Deception (Deamhan Chronicles Book 3)

by Morrison, Isaiyan

  Now empty lots dotted where these places used to be. Humans tore down their charred remains to make way for condominiums. They plowed them down as if they tried to wipe away decades of Deamhan violence and they blamed it all on gang-related activities. Little did they know.

  After following Lambert’s vague directions, Anastasia found herself in an unfamiliar neighborhood. New homes lined the streets, some vacant and others occupied. She heard human conversations from within these walls; yet one home, on her left and at the end of the block, brought silence. She treaded slowly down the street, approaching the tan fiber-board siding dwelling with a brick foundation. She stopped in front and eyed the two-story house. A light illuminated from the top, left window. The grass was neatly cut. Brown edging lined the front part of the home, filled with beautiful yellow and white perennials. A small green bird house hung from a tall tree in the front yard. She climbed the front steps and approached the wooden door. A dark rubber coir mat welcomed her. This home looked so well kept that she thought she made a mistake. Deamhan didn’t keep their homes this tidy. To verify, she moved her head toward the door and sniffed, taking in, dissecting, and labeling scents. Every Deamhan clan carried a specific tang and, to her surprise, the scent of all four Deamhan clans were present. She indeed had the right home.

  She saw a square white box with one button on the right side. She pressed it and heard what sounded like chimes from the other side of the door. Silence followed. She rang the bell again and placed her ear up to the door. Whoever was inside tried to soften their tracks and muffle their voices.

  “I know you’re in there,” she said. “Let me in. I promise I’m not here to harm you.”

  Would they believe her? She imagined herself on the other side of the door, hearing her own voice. No, she wouldn’t believe it either. “You’re scared and I can help you. Let me in and hear me out.”

  Again the muted noises continued. Anastasia made out about ten to fifteen Deamhan. She studied the lock, finding it crude and easy for someone her age to break. She grabbed onto it and pulled back, separating it from the wooden door. She then pushed it open and the once muffled noises grew louder as the Deamhan panicked.

  The interior of this sanctuary stood immaculate—nothing like she expected. The tan carpet looked and smelled fairly new. A large family-size red leather couch, a flat-screen television, and a coffee table sat in the den. She saw the blurry image of a Deamhan running toward the back of the home. Three large couches, another flat-screen television, and coffee tables greeted her in the living room. Pictures of beautiful, artistically drawn landscapes hung on the walls. Flora cotton drapes covered the windows and, above them, someone had rolled and pinned a layer of dark and thick curtains.

  She heard the sound of an opening door from the back of the home. “Don’t run. I’m not here to hurt you.” But these Deamhan ran and the commotion from their feet hitting the grass outside signaled that some of them had already disappeared. However, more noises from the second floor indicated that some remained behind.

  She hurried to the back and entered the kitchen. She grabbed a wooden chair and edged it underneath the lock of the basement door to keep whoever hid down there for now. She then made her way upstairs.

  The upper floor of the sanctuary looked just as clean as the lower floor. She noticed three closed bedroom doors and when she went to open the first one, she found it locked. “I’ll break the door down unless you unlock it,” she spoke to the frightened Deamhan on the other end. They ignored her light threat and Anastasia broke through as easily as she did the front door.

  She saw Enlai standing next to a Metusba male and a Lamia female near the opposite wall. The Metusba male moved cautiously forward, placing himself in front of his scared companions.

  “How do we know you’re telling the truth?” he asked. About 5'8" inches with short, dark hair, deep brown eyes, and dark skin, Anastasia assumed that he led this buckled Deamhan pack. She didn’t answer his question. She really didn’t know how to.

  “Come downstairs, all of you. Let’s talk.”

  “Enlai told us about you,” he said. “Didn’t you, Enlai?”

  Anastasia didn’t wait for confirmation. “Tell the other ones hiding in their rooms to come down also.” She proceeded back down the stairs and to the living room.

  She stood and waited, hearing their shuffling feet as they made their way toward her. After a few moments, she counted ten Deamhan—all just as young as their dark-skinned leader.

  “I blocked the door to the basement.” She jabbed her thumb toward the window. “And if you can, find the ones who ran and tell them to come back. You all need to hear what I have to say.”

  The Metusba whispered to a Deamhan who walked toward the kitchen and removed the barricade. With his legs slightly parted, his arms folded across his chest, and his head held high, their leader stared back at Anastasia. “What do you want, Ramanga?”

  “To talk.” Anastasia pointed to the Metusba. “What’s your name?”

  “Why do you need to know my name?”

  “Tell me or I will push myself into your thoughts and find out for myself.”

  The Metusba paused. “Malik.”

  “Malik. Are you the leader here or should I be talking to someone else?”

  He smacked his lips.

