Scarlet Night: The Complete Trilogy

by Megan J. Parker

  “Your blue-ness,” he grinned.

  She chuckled and teasingly slapped his arm, “no, really, what is on your mind?”

  “How can you expect me to even be able to speak, let alone think after that?” Isaac arched his eyebrow down at her, “what’s on your mind?”

  “Honestly? I’m hoping we find Serena soon…” Zoey bit her lip, thinking about her missing best friend.

  Not long after she’d first met Serena, the two of them had bonded; forming a nearly sibling relationship. This bond, though having nothing to do with their shared auric abilities, was tight enough to give them insight to one another’s wellbeing, and she knew then that her friend needed her just as much as she needed Serena.

  “I know. I’m worried about Zane too in that regard, I mean, I don’t know much about him,” Isaac sighed. “But, I’m worried about how he’s taking this whole kidnapping thing.”

  Zoey nodded slowly, “I know he can seem scary at times, especially in the past considering what his anger brought out,” she paused for a moment. “But, Zane is like a brother to me and despite all the appearances he puts up, he is truly a passionate and loyal comrade. He is loyal to the Vailean clan.”

  “I see…” Isaac frowned, “But what do you think he’s feeling about losing the curse?”

  “I’m a bit worried about that honestly,” she sighed, “I mean, on the one hand I do sense a great deal of relief, but on the other…” she shook her head. “I sense a growing concern for how he’s feeling about not being able to handle these new threats. That he isn’t strong enough without Maledictus serving as some sort of ace in the hole.”

  Isaac narrowed his eyes at that and looked over, “You mean he feels inadequate without Maledictus?”

  “Though it was an awful curse, Maledictus’ strength and power were, in many ways, a safety net for Zane. Now that that strength and power are gone, he’s afraid—though I know he’ll never admit it—that he might not be able to handle things on his own. I mean, I…” Zoey paused, looking away. “We need to go,” she sighed, using her aura to retrieve a fresh set of clothes for the two of them from the drawers.

  As they rushed out the door and down the hall, the two spotted Zane walking into the community room along with a redheaded woman; a sang.

  “Zane? Who’s this?” Zoey asked, nodding a quick greeting to the newcomer standing beside him.

  The woman’s aura, originally filled with an awed intrigue, shifted to nervous as Zoey and Isaac both approached them, and she moved closer to Zane. Narrowing her eyes at this, Zoey watched the woman, unsettled by something about the way she moved, before returning her focus to Zane.

  Zane bit his lip, his aura shifting with unnerved movements as the newcomer came in close to him. “This is Celine,” he finally confessed, “my… well, we were engaged a long time ago. She heard that the Maledictus curse had been lifted and came to town to see if it was true.”

  “Engaged? You mean the fiancé that Maledi—” Zoey’s eyes widened as she looked back to the woman, “So she isn’t dead.” Zoey forced a smile, hoping to not come off as rude during such an uncomfortable reunion. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Celine. I’m glad to hear that you’re alive and well,” Zoey started to offer her hand for a more formal greeting, but decided against it when she noticed the nervousness growing in her aura. Though curious about this, she decided not to pry out of respect for Zane.

  “Yea, I guess she got away from Maledictus before… well, before he could do what he’s known for,” Zane nodded, and Zoey could see he was forcing the words and gestures just so he could be rid of the need to do so. “Anyway, she doesn’t have anywhere to stay, so I figured I’d offer her a room here until she gets back on her feet.”

  “That was nice of you,” Zoey nodded before clearing her throat. “So, any progress on Serena’s whereabouts?”

  Zane shook his head, “No. I got a little sidetracked while I was out and…” He glowered, “I will find her, though. I need to. She’s in danger out there with him, Zoe, you know that.”

  “I know,” she nodded, setting a hand on his shoulder—sensing a swell in the newcomer’s aura as she did—and offered him a reassuring smile. “We have to have hope and just stay focused. In the meantime we just have to keep a level head on our shoulders and not get distracted.”

  “I would never let anything distract me from this,” Zane looked into Zoey’s eyes and she smiled, seeing that Zane wasn’t in any way deterred from his goals due to the Celine situation. “Nothing will stop me from finding her.”

