The moment Hayley’s body hit the stone slab in the basement crypt, Kalin made her way down and had not been back up until it was time to bring the body for the burial ceremony. She refused to leave her side. In the hours preceding her funeral, Kalin had washed Hayley, singing to her and telling her stories. Then she cried all over again.
Kalin was always very careful to keep her emotions in check when she was with Taris. She watched fire consume the body of the young woman she loved so much with the same stoic visage she had confronted Taris with when he told her of Hayley’s death.
Before the burial, Taris lined the tomb with all of the necessary items. When a member of the vampire race passed on, certain burial traditions were called for. If the deceased was a male, the tomb was lined with black satin. The body would be placed on a thin bed of flat stones on the bottom of the tomb, and a platinum medallion with his family crest would be placed on his chest. For females, a hue was chosen to match the color of the deceased’s eyes. In place of the stones, a thin bed of rose petals was laid on the bottom. The only similarity between male and female burials was the family crest. If the female was married, she would have both her paternal and marital crests placed in the tomb with her. After rites were read and prayers were said, the body would be set on fire.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The way God intended.
It was the way vampires had celebrated death since the beginning of their existence.
Taris watched with a heavy heart as Kalin carried Hayley’s body to the burial plot. Surrounding the open tomb were several marble boxes with their lids nailed shut. Even in the gloom of the evening, the moonlight hit them just right, and their smooth surfaces gave off a heavenly glow. Kalin made her way through the maze of stones, carrying Hayley’s muslin-wrapped body as if she weighed no more than a wilted flower. The stiffness of death had worn off. The sight brought back all of the guilt Taris had felt two nights ago when he watched her die.
“Please let me take her.” His voice was a dull, ragged whisper. Kalin wouldn’t meet his eyes. She simply shook her head and leaned over the edge of the tomb, gently placing Hayley’s body on the petal bed. As she backed away, he could see the redness of her eyes, the hollow gauntness of her cheeks.
He made quick work of the ceremony, stopping only a few times to make sure Kalin was not going to fall over from exhaustion. Once the rites had been read and the prayers offered, Taris placed the crest on Hayley’s chest. It was a large piece, about the size of a small jar lid. Intricately carved into its metallic flesh was an odd creature. It had two heads, both of which looked like lions. Its body was small, almost like a goat or a ram. It had the tail of a serpent, and from its mouth emanated a brilliant fire that surrounded it completely. Kalin looked away as he placed the prized medallion over her heart.
Kalin couldn’t take much more of the ceremony. Sensing her distress, Taris quickly placed a torch next to Hayley’s body and was blissfully relieved when it caught immediately. The oils and powders that Kalin had applied to Hayley acted as a catalyst for the flames, and in no time, the entire length and width of the stone box was filled with their burning heat. Kalin watched them lick the edges of the box. She could see bits of ash and loam drifting into the air, carried away by the blustery wind.
“Kalin, I have to push the stone.” Taris ran a hand through his hair and tried to make her look at him. She didn’t. She wouldn’t. All she did was nod. He pulled his long, leather trench tighter around his wide shoulders before placing his hands on either side of the block. He effortlessly pushed it into place, sealing the remaining flames and smoke into the tomb with the scraping sound of stone on stone. Kalin turned her face toward the black, rolling clouds overhead and took in a deep breath. The wind was whipping her long black locks around her face.
“I took the liberty of carving her stone this morning.” She slowly brought her head back down at Taris’ voice. For the first time since the night Hayley died, she actually looked him in the eyes. His hands were still braced against the stone. “I wanted this to be real, not just for her but for you, so…” His voice drifted off, and he stepped away from the block, walking through the tombs and down the slope toward the house. He could hear the rustle of Kalin’s black taffeta mourning gown draw closer to the stone, and his heart dropped down into his stomach when he heard her breath catch. He didn’t turn around because he knew she was crying. He could feel it.
“She was your daughter, Kalin. Whether you brought her into being or not, she was yours. I didn’t put anything on there that wasn’t true.”
Kalin’s delicate hand ran over the letters that were chiseled out of the marble, every one more beautiful and thrilling than the one before. Carved in the old Anglo-Saxon dialect that both she and Taris spoke from birth were the words Kalin never thought she would read in her lifetime. They were the words she felt deep down in her soul but could never have asked Taris to engrave into the marble. She placed her face down to the hot stone and absorbed them, felt them enter her body as if they were living, breathing beings. Her eyes fixed on the words, she mouthed them as she read them again:
Entombed and sent by fire to God, here rests Hayley.
Daughter of Kalin of the House of Bhalthair,
In noble sacrifice, she did give her body,
For the prosperity of her people.
Kalin turned from the stone, wiping away a tear as she looked at her brother. She threw herself into his arms, burying her face in his neck. He reciprocated her embrace, squeezing his eyes tight and holding her close enough to lift her off her feet.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.” Taris whispered into her tear-soaked hair.
“I know, Taris. I know. You did right by her, and now you have done right by me.” She pulled back, wiping a hand over his brow and down his cheek. “All is forgiven, my brother. All is forgiven.” The wave of relief that washed over him was painfully visible, and she did her best not to cry again. Instead, she offered him a sweet smile, the tips of her fangs peeking out from below her lip. “You gave her your medallion, didn’t you?”