  Anastasia blinked slowly, annoyed at his refusal to reply. “I didn’t come here to kill any of you.”

  “Did you come here to apologize for roughing up our friend?” Malik pointed to Enlai.

  She turned toward him. Observant, Enlai watched as Malik continued.

  “He said you might come here.”

  “Yes. I’m here to talk about the Dorvo vampire infestation in the city.”

  “What the hell is a Dorvon?” He turned his head back toward his group and they all laughed, except for Enlai. It was easy for Anastasia to pick up on their ignorance regarding the city. Of course they had no knowledge about the history between them and their kind. Their sires had either abandoned them or met their ends, leaving these now orphaned Deamhan without the information they needed to know the enemy.

  “Dorvon is another name for the Dorvo vampires who want us all dead.” Enlai’s statement quieted the crowd. “Isn’t that right?”

  “Yes and they will succeed if you let them.”

  Suddenly another Deamhan in the crowd shouted out. “So you’re here to lead us or something!”

  Unmoved, Anastasia continued. “Currently there’re more of them in the city than us.”

  The female Lamia who stood shorter than Malik, stepped on the tips of her toes and whispered in his ear. He nodded. “You’re the reason why.” He pointed at Anastasia. “You and the others killed as many of us as those vampires have.”

  The Lamia female flipped her long, braided dark hair back. “Give us one reason why we should trust you.”

  The other Deamhan also began to show signs of resistance. “We don’t want you here!” someone shouted from the crowd. “You’re no friend of ours. Leave!”

  The crowd was becoming unruly.

  “I’m not here because I want to be your friend. I’m here because we have a common enemy.”

  “You’re our common enemy,” the female Lamia said.

  “Ji. Please,” Enlai begged. “Let’s not turn this conversation turn into a fight.”

  “If she doesn’t want a confrontation, she should leave our fucking city for good,” Ji said, “and take her outdated rules with her.” The tension grew and Enlai continued to calm his family down.

  Anastasia exhaled. “You idiots have no idea what’s awaiting you out there.”

  Malik paused. “And you do?”

  “Yes, I do.” She approached him. “Not only do you have to worry about Dorvo vampires, but you also have to worry about vampires, The Brotherhood, and Amenirdis.”

  “We know all about Amenirdis,” he replied. “She’s just one of the first Deamhan who’s stronger than you.”

  “She’s the Q
ueen of Limbo—the mother of all Deamhan,” Ji added. “She’s the only one who can help us. Not you.”

  Their lack of intelligence baffled Anastasia. They had no idea how dangerous a Pure One could be. “She isn’t the Queen of anything. Go and seek her out if you think she’s your savior. She’ll make servants out of you.”

  “What’s so wrong about that?”

  “Everything! You’ve never had the pleasure of her company. I have and trust me, you don’t want to be her servant.”

  “Maybe we’ll just kill you and take Maris to her instead,” Malik said. “That’s who she wants anyway.”

  Anastasia could no longer control her anger. Believing that the group was a lost cause and wanted to harm her offspring, she moved in to finish them off, but Enlai held up his hands to quiet the crowd.

  “I think we should hear her out.”

  Finally! she thought. Someone who uses their brain instead of emotion to make judgment.

  “Why are you taking her side?” Malik angrily jabbed his finger into Enlai’s chest. “Didn’t she try to kill you!?”

  “Yes, she did, but what she’s talking about is bigger than anything we’ve dealt with.”

  “We didn’t cause all this shit,” Ji responded. “She’s the problem! She killed Deamhan we knew—our sires, our friends. She destroyed their sanctuaries, took their minions, without thinking about what she was doing to our community. She gave no fucks and now she wants us to help clean up her mess? No, it’s too late for that. I say we kill this bitch.”

  Again the group rallied behind their so-called leaders. Unpredictable, Anastasia didn’t second guess their next moves. If they came at her, she’d deal with them in the only way she knew how. She looked to Enlai who also noticed this and again, he tried to calm his companions.

  Malik snarled. “She may be older than rust, but she can’t take us all at once.”

  “I promised my friends that I wouldn’t kill you,” Anastasia replied. “But I never said anything about harming you.”

  One Ramanga from the crowd came upon her in frightening speed. To Anastasia, his movements were slow—typical for a younger Deamhan. With little effort she backhanded him, sending the unsuspecting Deamhan into the wall.

  The orphans exploded in anger. Their eyes, now obscure, bore down on her. Their thoughts wrapped around the idea that they could take her if they worked together.

  “I have centuries over you.” She waited for another Deamhan to follow their foolish friend. Ji stood up to the plate.

