by Sharon Page
Snap! The chains broke as Lukos wrenched on them. Links of chain flew around them and rattled against the stone floor.
“It works, love,” Zayan whispered.
“Yes.” Her heart soared with hope. “Love is a magical power, isn’t it?”
Lukos turned her to face him, and she gazed up at him, her eyes alight with desire, her body molten with need. He cupped her cheek, tweaked her nipples, and slid his magnificent length deep inside her on the first stroke.
All of them were behaving as though the red mist was not even in the room. But around them, Miranda heard a soft, smothered cry of anger.
She arched back in welcome against Zayan. How she wanted him in her too. She had to have him. She wanted the utter completeness of having her two men filling her at once.
The red fog screamed and roiled back, pressing to the mausoleum’s walls. Stunned by its reaction, Miranda surged up and kissed Lukos. She poured everything into the kiss, making it deep and intense. She moaned fervently into his mouth. Evoking hoarse groans from him. Again, the red power’s screech reverberated through the air.
This was the secret. “Make love to me,” she urged. “If you both can love, if you truly do, show me.”
“By the gods, my angel, I love you,” Zayan whispered harshly. He cupped her breast from behind her. His other hand slid down between her body and Lukos’s. His finger caressed her clitoris until she whimpered.
Lukos thrust his hard cock deeply inside her quim. “I love you, Miranda. I’ve loved you from the first moment you tried to look into my heart.”
Zayan pressed his cock to her anus, but his cock skidded ahead, and by…perhaps by magic, he began to slide into her sopping wet quim just as Lukos’s thick erection invaded on another long thrust.
She cried out in arousal and surprise. It was…so much. It could not be possible—how could she take both inside her cunny at once—?
But the very intensity made it so exquisite. She could tell them no, but in truth, she didn’t want to. And the screaming had died away, but she could feel the very agony of the red fog, as Zayan and Lukos slowly, carefully, pumped into her.
At her gasp, they slightly withdrew. “More,” she breathed. “I want more.”
“Do you?” Lukos asked it, almost as though he expected her to refuse.
“Yes.” Though she had to drive her fingers into Lukos’s shoulders as they tried one more unbelievable inch. “I—I cannot imagine anything more intimate than to share you both this way.”
“You are so exquisitely tight with both of us inside,” Zayan murmured.
She had to shut her eyes. The thought of what they were doing—the thought of their two long cocks pressed together, sliding beside each other—
It was an erotic image that left her as hot as flame.
They slid in and out, and she became so creamy there was no pain, only the most intense sensation of being filled. Lukos’s cock slid on top, each thrust of his long shaft teased her clit. And Zayan, being as wicked as she expected Lukos to be, stroked her anus with his finger, while his cock plunged in and out of her quim.
Oh, she could not—
Not his finger inside her—
But he did it, and she was filled everywhere, and both men played with her breasts. They thrust faster and faster, squeezed her hard nipples more ruthlessly, and she screamed her pleasure to the sky.
She couldn’t even speak. All she could do was cry out, over and over, and they thrust relentlessly until her second orgasm hit her before the first was even done.
Zayan. A plantive, desperate voice rose from the fog. Your children. I will give them to you. Stop. Stop doing this to her—
Then the voice implored to Lukos. Your sister. She lives still. This is the truth—Lucifer has kept her for a thousand years, and I can reunite you if you stop this. If you promise to help me—
“We love you, Miranda,” Lukos vowed. Then he thrust hard, pressed his body tight to hers, and released deep inside her.
“I knew you would lose control and come first,” Zayan laughed. Then he groaned. And came, and his seed rushed into her, filling her too.
This time sex made her feel stronger. More alive. Vital and powerful.
Dazed, Miranda realized the red fog had surrounded them once again in the confines of the mausoleum. Sparks of lightning shot within it, and it began to mass and take form right before her eyes. The fog gathered and darkened until it began to take a woman’s shape. The mouth was a black cavern of a scream, the eyes large and dark. One wretched wail came from inside the fog.