  “Good! I’ll continue keeping an eye on all the city’s public camera networks and the police broadcasts to try and find any clues,” Zoey smiled.

  “Sounds like a plan. I’m going to go back out there while there’s still some time until sunup,” Zane’s voice had shifted back to his serious, not forced tone. “Have someone show Celine to her room and call me if you find anythi—”

  “I’ll go with you,” Celine suddenly offered, closing the distance between them yet again. Biting her lip, her aura shifting with embarrassment as she realized how her suddenness had come off, she cleared her throat, “P-please, Zane. I… I want to help you. If this girl—”

  “Serena!” Zane narrowed his eyes at her.

  “R-right. Serena. If this Serena means so much to you, then I want to help you find her.” Celine blushed and let her gaze shift between Zane and Zoey. “It’s… it’s the least I can do…”

  Zane sighed and shook his head, his aura shifting as he abandoned any cruel-worded rejections he’d wanted to respond with. “Do what you want. Just don’t get in the way. Zoey,” he turned back towards his friend, “if anything—and I do mean anything—turns up on any of the frequencies, don’t hesitate to call me.”

  “Will do,” Zoey went to turn towards the clan’s resource room, spotting Isaac a few paces back. As she walked by, he followed and fell into a pace beside her as she made her way to the surveillance room.

  “You were awful quiet back there,” she nudged him, smirking. “You shy?”

  “I don’t like strange vampires,” he confessed.

  “Yea, and she was plenty strange, wasn’t she?” Zoey chuckled, shaking her head. While this Celine seemed to be more of a nuisance than a danger, she knew that she’d have to keep an extra eye on her.

  Something in her gut told her that something wasn’t right with her sudden appearance.

  “You alright?” Isaac asked, tilting his head.

  “Yea, I’m fine. I was just thinking about what else I could do to search for Serena. I feel like I’m not doing enough.” Zoey bit her lip and shook her head before realizing that Isaac was beginning to look nervous. “It’s alright, baby, I’m just in business-mode, you know? I’m going to be pretty wrapped up on the computers—boring stuff—if you want to wait for me in our room you can.” She smiled and nudged him, “Without me to complain about the weak plot lines, you could watch your cartoons in peace.”

  “No, I’d rather stay with you,” Isaac nodded, taking her hand in his. “While all that technological stuff still bugs me, I don’t want to leave you alone. And if I can help find Serena, I’d rather do that than watch cartoons,” he nudged her back, “besides, I like it when you point out stuff like that, it reminds me how smart you are.”

  Zoey blushed at that, “Like you need a reminder.”

  5

  (un) Dead Heart

  ~893Ad~

  ~ARMENIAN OUTSKIRTS; JUST OUTSIDE OF DVIN~

  ~PALACE OF MELEILZSI SHAYKH NAQSHBAND~

  Meieilzsi Shaykh Naqshband and Arezoo, unlikely and unconventional as their union might have been, had something special between them; something genuine.

  Something that compelled Meleilzsi Shaykh Naqshband to do the unthinkable…

  In his mortal life, the powerful master had sired no children—produced no heirs to his conquests—out of spite and greed. To him, allowing a rightful successor to his glory was an acknowledgement that his goals for
immortality might fail, and he felt that any such sign of doubt was, even if only to himself, a weakness that could fester and spread like an infection. So when the night finally came that he’d sent all of his servants away and barricaded himself deep into the cold, dry depths of his ceremony hall, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he’d emerge three days later an immortal.

  There were the tales of the life-feeders that scoured the lands at night. Few, if any, had not sat—wide-eyed and awed—and listened to the stories of the legends. And while many put little faith in the tales—tales of beings that wore the shape of men and dragged the young and elderly from their beds to consume their blood and rip the very souls from their hearts, and still others of men who abandoned their human skins to take to the nights as great beasts that consumed all they came across—there was rarely any who took the chance at such encounters. The magi were, for the most part, entrusted with keeping such evil from entering the great cities, and though Meleilzsi Shaykh Naqshband had no interest in repelling such creatures—not while they held so many delectable secrets—it was not his interest to come to them as anything less than their equal.

  Meleilzsi Shaykh Naqshband was far too proud to claim his legacy from any hand that was not his own.

