by Tessa Dawn
Not hardly.
In the center of the circle, on the middle level—the level which they were now on—there was a series of four intersecting chambers, all four linked like Olympic rings: the council hall, a snake pit, a breeding and birthing room, and a torture chamber that also served as a courthouse. What the hell? Did these bastards follow some rule of law amongst themselves? Marquis found it hard to fathom as the Dark Ones didn’t possess a soul or a conscience, but apparently, they possessed a powerful need for organization.
He continued to study the colony.
There were hundreds of halls leading out from the center four chambers like the spokes of a wheel, each spoke ultimately leading to a private lair before breaking off into a suite of ten rooms, five on each side, as they went along. Families lived in “spoked” clusters, in thousands of lairs.
Linked to Marquis’s mind, Ramsey, Julien, and Nachari gasped: One-hundred halls bearing five rooms along either side, with one large lair at the end, meant there were at least eleven-hundred lairs on the main floor of the colony. Surely, they couldn’t all be filled.
Holy hell! Ramsey exclaimed.
Marquis let out a deep breath and tried to concentrate. No, they weren’t all lairs. Two of the ten rooms in each hall—or along each spoke—were set aside for other purposes. Some were used for storage. Others were wood shops, weapons caches, or nurseries. You name it, they had it. Marquis recoiled at the sight of human slave quarters, both sex-slaves and blood-slaves. As he looked closer, he saw that, under special circumstances, they even restrained and punished each other in ritualistic stations.
He cleared his mind and studied the second level. There were no lairs up there, but the evil ones had built a congregational hall, several teaching and sports facilities, sparring quarters, a library, and several laboratories for the practice of black magic.
He had never felt so foolish in all of his life.
Why had they just assumed that the descendants of Jaegar were less intelligent, less driven—less sophisticated—than the descendants of Jadon? Just because they were evil?
He dipped down to the lower levels. The nerve center of the colony was held below: surveillances centers, security equipment, generators, electrical grids, and anything else needed to keep the colony functioning smoothly. With a newfound respect, he analyzed the flow of the entire structure, calculating what they would have to do to move around undetected.
He noted that the inner, outer, and center cross-sections of the wheel were dissected by circular hallways, passages that wound around the entire circumference of the colony. And there were exit-entrance points on all three levels at the outer and inner four-directions. As they had entered from the south—on the main level at the inner-most cross-section of the wheel—they would find Salvatore’s lair at the far end of a hall just to the east, along the farthest, outer cross-section.
Marquis nodded, satisfied, and then he gave the command to finish the guards. Ramsey stepped forward, grasped the older male by a fistful of his black-and-crimson hair, and proceeded to slowly slice off his head with a serrated dagger.
Nachari stepped back to avoid the spurting blood and held out his sickle, frowning. One swipe, my friend. Is all that really necessary?
Ramsey cocked his head to the side and shrugged, waving off the sickle. He stood up, now holding the dislodged head in his hand.
We need to incinerate that, Julien pointed out to Marquis, or he could still come back...albeit, only with some serious assistance.
Very serious assistance, Nachari added.
Marquis shook his head. We can’t risk making fire or drawing the amount of energy needed to incinerate it with electricity. He started to look around for an alternative, but he was brought up short by a splintering crack, the Dark One’s head exploding against the limestone wall. Ramsey drew the head back a second time and flung it twice as hard, splintering what little remained into a thousand pieces of cranial…slop.
If they can put that back together, the ruthless vampire spat, the male deserves to live. He brushed a piece of bloody cartilage off his shoulder and snorted.
Nachari looked down at his filthy, slop-spattered cloak. Thanks, Ramsey.
The sentinel proceeded to dispatch and destroy the head of the second guard in the same manner, as well as removing both hearts from their chests, before they continued on. That’s about as good as I can do without risking detection, he said, frowning. No doubt, he would have preferred to leave nothing but a pile of ash in his wake.