Then it burst—and the force pummeled them just as her vampires’ cocks were sliding free. Lukos and Zayan moved tightly to her, holding her, and together they withstood the great gust of wind and the wave of energy that hit them.
Red dust scattered around them and the wind subsided.
Miranda drew in ragged breaths. “Is that it?” she asked. “Is it gone?”
Zayan hesitated, then nodded. “It has.”
She slumped against Lukos in relief, then tipped her head back to touch Zayan, to include both men in her relieved embrace.
That had been the way to destroy it. Not violence. Not a fierce attack, but a true, enraptured, honest expression of pleasure and love.
She never would have thought of such a thing.
But then, she still did not know what the red being was. Even Serena’s mother had not been able to explain exactly what it was. She had been able to say that it was female. It seduced men, but not sexually as a succubus would. Eve had described it as a counterpart to Lucifer, who was seen to be a male embodiment of evil, a fallen angel in the Underworld. The Pravus Semper was a female who had no form, and suffered torment because of that. An entity that flowed eternally amidst the mortal world.
She did not know if they had destroyed it completely. She doubted it. But they had driven it away.
Miranda reached out and caressed Lukos’s cheek. He stared at the red dust that lay scattered on the ground. “Do you think it is true?” she ventured. “About your sister?”
He did not look to her. She was certain she saw a glint of a tear in the corner of his mirror-like eye. “I don’t know.”
And he spoke those words so softly, with such restraint, but with his tone hinting at hope, that it broke her heart.
“Well, my dark and dangerous vampires, you have both performed well.”
Before them, a beautiful woman stepped out of the shadows. Miranda self-consciously put her hands to her breasts, for all the good that would do. She was naked, sandwiched between two naked men.
A pleased smile curved the newly arrived woman’s full, richly red lips, and revealed her sharp, elongated canines. The woman waved her hand, and Miranda shivered as silk appeared out of the air and spiraled around her skin, cool and soft. In an instant, she was clothed in a flowing white robe. And black ones appeared around Zayan and Lukos.
Miranda realized that nothing surprised her anymore. In just a few days, she had changed from the frightened woman who did not know what she was. She now felt she could face anything—and it was Zayan and Lukos who had made her believe that.
“Elizabeth.”
Miranda heard the apprehension in Zayan’s deep, rumbling voice.
The vampiress turned her large, beautiful eyes to him. “Zayan. We, the vampire queens, know you served the Pravus in the hopes of bringing your children back. What you did not know was that she was not the only one with the power to give them to you. The Pravus wanted to absorb power to destroy all of us—the vampire queens. Because you have done us a great service, I will attempt to give your children to you.”
“A—attempt?” Zayan managed to say.
“Miranda is the only being who can bring them back to you. I can bring their bodies back, and their souls, but I cannot resurrect life. There is no one who can do that, except Miranda.”
Elizabeth turned, her robes fluttering around her, and crooked her finger. From a space between two tall stones, two
children took tentative steps forward.
Zayan’s preternatural heart skipped one of its slow beats. At a soft command from Elizabeth, the young, thin boy jerked up his head.
Brown eyes, rimmed with the thickest black eyelashes, stared steadily at Zayan, and he reeled in shock. The eyes were his own—gazing blankly at him.
No, they were like his eyes. A memory nudged its way through his shocked mind. A vision of a boy watching quietly as he practiced his sword work.
His son. This boy was his son. This was the face he had forgotten. Love surged into his heart as he studied his child’s features with an intensity he had probably not given the boy when the child had been alive. The boy had a straight, aquiline nose. High cheekbones and a point of a chin. Large dark brown eyes and long, long lashes. His boy had been gifted with a handsome face.
His precious son.
Memories flooded back as he slowly walked toward the thin boy and the small, trembling girl. He saw two beautiful faces—his daughter also had huge, dark eyes, and her lashes reached her black, arched brows. Both had cupid’s bow mouths that were full and soft.
Their faces were not lost to him anymore. They were here.