  And so it was that, when he’d grown satisfied with his research and his spells, it was with his own hand that he tore out his heart and allowed his mortal body to fall within the geometric grid he’d drawn for exactly that purpose and die there in the cold, dry depths of his ceremony hall.

  All his work.

  All his hopes.

  All his power.

  All invested with such faith and determination that he’d entrusted everything he was—everything he’d achieved and everything he’d become—to the unquestioned hope that, as he spent his last moments, clutching his own heart within his trembling grasp, he was creating a new beginning rather than simply engineering an end. Forcing the gurgled chants to breach his quivering lips, Meleilzsi Shaykh Naqshband set his heart within a small hammock fashioned of virgin hair that hung just over what was to be his mortal body’s final resting place.

  The fading sight of his heart offering one final, futile pump of spurting life within the dark, woven strands had been a vision of hope.

  Hope…

  Unquestioning, unwavering, and undeniable.

  Meleilzsi Shaykh Naqshband had woken up, though a full day ahead of schedule, and as he found his first breath and, with it, his first pained-yet-victorious shrieks within the empty confines of his ceremony hall, he knew that his hope had held merit. It was with this pride and profound new power coursing through his body that he’d stood and torn his mortal heart from its resting place and took his first bite.

  He’d been feeding on death ever since.

  Those creatures—those monsters—that Meleilzsi Shaykh Naqshband had once seen as something to be envied had become nothing more than animals to him. Everything that was ate something; the lions had their zebras, the peasants had their livestock…

  But all of them—each and every thing that ate of anything else—perished.

  Meleilzsi Shaykh Naqshband, however, had become a Liche; a being empowered by death!

  And if anything was more certain than life, it was death!

  Immortality was his, and he owed all of it to his hope.

  A hope that had returned to him when he’d found Arezoo…

  A hope that he would not be burdened to traverse the path of an unending life alone.

  A hope that, though he had sacrificed any possibility of ever producing a new life—life being the one thing he could not create—he might find a companion in death.

  And so it was that Arezoo, nothing more than a concubine in the eyes of all others within the palace walls, became not only his lover…

  But his apprentice.

  Holding once more to his hope, Meleilzsi Shaykh Naqshband taught Arezoo the ways of death—the energy and possibilities that could be drawn from life’s greatest of mysteries—and shaped her mind and body for the day that she, too, would descend into the cold, dry depths of his ceremony hall and, like him, watch her mortal heart’s last beat and be reborn an immortal.

  Despite all of his aspirations and romances, however, it did not deter Meleilzsi Shaykh Naqshband from finding the time—he was, after all, an immortal with all the time in the world—to take pleasure in the powers he had earned. Nor was the great Liche master without his fair share of rivals.

  Shortly after his rebirth, he’d discovered that the legends and stories were not only all true, but grossly dulled and lacking in the glory they were deserved. Though they were, as the legends described, seemingly human in appearance, the vision his new powers offered him made spotting them within the crowds during his outings as simple as plucking the overripe dates from a proffered bowl. Challenging them, however, proved to be something of a challenge, as, though they were every bit as vicious and powerful as the legends credited them, they were infinitely more cunning. Whether they avoided Meleilzsi Shaykh Naqshband advances out of fear or urge to maintain their secrecy, none seemed willing to face him as anything more than just another predator amidst a sea of prey; an alligator among wildcats…

  Again and again he struggled to challenge one of the immortal creatures whose legends had motivated his unholy metamorphosis, but none were willing to offer him such satisfaction…

  Until the night that the eight-fingered creature declaring itself a son of Sekhmet arrived at the palace gates…

  ~Present day~

  “Still no sign of them. Nothing!” Maledictus leered at Serena, “And you know why? Because your lover-boy is nothing without me! I was everything that made him who he was!”

  “That’s a bold line coming from the freak with a lizard-dick!” Serena scoffed.

  It was the sort of snarky response he’d come to expect from her, but, rather than letting it boil his blood and motivate some violent response—something she seemed to outright revel in despite the obvious torture—he let it slide. There was no point in letting her think that she could keep manipulating him, and he could already see that, despite all her forced boldness, hunger and weakness were beginning to take their toll on her. Her outbursts were less frequent, her fits were less violent and rarely grew strong enough to even awaken the dormant counter-spell, and, more and more, she was flinching at every move he made. She was scared, and, through that fear, he knew he would break her sooner or later.