Taris took in a deep breath as he set her back onto the ground. His hands were still around her waist, and he returned the smile. “I did.”
“I would have given her mine.”
“Mine is the crest of the family head. She deserved it.” Taris let go of her waist and grabbed her small hand with his large palm. “Plus, I can always make another one. Now would you come in, have a drink with me? Let her rest?”
Kalin took in a deep breath, and Taris swore he saw the pain in her eyes ease. “Yeah. Let me say good-bye one more time.”
Taris nodded and, with Kalin still in hand, began to walk up the hill toward the tomb. Once there, Kalin leaned in and placed a lingering, hearty kiss on the top of the slab. Taris smiled at the beauty of the gesture, but something at the corner of the tomb caught his eye. He whipped his head in the direction of a flapping sound and uttered a curse as he walked toward it.
“What is it?” Kalin looked up.
“Shit. You’re going to hate this, but I have to move the stone again. There’s a newspaper stuck between the slab and the edge of the tomb.”
“Just jerk it out. It’s paper.”
Taris let out a huff, but given the circumstances, he knew better than to argue. Instead, he walked over to the offending press piece and wrapped his large hands around it. The gusty wind must have blown it in while he was sliding the lid into place. He had been too focused on Kalin to pay attention to anything else at the time. The only problem now was that the rain teasing the air had made the paper turn into more of a damp rag than a brittle piece of nothing. Taris gave it a jerk, and it ripped, leaving a bare fringe of it sticking out of the stone seal. The force of the tear and the slippery earth sent him tumbling to the ground. He landed flat on his ass with a loud smack. He lost his grip on the piece of paper, and it floated up into the air, falling back to him in a graceful, careless wave. He heard Kalin snicker but
quickly cover it up.
“I would tell you not to laugh, but it would probably do both of us some good, so I’m going to let it ride, just this once.”
Kalin let out her laugh, and it rang through the air. She doubled over, holding onto her stomach, and the joyful sound continued to flood out of her.
Her laughter was contagious, and Taris could not stop himself from busting out in a deep, husky chuckle himself. He gave himself up to it and let his torso fall back onto the ground. His long, mahogany hair was wet from the mud now, but he didn’t care. He needed the release the laughter gave him. Thank God.
“Okay, I’m getting up now, and after I shower, we’re going to get drunk.” He pushed himself up, gripping the piece of newspaper that had fallen to his chest.
“Sounds like a perfect plan if ever I heard one.”
When Taris was finally on his feet, he rushed back over to Kalin’s side. With one hand, he began to crush the remnants of the newspaper but stopped as he glanced down and saw the headline. Scanning the following story, he began to shake. His normally tanned skin went pale. His eyes popped open as far as they could go. From beside him, Kalin grew rigid.
“What is it?”
He couldn’t believe his eyes. All at once, the words that Hayley had spoken to him the minute before she drew her last breath came flooding back, and his mind began to race. He turned to look at the stone and then looked back at the paper.
“I will save you,” he whispered.
“What?”
“Kalin, go in the house. Turn on the TV. Find some show called Maven Jenson Prime Time. Please, just go do it—now!”
“Wait, Taris, what’s going on?”
Taris was already running ahead of her, leaving her standing on the hill as he moved as fast as his legs could carry him. He didn’t bother to answer. He only had fifteen minutes before the show started, and he had to see it. He had to make sure it wasn’t a figment of his imagination.
I will save you, she had said.
In fifteen minutes, he would know if that was possible.
* * *
Minutes later, Taris ran into the den. He barely had time to get his jeans on. Kalin heard his bare feet sliding on the floor as he ran through the house. He didn’t bother to walk around the couch. With his T-shirt halfway on, he leapt over the back of the sectional leather sofa and almost landed on his sister, who was still in her taffeta mourning gown. His breath was labored, and he was fighting with his white cotton shirt, cursing it, when he saw it was on backward.
“Screw this.” He balled it up and threw it back toward the bar. On its way down to the floor, it somehow managed to loop around the neck of a vodka bottle and sent it shattering to the hardwood. The crashing sound didn’t even faze him. He simply stared at the TV.
Kalin glanced behind her and cut her eyes at him.
“Taris! That was the Belvedere!”
“And?” He shrugged his shoulders, not looking at her. His knees began to bounce nervously.
“And it’s expensive! I happen to like Belvedere. And look at your arm!”
Taris looked down at his scarred forearm. His left forearm was a ladder of white horizontal scars that led from his wrist to the crook of his elbow. Before last night, there were fourteen. The fifteenth was thick and deep and directly over the vein in the crease of his arm.
“I’ll get you another bottle when the show is over,” Taris muttered. “And you knew I was going to bleed for her, so why does it shock you? Just do me a favor and,” he held a long finger up to his lips, “shhhh!”
Kalin leaned back on the sofa, crossed her arms, and rolled her eyes when the campy theme music for the television show came on.
“Okay, you care to tell me why we’re watching this?”