In his chest, his heart thundered. He remembered how his son’s mouth had learned to be grave and serious—to show the stoicism and bravery of a warrior. But he also remembered the velvety feel of a baby’s cheek against his rough skin, and he remembered the slightly sour smell of an infant cradled to his chest.
Blinking at a burning sensation in his eyes, Zayan bent down to the children. His daughter stared vacantly beneath a fall of tangled curls. When she had been alive, her mouth had always flowed readily into smiles. Smiles that had pushed away his brutal memories of battle and that had warmed his heart.
His daughter had been nine. His son eleven.
Zayan sank to his knees. His children had no smell, and they made no move to touch him. He heard a soft sob behind him and knew the sound had fallen from Miranda’s lips. He held out his arms, but his children did not move.
“They cannot respond to you,” Elizabeth said. “As I told you, I have brought their bodies back into this world, but they are not yet alive.”
He stood and backed away from his children. They did not move, did not acknowledge he had left them.
The softest touch whispered over his wrist and Zayan turned to see Miranda reaching to grasp his hand. Lines crossed her forehead, and pain showed in her eyes. That she felt such agony for him lanced his heart. “Can you?” he asked her. “Would you do this for me?”
Moonlight glinted on tears at the corners of her large, cornflower blue eyes. Gravely, Miranda nodded. She knew, he was certain, that she held his heart in her hands.
“It is a great risk, of course,” Elizabeth interjected. “They have been gone from this world for a very long time. It will take great power to return their force of life.”
Lukos strode forward. “What kind of risk? What evil conditions have you vampire queens concocted?”
Zayan saw Miranda hold a quelling, graceful hand to Lukos. “I want to do it.”
Lukos shoved back his long hair with an angry pass of his hand. “The risk is her death, isn’t it? I know the way you witches work.”
“No, you do not, Lukos. You have no idea about us,” Elizabeth snapped. “Yes, her life would be at risk, but not because of some game of vengeance, or mischief. Miranda would be at risk because this resurrection would drain her greatly. She is bestowing some of her life force onto them.”
Zayan leapt to Miranda and scooped her into his arms before she could lay her hand on his son’s frail chest. “I can’t let you take this risk.”
“I have to do it. I can’t turn my back on two children who deserve to live.”
He had never admired a woman more. She was not doing this for him, but for them. Lukos stepped to his side and reached out to stroke Miranda’s cheek. “The power of a love shared between three. If Miranda needs greater power, I suspect we can both provide it for her.”
Miranda’s blue eyes lit up. “Yes,” she cried. “That must be it. We destroyed the Pravus with our combined power. Surely, we can give life with it.”
Zayan nodded curtly. His throat was too tight to allow words to escape. Then he swallowed hard and managed to force out a warning. “If I sense you are in danger, Miranda, I’m stopping you.” He gazed to his children, his heart ready to crack and splinter in his chest. He wanted them to live. But he could not let Miranda die.
She had no idea how to harness their combined power. And when Miranda turned to ask Elizabeth what to do, she could not see the vampire queen anywhere.
“She’s gone,” Lukos growled. “The queens do that. They always vanish when they could actually be of use.”
The children were holding hands and stood eerily still. “I don’t know where to begin—how to make our power combine. Not without—” But perhaps making love had given them some kind of a connection. She had felt a small sizzle though her blood when she’d touched Zayan’s arm.
She faced both men. “I have no idea what to do, but I would like to try touching one of the children. The way I always do, with my hand over the child’s heart. Then I want you both to put your hands over mine. I think that gesture—of union and of trust—might work.”
But it was a wild guess. And if she was wrong, she did not believe Zayan could stop her. Once her energy began to flow out, she did not think he—or anyone—would be able to stop it.
17
Beloved
Miranda’s heart lurched in her chest as Zayan gathered his son into his arms. The boy was long-limbed but thin, and distressingly fragile when embraced against Zayan’s solid, powerful body.