  He squatted down to her level and offered a wide grin, smirking as she recoiled from the sight.

  It was true that, in the ongoing process of his metamorphosis, he had become something of a visually acquired taste. The majority of his body’s lizard teeth had fallen out—though a few of the more stubborn stragglers remained—and allowed the far-more enticing, needle-like replacements to come in. The bulk of his facial wounds had healed into a network of angry scars that bisected his shifting skin-tone, which had begun to take on the color of burnt flesh. He’d finally succeeded in digging out all seven of his horns, which had grown quickly since and now adorned his skull like an organic crown that stretched nearly half-a-foot above the top of his head, which had recently begun sprouting clumps of platinum-silver hair. His new, bright blue, catlike left eye, contrasted sharply with the paling snakelike right, and he was certain that he’d be shedding it soon enough. In one of his prior visits to Serena, he’d remarked that, like Zane, he now sported a pair of mismatched eyes and asked if she felt any more attracted to him for this reason.

  Somehow, despite having not eaten in some time, her body had found something to vomit.

  The rest of his body was, for the most part, still covered in scales, though portions of his upper torso and shoulders—which had begun to sprout a series of bone-spike protrusions like those that adorned his head—had been stripped in moments of boredom. Though he’d done little to transform his reptilian lower-body—outright adoring his new tail far too much to even consider parting or modifying it—he’d be
gun training himself to walk more upright than his body seemed initially willing. Because of the bulky mass of his tail and the otherwise weak upper-half, he felt naturally inclined to lean forward to accommodate; several times coming to walk on all fours without willing himself to do so, though the reaction he’d earned from Serena on these occasions had been worth it. Despite this, the arched figure—far too reminiscent to the lumbering form of a tyrannosaurus rex or other such relevantly extinct creature—was a major deterrent in his goals of reshaping himself into something far more regal. As an unexpected result of his posture regiment, his chest and shoulders had begun to broaden and his previously smooth, pale abdomen had taken on a more dense and rigid form. While it had not been his intention, the overall effect was not only the desired upright posture he’d strived to achieve, but also a far more muscled and intimidating appearance.

  The entire package proving to be, though an emotional deterrent to his advances, an effective way at drawing out the fear and uncertainty in his future wife.

  So while his appearances weren’t what he wanted them to be just yet, he was perfectly content with the fear they elicited. If nothing else, it was helping him to break Serena’s spirit; bringing her to lose hope in Zane and the others; the only thing that was keeping her resilient to his goals.

  He needed to strip her of that hope…

  And perhaps something else.

  “You seem quite fixated on the subject of my dick, my dear, hollow-headed harlot,” he chided, wetting his newly-grown lips with his forked tongue. “Is that all it takes then? A deep dicking; a sordid affair; a promiscuously casual romp in your loin-garden? Are you really such a simple trollop? Can you really be that much of a stupid slut-cunt? Is that why you’re so insistent that he’s something special? Because of that first night you met us—make no mistake, my air-headed princess, I was there—and you fucked us? Is that all the persuasion your feeble fucking mind needs to create the illusion of this thing you call love?” he chuckled and shook his head, “You stupid cow! Did it even occur to you—do you even remember—that it wasn’t either of us controlling his body when you were riding him? Your loser ex—that brain-fucked ghost you clung so pathetically to!—was controlling his body the entire time! Zane”—he couldn’t help but cackle then—“couldn’t remember that night if I personally tore into his skull and dug for the memory! So is that the moment you feel you felt something between the two of you? ‘Cause I got news for you, bitch: I remember that night all too well; I could send every sopping detail to Penthouse for their gaggle of retards to viciously jerk off to. Then you could feel some romantic sense of obligation to everyone!” He spotted tears welling in the she-vamp’s eyes and, as she tried to turn her head away to hide her face, he caught her by the throat and forced her to look at him. “You fucked me on that night too, you cheap, loose-cunted sack of shit! So, if sex is the only thing that defines romance for you, then you’d better be ready to love me just as fucking much as that loser!”