In Darkness We Must Abide: The Complete Second Season: Episodes 6-10

by Rhiannon Frater

  Roman would never approve of her showing weakness in front of the vampires he had sworn to help. Though no one had said it aloud, it was very clear that Alisha was Roman’s heir. People were already deferring to her on all the major decisions. The scary and abrupt shift from being Roman’s sister, who was content to support his ambitions and teachings, to taking his place had her nerves in knots.

  Maybe that was why she felt so sick.

  Or maybe it was the human blood she’d consumed.

  A wave of dizziness forced Alisha to close her eyes in an attempt to regain her equilibrium. Bursts of loud noises and confused images filled her mind.

  “Not now. Not now!” she muttered.

  Alisha rubbed her eyelids with the heels of her hands, the surge of mystical energy already eroding her self-control. The power her third eye manifesting built pressure beneath the center of her forehead.

  “No, no, no,” Alisha murmured.

  Stomach roiling, Alisha flattened herself against the wall. This was not the time to be caught in the tumult of a premonition. Shouldn’t the human blood make her stronger? Instead, she felt weak.

  Or was her feebleness on account of the coming vision?

  The maelstrom of her gift gushed over her internal defenses and filled every sense. Alisha was propelled up the stairs, her feet stumbling on the steps. The rapid-fire flashes in her mind left her reeling in their wake. Yet she was able to find her way to the studio before being caught fully by the portent.

  Shoving a fresh canvas onto the easel, she fought against the compulsion to paint.

  This was not the time.

  This was not the place.

  The gift did not obey.

  Wrenching open the paint lids, she splashed some of the liquid over her quivering fingers. The red splatter reminded her of Roman’s blood and how it had sank into her flesh. His essence imbued her, and she needed him desperately to empower her against the compulsion to paint the future.

  “Roman, help me,” she whispered.

  It was too late.

  Already, the brush was sweeping across the white expanse. The world around her vanished as the influence of the oracle consumed her.

  Alisha was lost.

  Voices swirled within her mind as her hand moved of its own accord. She was aware of the tears dripping from her chin but was unable to wipe them away. The prophecy within her demanded release into the world through the dabs and swipes of color. It overrode all her senses and desires. It spoke not through her lips, but her fingertips.

  When at last the painting was done, Alisha sagged before the easel in a heap. The paintbrush fell from her stained fingers to clatter against the floor. The smell of the paints was cloying and didn’t hold the comfort it usually did. Exhaustion weighed her limbs, and it was a struggle to lift her hands to rub the tears from her cheeks. Her head was still spinning, so she applied pressure to her temples in an attempt to steady herself.

  Trembling, she feared lifting her eyes and viewing her latest oracle.

  What had she painted?

  Alisha raised her eyes.

  In dramatic detail, the painting depicted Armando clutching Vanora close, his teeth deep in her throat as blood stained her white skin.

  “No!”

  Alisha lashed out, knocking the painting from the easel. It fell to the floor face down with a mushy slap.

  Clenching her hands, Alisha pressed her knuckles against her lips to stifle a scream. A cloud of fear encompassed her, blinding her to all beyond the terrible image depicted by her own hand. Vanora was with Armando, the man destined to kill her, and Alisha had watched them leave. Her instincts had been warning her about Armando since the night before, when Roman had died, and she had been foolish enough to dismiss them.

  “Ms. Socoli?” a voice said from behind her.

  Twisting about, Alisha regarded the blonde security consultant standing in the doorway. Morgan was so tall that Alisha had to crane her neck to gaze at the woman from where she was seated on the floor. “Yes?”

  “You need to come with me,” Morgan said in a hushed voice, her urgency clear. “Right now.”

  Wiping at the vestiges of her tears, Alisha clambered to her feet while taking note of the firearm clenched in one of Morgan’s hands. Decked out in black body armor, the woman resembled a modern day Valkyrie with her great height, blond hair, and intimidating, narrow face. “What’s going on?” The room lurched around her, and Alisha fought the urge to vomit. What was wrong with her?