“I like this show.” Taris’ voice was distant and focused. To stop the nervous twitching in his legs, he leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. His fingers laced together and met his lips.
“I call it bullshit.”
“Such nasty language for such a pretty girl. Just shut up and watch, okay?”
Kalin muttered to herself as she flopped against the back of the leather couch. She lifted her legs and brought her boots down onto the coffee table. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Taris glance toward her and then quickly shift his focus back to the television.
The theme music for the show faded out, and a beautiful, blonde woman appeared on the screen. Her skin was flawless and her smile perfect. She oozed confidence.
“Good evening, America. I’m Maven Jenson, and you’re watching Prime Time.”
The woman shifted in her chair, tilting herself toward another camera. As it closed in on her, the Luminaire smile faded and was replaced by a serious look.
“Every year, hundreds of thousands of men, women, and children across the nation depend on organ donations to survive. From kidney failure to liver cancer, and many diseases in between, families pray for the day when their loved ones will be the lucky recipient of a donor organ, because with those organs comes the chance to live again. But that opportunity comes at a heavy price. Transplant recipients face a lifetime of antirejection medications to keep their bodies from rebelling against the very thing giving them a second chance. Young women are unable to have children because of the plethora of medicines coursing through their bodies on a daily basis. But what if, through the miracle of modern science, daily rejection medication regimens were a thing of the past? What if there was a simple shot that allowed recipients’ bodies to accept the donated organ indefinitely?”
The TV blonde shifted again, turning even more to the right.
“Taris,” Kalin mumbled. “Did she just say what I think she said?”
“Yeah, she did. Now shhhh!”
The blonde continued. “I am joined today by Dr. Sarah Bridgeman, a senior medical researcher from our very own St. Brigid’s Hospital, located here in the gorgeous city of Asheville. She, along with her research partner, Dr. Nicholas Patton, has developed what they believe to be the miracle treatment that transplant recipients have been waiting for. Dr. Bridgeman, thank you for joining me here this evening.”
There was a collective inhale as the camera panned out and revealed the nervous brunette sitting in the guest chair.
“How did you know about this?” Kalin whispered.
Taris leaned back and withdrew a scrap of newspaper from his pocket. Without breaking his gaze from the television, he held it out to her. Kalin unfurled it, and as she read, her eyes went wide with shock.
“Hayley told me,” he said. “Now shhhh!”
They watched the interview, all five minutes of it, before it all exploded into a colossal display of ego and foul mouth. Taris couldn’t blame the doctor for her outburst, though. Maven Jenson had a reputation for being less than cordial to her guests. He picked up the remote and hit the rewind button on the DVR. He watched the interview three more times.
The miracle they had prayed for, bled for, and wept for, was literally just a short ride away. From their quiet estate on the outskirts of Asheville, they could reach St. Brigid’s in less than twenty minutes.
“Thank God,” Kalin whispered.
“No. Thank Hayley.” Taris turned off the television, not even trying to hide the smile on his face. He ran the tip of his tongue over the sharp tip of one of his fangs. “And thank Sarah Bridgeman.”
“God, Taris. You have to thank God first.”
“Yeah, I know. That whole working in mysterious ways thing.” He glanced up at the ceiling with genuine reverence. “Thank you,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment.
Looking back down at Kalin, he could see that, with the new blissful news setting her at ease, sleep was finally beginning to take hold of her. “Get some sleep. The next few days are going to be hell.”
“You are going to see her, aren’t you?”
“Of course,” he turned toward her, “but I have to plan first. I will go see her tomorrow evening. It gives me time
to get shit straight here and for the circus to die down over that interview.”
Taris leaned down and kissed Kalin’s forehead before she turned and staggered out to the hallway. When he was sure she was safely in her room, he sauntered over to the bar, kicking his vodka-soaked T-shirt and the shards of a broken bottle out of the way with the ball of his foot. He grabbed a brand new bottle of Johnnie Blue from the shelf and twisted off the cap, gulping down several fiery swallows before setting it on the counter. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes.
“Well, Dr. Sarah Bridgeman,” he muttered into the empty room, “wait ’til you see the project we have for you.”
Chapter 5
“Bane!”
Morrigan was lying in her bed, trying to do several things at once. One was calling Bane. Two was trying to book transatlantic flights on a moment’s notice. Three was making the horrid movements going on beneath her sheets stop.
“Bane!” She slammed her cellphone shut and leaned back against her gigantic, intricately carved headboard. The satin sheets hit her waist, baring her perfectly round breasts and her slim shoulders to the open air. Her irritation was reaching its zenith, and she lifted back the edge of the sheet, peering down. “If you’re not going to do it right, then don’t do it at all!”
“Feathery hell, woman, what do you want?”
Bane strolled into the room, closing his purple velvet robe over his large, hard, and obviously naked body. He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled out a black cigarette from his pocket. With a whiz of his Zippo, he set it burning, its crackle filling the space between them. Morrigan sat up, the small amount of satin that covered her now falling below her navel.
“First of all, don’t talk to me like that. Second of all, I need you to start packing.”
“Packing?” he asked as he blew out more smoke. “Why on earth?”
Chaos and Moonlight (Order of the Nines Book 1) Page 4