What about the bodies...the remains? Julien asked. We’ve got quite a ways to go; I would hate to get caught this early.
Marquis nodded and gestured toward a door just inside an intersecting hall. Put them in there.
Julien and Ramsey nodded, each hefting a corpse as if it weighed no more than a sack of potatoes, Ramsey carrying the younger male’s corpse in two pieces while Nachari carefully placed his hands on the hilt of his sword and stood just outside the door. Marquis took Julien’s M4-carbine from the inside of the sentinel’s jacket and pointed it toward the door, giving Nachari a brisk nod.
With his sword drawn and in hand, Nachari kicked open the door. As it swung fully open, he and Marquis flew inside first, their eyes quickly sweeping the room for enemies.
Holy mother of Lyra.
Marquis barely managed to pull back on his trigger finger—to keep from lighting up the chamber—as his eyes took inventory of the room. Julien and Ramsey snarled as they dropped the headless, heartless bodies in a heap on the floor.
Their collective mouths fell open.
They were standing in the middle of a nursery, surrounded by at least fifty-cribs, each one filled with a living infant: an infant with crimson-and-black banded hair.
A human female was standing in the center of the cribs, shaking like a leaf. She appeared to be only hours away from death’s door. Along the far side of the room was another female—younger, healthier—but she was manacled to the wall with thick, heavy chains attached to her feet and arms.
Marquis motioned for Ramsey to shut the door behind them while he checked for security cameras. Although the warriors were still technically invisible, the sight of a door suddenly splintering open—followed by a couple of mutilated bodies magically appearing, then piling on the floor—wasn’t exactly business as usual.
Marquis noticed one eye-cam in each corner and quickly sent a blast of blue electricity into all four devices, short-circuiting the wires, hopefully, before anyone had a chance to see them.
What do you want us to do? Nachari asked.
Marquis frowned. He had come for Ciopori, and he wasn’t leaving without her. These humans were an unwanted complication. He sighed. Check the females.
As Nachari approached the sickly woman standing in the middle of the room, she began to shake so badly she threw up. Her feet were stationary, frozen to the floor in terror, and she was gazing, stupefied, at the pile of dead vampire parts the warriors had dragged in from the hall. Undoubtedly, her spirit could sense the presence of the living males around her, but her eyes saw nothing. Nachari waved his hand, paralyzing the vocal cords of both females to keep them from crying out, and then he slowly shimmered into view, projecting his appearance to the terrified woman.
She staggered back, releasing a silent cry.
“Are you okay?” Nachari whispered as she once again spilled her guts onto the floor. He released her vocal cords so she could answer.
Well now, that was a stupid question, Marquis quipped, quickly growing impatient with his little brother’s empathy.
The female shook her head furiously, and Nachari held up both hands. He put his fingers over his mouth as he stepped closer. “Shhh. I’m not going to hurt you.”
She shook her head even more vigorously and began to cry. Frustrated, she finally opened her mouth.
Nachari grimaced. Marquis, they’ve cut out her tongue.
Marquis shut his eyes. This wasn’t good. This woman was too far gone to save w
ithout Kagen’s help, and too sickly to bring with them.
Blanching, the female placed her hand over her womb and glared at Nachari.
“You’re pregnant?” he asked.
Marquis held his breath, knowing exactly what that would mean, remembering Dalia and Joelle…
The woman shook her head. Look.
She was trying to communicate telepathically.
Marquis leaned forward. Nachari stepped back.
You can read my thoughts, right? The woman’s psychic voice was quivering but clear.
Marquis watched as Nachari nodded in the affirmative, all of the males listening intently.
Weeping, the woman repeated, Look inside of me.
While vampires did possess extraordinary talents, x-ray vision wasn’t one of them. However, they could scan a body for health or disease, much like an ultra-sound used sonar waves to create images. In addition, all of the males possessed the innate ability to read the exact phases of a female’s reproductive cycle.