  Morgan surprised the vampire by gruffly taking hold of Alisha’s arm. “We need to leave immediately. Please come with me.”

  Alisha started to pull away, taken aback by the woman’s brusque manner.

  Blue eyes narrowing, Morgan said in a hiss, “You hired me to protect you. Let me do my job.”

  Relenting, Alisha was hauled out of the art studio and along the hallway away from the main staircase and toward the far end of the wing. Somewhere deep in the house, glass shattered and voices rose in alarm. Morgan broke into a run, dragging Alisha with her. Dizzy, weak, and close to retching, Alisha struggled to match the swift pace of the guard. She hadn’t felt this ill since her human days, and it made her feel utterly helpless.

  Morgan whipped open the door to the narrow servant’s stairway. It was rarely used, and a light film of dust covered the carpeted stairs. Moonlight crept through the high window and cast a gray sheen over the passage. Morgan didn’t flip on the light but hurried down the stairs, half-carrying Alisha. The vampire struggled to keep focused as her mind slid into the fuzzy malaise that had already claimed her limbs. By the time they reached the main floor, Alisha’s feet dangled a few inches above the carpet as the tall woman carried her with little effort.

  “What’s wrong with me?” Alisha muttered through numb lips.

  “You’re drugged,” Morgan answered briskly.

  “Drugged?” The word pierced through the thick fog enveloping her mind layer by layer until it fully registered. The fear she had felt when she had seen the result of her premonition blossomed into full terror.

  “Yes, drugged. I put marjoram in all the blood. It doesn’t affect vampires, but it does affect witches,” Morgan answered, sounding both proud and nervous. “I wasn’t sure it would work on you since you’re a vampire now, but I guess your witch heritage is intact.”

  Alisha wanted to fight to escape, but her limbs hung limply. The scream building inside her was trapped in her throat.

  Morgan cracked the door to the hallway and cautiously pressed an eye to the narrow opening. “We’re clear. Now keep quiet.”

  Alisha’s tongue and lips were numb, unable to utter a sound as she was swept through the doorway and into the darkened corridor. The world spun around her, and she gagged. The taste of blood and bile filled her mouth, but she didn’t vomit. It took a few seconds for her muddled brain to register they were nearing the side door. It opened to the rear of the garden.

  The screams erupted somewhere deep in the mansion.

  Tears trickled along the curve of Alisha’s cheeks.

  The purge had arrived.

  Morgan flipped the numerous locks on the door and swung it open. Alisha waited to hear the alarm, then realized the control panel next to the door was dark. The security system was disabled. With one last anxious look over one shoulder, Morgan easily carried Alisha into the night.

  Dark shapes slinked through the garden toward them. Eyelids drooping, Alisha struggled against the drug in her system. She wanted to fight, break free, and flee into the house to help her friends, but all she managed to accomplish was to keep her eyes partway open.

  Dappled moonlight caressed the nude form of a woman walking through the moonlight. Dark hair rippled around her shoulders and fell to her waist. She was long, lean, and graceful, and briefly the image of a wolf slipped through Alisha’s thoughts. When the naked woman drew closer, Alisha saw that some of the dark splotches on her skin were not shadows but drying blood. The woman’s long, slim fin
gers ended in black wolf claws. Sweeping her gaze downward, Alisha saw that the woman’s toes also ended in wicked curves that left deep indentations in the earth.

  “Well done, Morgan,” the woman said, her accent sounding Greek.

  “My Mother,” Morgan intoned reverently, bowing her head.

  Alisha hit the ground with a hard thud. The jarring impact made her teeth snap together, and she tasted her own blood. Unable to do anything other than lay before the wolfen-woman, Alisha realized that she had been betrayed not only by Armando, but most likely by everyone he had brought into her life.

  Tilting her head to gaze at Alisha, the woman’s eyes glinted red. “Do you know who I am?”

  Alisha wanted to scream, but she was now completely immobilized. It took every ounce of her strength and power to keep her eyes open.

  Squatting, the woman placed a clawed hand on the ground. “I am Leto, the She-Wolf. Cursed and blessed by the Gods, I am the first of my kind. I am the Mother of the Sun and Moon. I am the granter of life and death.”

