely silent, still staring at her with those glowing eyes. It quickly became obvious that she would get nowhere by demanding his help.

  Where could Eris have gone? He couldn’t still be hunting during the day, could he? Could real vampires go out in daylight? Eris had made it sound like they couldn’t.

  Trynn realized that she didn’t really know anything about these creatures. How often did they need to hunt? How long did it normally take them?

  With an uncomfortable squirming feeling in her stomach, Trynn wondered if they killed their prey. Could Eris be a murderer, too? Had she been fetishizing murder last night when she fantasized about letting him bite her?

  Suddenly, agreeing to remain with them in their hotel room seemed downright reckless. What the hell had she been thinking? How did she know that she wasn’t their next meal?

  The memory of Eris’ lips against her own and the way his mouth had grazed so lightly across her neck made her shiver, her body caught once again in that intoxicating no man’s land between fear and arousal.

  But… no. She didn’t really think he’d been keeping her around for an easy meal.

  He had been too solicitous. Too concerned for her safety. It had been as though he was terrified she would vanish in the blink of an eye.

  But… if he was so worried about her, why wasn’t he here?

  Remembering the private email she’d read the previous day, Trynn recalled that the person called Tré had cautioned Eris against doing anything stupid. Don’t be an idiot, the subject line said.

  What did that mean? Was Eris likely to make a rash decision and put himself in danger?

  It seemed more and more likely, the more she thought about it. Combined with Snag’s taut and angry visage, Trynn felt certain that Eris must have had left against their advice and set out on his own.

  “He went after the terrorist, didn’t he?” Trynn asked after a moment. Her voice emerged faint and wavering.

  Although Snag did not answer in words, there was a sharp edge to his expression which all but confirmed Trynn’s suspicions. Eris, wherever he was, whatever he was doing, had gone after the man that Trynn had been tracking. He was alone, without any form of support or backup.

  The panic that welled up inside her took her by surprise. She felt breathless, as if her muscles were tightening around her joints, trying to make her curl up in a ball.

  Anger followed a bare moment later.

  How could he do this to me? How could he just leave?

  She had to do something. She had to move. She didn’t
know exactly what she could do, but getting back to her laptop and trying to find new information about what was going on in Damascus seemed like a logical first step.

  Glancing around frantically, Trynn crossed to the table, snatched up her bag, and headed for the door. Before she could even get a hand on the doorknob, a lean figure blocked her path. Trynn looked up into Snag’s set face, blinking at him in the room’s dim light.

  Standing so close to the spectral creature made the hair on Trynn’s neck stand up. A deadly chill poured off of him in waves.

  A sudden, inexplicable sleepiness drifted over her. Exhaustion seemed to settle in her bones, and she swayed, eyelids drooping. Trynn shook her head, fighting hard against the sudden feeling of sedation. What the hell?

  She banished the fog with an effort of will, breathing deeply in an attempt to flood her body with oxygen as she stared at Snag’s face. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she thought she saw a flicker of something like consternation pass across his harsh features.

  The heavy weight lifted as suddenly as it came, and Trynn guessed that, somehow, Snag had tried to put her into a sleep.

  Yeah, no. Not happening, Sunshine.

  Deciding in a flash that she wasn’t going to bow to his mind games, Trynn reached around him and grasped the doorknob. With her other arm, she tried to use her elbow to drive Snag backwards, away from the door.

  Initially, Trynn thought this would be an easy move. Snag, after all, was a rail thin wisp of a creature who looked as if a stiff breeze would knock him down.

  To her surprise, Trynn realized that Snag must be made of stronger stuff. He didn’t flinch or move a muscle, even when she drove the point of her elbow deep into his ribs. No grunt of pain or whoosh of breath suggested to her that he even noticed her attempt at making him move, and his feet did not waver an inch from where they were planted in front of the door.

  Stymied, she glared at him. “Get out of my way!” she growled. “You can’t keep me here!”

  Her voice rose in anger until she was nearly shouting. Snag blinked once, then pressed one bony fingertip against her forehead. This time when the woozy feeling assaulted her, she thought she’d be ready for it. But she was in no way prepared for the direct onslaught of his will as he sliced effortlessly through her mental defenses.