Marquis nodded his consent, and Nachari began to scan the woman’s womb, projecting the information to the other warriors as he examined her internal structure.
He stopped suddenly and dropped his head, out of propriety or pity, Marquis wasn’t sure: The human’s insides were a virtual wasteland, littered with maggots, cancer, and worms. In fact, the only reason she was still alive was because the Dark Ones were using repeated injections of venom to keep her that way—no doubt, a desperately cruel attempt to keep themselves from raping her. If her womb was ruined, it could hardly be used to create life, which meant the female could take care of the babies a little longer.
The human slowly nodded as if she understood what the males were thinking. Kill me, she pleaded, forcing herself to take a step toward Nachari. Please, don’t leave me here like this...with them.
Nachari looked over his shoulder to measure Marquis’s eyes.
Marquis slowly exhaled, then nodded. Do it.
The female was beyond human medicine, and the amount of venom she would require to repair her rotting organs was too great a risk: They would have to turn her Vampyr, which meant she would have to willingly relinquish her soul. No one but one’s destiny could safely be converted without jeopardizing their eternal being.
Nachari turned back to face her and slowly inclined his head. He mouthed the word, Yes.
Despite her resolve, her courage faltered, and her body began to sway.
“It won’t hurt,” Nachari whispered, reaching out to steady her by her elbow.
Wait. She held up her hand. Maryann.
“Who?” Nachari asked.
She pointed to the young female shackled to the wall at the back of the room. They just brought her in last night. She hasn’t been raped or...ruined yet. Take her with you, please. Or kill her, too.
Marquis snarled, but he gestured toward Ramsey, who immediately went to work on the girl’s chains as Nachari stepped up to the dying female. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
She nodded, trying desperately to stop her trembling. The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…
Nachari winced as he pulled her to him. His six-foot, two-inch frame towered above her. He cupped her face in his hands with exquisite gentleness.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters… She was almost in a full-fledged panic now.
Those cursed bastards! Marquis knew this was not easy for Nachari, but to his little brother’s credit, the wizard showed no visible signs of emotion as he released one of his hands from beneath her chin and placed it on the top of her head.
He restoreth my soul…
Nachari twisted—quick and hard—in opposite directions, instantly snapping the woman’s neck, gently lowering her body to the floor.
Marquis pointed to a closet in the back of the room. Put her in there with the other bodies, and let’s go! I had to use a substantial surge of energy to take out the cameras; we have no time to waste. Ramsey, do you have the other female?
Ramsey turned around and held up the chains, indicating that the female was free. Her eyes were as wide as saucers, and she, too, was frozen in place like a statue, clearly in a state of shock.
Marquis shook his head. I can’t afford to have you carry her, Ramsey. You must be free to fight. He frowned. The woman will unnecessarily slow us down, and as for placing her in a trance, Zombies don’t travel well. He snorted. Leave her. His decision was pragmatic. Gag her so she doesn’t scream and—
Wait, Nachari said.
He walked across the room and took her face in his hands, staring deep into her terrified eyes. And then he began to softly chant a rhythmic series of words in Latin. As his eyes dimmed to a subtle shade of green, his voice took on a sultry lilt, like water trickling down a river. All at once, the female stood up straight, flashed a serene smile, and gently took the wizard’s hand.
Enchantment spell, he explained. She’s fully alert. She’ll follow on her own, and she’ll obey willingly.
Marquis nodded. Very well. He paused to survey the room one more time and frowned.
Are you thinking what I’m thinking? Ramsey asked.
I’m thinking I wish like hell we could use fire, Marquis grumbled.
To take out the infants?
Yes.
There’s always the old fashioned way…
Do it, Marquis ordered. Quickly.
Ramsey turned to the other males. Snap the necks, remove the heads, and stake the hearts. He broke off a piece of wood from one of the crib spindles and demonstrated with the infant closest to him.