  The earth beneath Alisha was so cold, yet comforting. She wanted to sink into it and sleep until the screaming stopped. Yet she fought against the urge at the thought of her sister in the clutches of Armando.

  “I can feel your strength, Alisha. You want to rise up and fight. But this battle is not yours.” The long, black claws gently raked through Alisha’s hair. Leto smiled, revealing many sharp teeth. “This one belongs to me.”

  Struggling to keep her eyes open, Alisha wondered if her death would be quick and if Vanora would escape Armando. Tears blinded her as she realized Vanora would most likely never know what happened to her older sister.

  Rising, the She-Wolf lifted her face to regard Morgan. “Faithful daughter...”

  Bowing her head, Morgan’s hand tightened on her weapon. “I am ready.”

  “Tonight you enter the Elysian Fields, noble and strong, a child of my blood and loins, favored among the Wolves and Gods.”

  Alisha watched the scene above through her eyelashes, barely clinging to consciousness.

  Leto rested her fingers against Morgan’s neck and leaned forward to press a kiss to both cheeks. The garden rippled around Alisha as the forms of massive wolf-like creatures emerged to watch the proceedings. Seconds later, hot blood spilled onto Alisha as Morgan toppled to the ground, her throat torn out.

  As one, the werewolves howled.

  “Into the house!” Leto cried out.

  The coming blackness swallowed the edges of Alisha’s vision. Through the murky-tinged frame of her sight, Alisha witnessed the spark of life fade from Morgan’s eyes. Was this to be her fate? The fate of all her friends? The fate of her beloved sister?

  There was no answer.

  Alisha’s eyes closed, and she was lost to the dark.

  * * *

  The Harley rumbled beneath Sheila and Alexander as it came to a halt at the closed front gates. Puffs of exhaust filled the air to mingle with the heavy, frosty mist coating the ground. The acrid reek overwhelmed the ozone smell of a coming storm. Sleet was expected to fall during the night, which was just making things all the more difficult.

  “Name?” a guard asked, emerging from the gatehouse. The iPad in his hands glowed in the darkness.

  “Sheila and Alexander,” she answered, annoyance leaking into her words.

  Sheila wasn’t used to human security guards patrolling the Socoli Estate and was a little annoyed that she had to wait at the gate to be cleared for entry. Leaving an hour earlier had been much easier, but now the guards were in full control of the area. Sheila could easily scale the fence and overpower the massive guard and his skinnier cohort, but Alisha had hired the security team so she reluctantly resisted the urge. The Socoli mansion was still Alisha’s home, and that fact deserved respect. Of course, the coming purge wouldn’t extend any such sentiment toward Alisha’s haven. The human guards would likely die as soon as the enemy vampires breeched the wall. In essence, Alisha had hired these people to die even if they were highly trained professionals. Alisha had yet to fully see the true terrible wrath and violence of the vampire race. Sadly, Sheila’s friend would most likely bear witness to it very, very soon.

  “We were just here,” she said with irritation to the guard as his gaze flicked from their faces to the tablet.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the guard on the other side of the gate answered. “Just doing my job.”

  Tossing an annoyed look over her shoulder at Alexander, Sheila tightened her grip on the handlebars of the Harley. Her lover slightly shrugged, eyes fastened squarely on the mansion ahead. The tense lines of his body spoke volumes. Alexander was ready for battle.

  The guard with the shoulders of a linebacker finally seemed satisfied as he compared her appearance to whatever information was contained on the tablet. He retreated into the small guardhouse that had never been used in all the years she’d been coming to the mansion. The gates clanked loudly as they unlocked then slid open.

  Sheila gunned the Harley and sped along the gravel drive toward the mansion. Light spilled out of all the windows, and a security van sat near the front entrance. Her keen eyesight detected movement along the walls and near the mausoleum, and her vampire senses told her that those shapes were human. That meant the vampires were all tucked into the mansion.

  “I’m beginning to realize what a bad idea this was,” Sheila grunted. “All grouped together like this...Roman’s faithful.”