Two strides took father and son to a slab of stone that lay like an altar, at the edge of the circle. Miranda followed behind them, taking calming breaths. The boy did not protest as Zayan laid him gently on the stone. He just lay limply. She sensed Lukos had come to stand at her other side. Her senses were heightened; she knew his scent, but also, she just instinctively felt he was there.
As she bent to her knees on the left side of the boy, she smiled down into the child’s blank eyes. Lukos followed, behind her. His warmth whispered against her through their loose clothing. Slowly, Zayan dropped to his knees on the opposite side of the stone. She saw his hands shake slightly. It deeply touched her heart to see Zayan, who had been a battle-hardened general and a man who had known the worst betrayal, openly reveal so much loving concern for his child.
Zayan looked up and met her gaze. “Remember, Miranda. If there is danger to you, you are to stop.”
The tremble of his hand—she realized, with a glimpse into Zayan’s thoughts—it had been for her. She held out her hand so it hovered a few inches above the boy. “Put both your hands on mine now.”
“Is there anything we should say? Any incantations?” Beneath the soft glow of the moonlight, Lukos wore the most serious expression she had seen him reveal. He had not looked so grim even when they had fought the red power.
She shook her head. “I simply touch and it happens. In all cases, I have truly wanted the child—or the person—to live. Think of that. Think of a deep desire to bring the boy to life.”
“His name was Marc,” Zayan murmured, and he gently rested his hand atop hers. Lukos put his on last, so his hand covered Zayan’s but the tips of his fingers touched her skin.
“Marc, then.” She swallowed hard. What would it be like for Marc to open his eyes two thousand years after he last shut them? Do not think of that, she warned herself. Think of joy. Think of how he will have the chance to run again, and play, and know his father’s embrace.
She touched her hand to Marc’s chest, over his heart.
There was no warmth this time. Her skin began to glow instead, all along her arm, in a soft, pulsating shimmer of gold. She could see it through the white robe. The golden glow increased at their joined hands. Zayan’s grip tightened. “Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know. It is different—” She quickly added, “But it does not feel bad.” Instead, she felt a lightening at her heart. It was as though she was experiencing every joyous moment of her life at once.
Beneath her hand, Marc’s heart took on a strong and steady beat. She saw the twitch of this arms and legs. His eyes shut abruptly, and when the lids flickered open again, life gleamed in the deep brown eyes. The vibrant glow of life—of a soul.
It was done, and it had not been hard at all—
Suddenly, the gold shimmer drained away down her arm. It sucked between their hands, drawing a shock of cold air behind it. The light vanished into Marc’s chest. Miranda gasped as an icy sensation gripped her everywhere.
Her fingers went numb, as did her toes. She felt as though they had become instantly brittle with the cold. She could not even shiver, she felt too frozen to even move.
“Stop it,” Lukos cried. “Take you hand away.”
But Marc had not tried to move. She could see the light in his eyes slowly extinguishing. They were losing him…
Zayan clutched her hand and tried to pull it up. But her power gave her the strength to fight him. “No,” she gasped. “Let me try. I think this is a test. This is what Elizabeth meant. It takes the conviction of love to do this.”
Lukos growled in fury, but he pushed his hand down, which forced Zayan’s on top of hers and splayed her palm tightly on Marc’s chest.
Marc’s eyes opened again. Shock and surprise and fear touched his face. Then his gaze settled on Zayan, and Miranda felt a feeling of safety rush over him. He knew his father, and he knew, with Zayan, he was safe.
Miranda eased her hand up. This time, Lukos released his hand, then Zayan let hers go. Now freed, Marc struggled to sit, but before he could, Zayan lifted him into a great hug.
The cold was slowly abating. Miranda stood, shakily, and held out her hand to the small girl. Lukos held her shoulders, but Miranda whispered, “No, I am all right. Bring Zayan’s daughter to me.” Obediently, he went and carried the small girl to the stone altar. Tears were leaking down Marc’s cheeks, as Zayan stroked his hair, and he looked ashamed of them.