The warriors nodded and immediately went to work, destroying the children of their enemies. Although the babies howled and hissed, flailed their arms and legs in protest and desperation, there was no sympathy to play upon. Evil was evil, at any age, and the sons of Jadon were ruthless.
Marquis tucked Julien’s M4-carbine away for safe keeping and went to work with the rest of them. Keep it quiet and make it quick, he reiterated.
In a sudden blur of movement, the vampires picked up the pace, traveling from crib to crib with preternatural speed. The vulgar pop of snapping spines and splintering wood echoed like drum-beats—a gruesome lullaby—as one by one, the dark sons of Jaegar died at their hands.
In less than two minutes, they had slaughtered the entire room and were standing once again by the door, weapons in hand.
Marquis gestured forward. Let’s move out. He looked back at the room. And pray to the gods that our dark brothers don’t find this insult before we find Ciopori.
Ciopori lay perfectly still, not wanting to awaken Salvatore again. She was chained at his side in his large, four-poster bed, her arms shackled above her head, her left ankle shackled to his right, so that she couldn’t even adjust her position without rousing the sinister vampire. She had learned that the hard way—almost getting raped the last time she stirred the monster from his sleep.
It had taken a great deal of pleading and reasoning to get the male to back off, but not before he had siphoned at least a pint of her blood from her carotid artery. Ciopori winced as she recalled the pain; it was nothing like the gentle, erotic pleasure she had felt with Marquis....
Dear gods. Marquis.
How would he ever find her?
She fought back the urge to cry. It certainly wouldn’t help the situation any.
Looking around the room, she continued to scan for something she could use as a weapon. She continued to brainstorm ways to escape. If she could only get to the hallway, she might be able to call out to the gods for assistance…without setting off that cursed orb Salvatore kept beside the bed. The damnable cube was as evil as he was, sensing her every prayer, glowing bright orange every time she even thought to use her magic. She was completely crippled without the ability to call upon the heavens for assistance.
Salvatore stirred, and Ciopori held her breath, remaining perfectly still. Oh, please, go back to sleep, she willed. The cube flashed once. And you, too!
she snarled in her mind, glaring at the abominable thing. She quickly looked away before it tried to vaporize her or something.
Great Cygnus, why had she chosen to go for a leisurely stroll through a dark forest without taking Nachari or one of Napolean’s guards with her? It wasn’t like she didn’t have experience with danger or understand the need to be careful. For the love of heaven, before Jadon had whisked her and Vanya away from their home in Romania, danger was all she had known.
Ciopori sighed and glanced up at the ceiling. She forced her mind back to the present, contemplating how she was going to escape. A subtle breeze brushed her cheek, and she instinctively turned her head in the direction of the cool air.
Salvatore’s lair was air-tight.
There were no windows to welcome the sun, no fresh source of air to break up the damp, musty smell that mixed with the strong scent of incense, constantly burning from the base of a hideous demon statue. Each statue was erected in one of the four directions, an aberration of the original religion.
The liquid blood that ran from each demon’s eyes represented the element of water. The unnatural flames that burnt beneath the stone urns, heating the incense, represented the sacred element of fire. There were ashes—from burned human corpses—scattered about the demons’ clawed feet: a deviant tribute to earth. And the unholy breath that coursed like smoke in and out of the demons’ mouths, as if the statues were actually breathing, paid homage to the element of wind.
The gentle breeze brushed her cheek again, and she blinked, still trying to identify its origin. There was something different about the element: a kind, if not gentle, spirit creating the phenomenon. Whatever it was, it was a sharp contrast to the energy Salvatore Nistor projected, even in his sleep.
The breeze began to take form.
The fingertips of a strong hand brushed her cheek and then traced her arms upward toward the manacles that kept her bound to the head of the bed. Her breath caught as the outline of two mystical hands began to fill in. She watched them grasp the chains in an unyielding grip, tightening until the thick steel simply crumbled into dust beneath their enormous strength.