  Alexander’s fingers lightly pressed into her waist.

  They’d been together for so long, each tiny movement he made spoke volumes to her. This touch urged her to be calm yet acknowledged her concern. Sheila wasn’t sure if there was some sort of telepathy between them, but Alexander’s handwritten notes and text messages indicated she always read him correctly. Maybe their ability to silently converse was born of all their years together. Alexander pressed a soft kiss to the nape of her neck while his fingers lightly squeezed her waist. It was a reassuring gesture, and a sudden surge of emotion made it difficult to focus. They had endured so much to find peace in their lives, and now they were at the cusp of war.

  “I say we grab Alisha and go.” Sheila brought the bike to an abrupt stop, scattering bits of gravel that pinged off the front steps.

  Alexander nodded, slipping off Harley. Tall, slim, and long haired, the male vampire was sometimes regarded as effeminate and weak by their enemies. What those foolish people didn’t realize was that beneath his clothes, Alexander was all lean muscle with scars from his mortal battles still covering his flesh. He’d had a hard life as a human, which resulted in him becoming a brutal fighter despite his poet heart. Alexander’s transformation into a vampire had been difficult, and he had barely survived. The scars, his ruined throat, and pale eyes were all indicators of how close he had come to not passing over. Sheila couldn’t imagine her life without him. She didn’t want to consider it now. To lose him would render her life meaningless. Maybe they should just go now while there was still time to escape.

  As if sensing her thoughts, Alexander shook his head, then gestured toward the mansion.

  He was right. They couldn’t abandon Alisha and the others.

  Sheila straightened her leather coat and dismounted the bike. Her fingers lingered on the handlebar for a moment, and then she reluctantly let it go. They had given their word, and they would not abandon Alisha and the others in their time of need.

  The front door was locked, so Alisha knocked. Several seconds later, a human guard allowed them entry. The foyer was empty, and voices sounded from deep inside the house. The heels of their motorcycle boots clicking against the floor, Sheila and Alexander sought out the remainder of Roman’s faithful vampires.

  The family room was crammed with people seated on the leather couches, chairs, and even on the floor. Some were paying rapt attention to the massive television while others talked on their phones or typed text messages. The images on the television screen elicited a shiver that crept down Sheila’s spine.
Alexander wrapped his arm around her shoulders to comfort her as he regarded the news report with a somber look upon his face. A camera crew in a news helicopter streamed a live feed of multiple fires that dotted the massive skyline of Houston.

  “Houston is burning,” Sheila whispered.

  Alexander nodded grimly.

  Angel tapped Sheila’s shoulder to get her attention.

  Sheila glanced toward the television. “The purge?”

  “All over Houston, Sheila. Hundreds of fires in houses, apartment buildings, businesses, cars...” Angel lifted his phone. “We can’t reach a lot of our people. It’s bad, Sheila.”

  “We should go,” Tracy said from where she and Ben sat together on a loveseat. A stake was in her hand, and she was clad for battle in thick jeans, heavy boots, and matching leather vest and jacket.

  Ben lifted his dark eyes toward Sheila and Alexander. “We can’t fight this...”

  The attention of the vampires clustered in the room shifted toward Sheila almost instantly. They wanted her reassurance, but she couldn’t give that to them.

  “I need to speak to Alisha. Where is she?”

  “I saw her go upstairs,” Zachary said from across the room. As usual, he was hanging around Emily. The poor guy was smitten with the young woman with the delicate face and raven hair. Sheila strongly suspected the attraction didn’t go both ways, but Emily never actually rebuffed him.

  “Alone?” Sheila was starting to really regret not having stayed behind earlier in the evening. Alexander should have taken Armando and Vanora. Roman’s vampires were so ill equipped to deal with what was coming for them. She was also starting to feel uneasy about leaving Vanora behind with Armando. Sheila didn’t want to admit it, but she was beginning to seriously wonder about Armando’s intentions. He had brought Carlotta into the life of the Socolis, and it was Carlotta’s Master who was going to kill them all.