  She moved—faster than the other Deamhan, but not fast enough. Anastasia encountered each swing of her fist by blocking. Soon Malik jumped into the fray. Anastasia pushed him back into the crowd and now with her eyes focused on Ji, she spun the inexperienced Lamia around, pinning her by her neck with her forearm.

  “I’ll kill her.” With her black eyes and exposed sharp Ramanga fangs, Anastasia wanted to make sure there wasn’t any doubt of her intention.

  In a state of panic, Enlai placed himself in between her and the crowd. “Everyone calm down! Please! Relax!”

  The orphans had no choice but to pull back. Finally they accepted his request for stability and Anastasia released Ji, who shuffled back toward her friends.

  “We’ve been doing well since you kicked Kei out of the city,” Malik said. “We managed to survive without our sires. We worked hard to get where we are and we’d rather survive than—”

  “What?” Anastasia interrupted him. “Staying here, behind your walls, isn’t surviving. It’s hiding. A vampire told me about this place. If I was able to find it, who’s to say others, not sympathetic to your plight, won’t as well?”

  “When the time comes, we’ll deal with it.”

  “By doing what? Buying more furniture? Decorating your home?” Anastasia swallowed. “You’ll die if you do nothing.”

  “Not everything in this world is about fighting.”

  “To survive, that’s what we must do.”

  “We’ll take our chances,” Ji said, rubbing her throat. “Now, get out.”

  “You heard her,” Malik said. “Get out unless you want to throw down again.” Other Deamhan joined in their apish attitude toward her.

  While she didn’t fear their threats, Anastasia realized that she couldn’t sway them to her side. She didn’t want to spend any more time in their sanctuary, especially when sunrise was now just two hours away.

  Enlai slowly moved toward her and he lowered his voice. “You don’t understand. They aren’t like you.”

  “And you are?” She eyed the rowdy group.

  “I’m one of the oldest ones here but I’m barely fifty years old. All of them don’t want to die fighting in a war that Lucius and the others created. They just want to live.”

  “And what do you want?”

  He let out an audible breath. “They all know what’s coming and they know they can’t stop it, even if they decide to fight. So they just don’t care.”

  “What do you want?” she slowly asked again.

  He peeked over his shoulder at the group before returning back to Anastasia. “I’d like strong acquaintances. I’d like to celebrate my hundredth birthday, if you know what I mean.”

  “That won’t happen if you continue to stay here.” She turned and headed for the door. “You’ll be dead by the end of the year.”

  Malik yelled at her. “Yeah, that’s right. Leave and don’t ever fucking come back!”

  Anastasia stopped in her tracks. “When the Dorvo vampires and The Brotherhood come for you—and they will—I want you to remember my offer.” She stepped over the broken door and walked out of the home.

  She cursed at herself, thinking that visiting a sanctuary with an extended olive branch would do anything to help her kind survive the vampire onslaught in the city. Not only did the younger Deamhan prove to be weak, they didn’t give a damn about what awaited them once the Dorvo vamps took over.

  1

  DECEPTION. DEAMHAN CHRONCILES #3

  CHAPTER fifteen

  Remy saw the beautiful cemetery, dotted with symmetrical plots and large, vast headstones. It was just like the one in his native hometown that he used to visit along with his mother, and his father, Pierre. As a child it was the same cemetery where they buried his grandfather. Whenever he visited, his father told him stories, making sure that Remy knew they came from a prominent, well-to-do family. He warned his son about the troubling future of France. The opposition had overthrown the conservative government. Many people wanted to stop the influence of the wealthy bourgeoisie. Their family’s livelihood hung in the balance.

  His father spoke highly of their family name and the businesses he created, which tripled their wealth. He portrayed the image of a busy man but still, under the secret of night, he’d ride out into town to the local tavern to mingle with the whores and tramps. One night Remy followed his father out to his Gig—a two wheel vehicle pulled by a single horse. Only sixteen at the time, he begged his father to take him to the next town. Staring into his father’s eyes, he noticed something unusual in his recollection of the event. Each had its own distinct color.

  They traveled down the dirt road and Remy became infatuated with the landscape around them. When they made it to the city, he had never seen his father happier as one scantily clad woman, who also had the same eye-color scheme as his father’s, approached them. This whore, who had previous relations with his Papa, led him away to her abode. There, Remy sat alone, watching the lower class in all their harmonious fun. They looked free. This was the world that his mother tried to protect him from. A world that he wanted to be part of.

  He noticed a tall, thin man standing alone in the middle of the dirt road. Wearing a dark coat with a large and tall dark top hat, this mysterious individual walked to him. “Bonjour.” He tipped his hat. Remy returned the gesture, but as the man moved in closer, he noticed that he too had different colored eyes.

  The images quickly faded, replaced by the interior of Dark Sepulch
er. Sitting across from him, he saw his former delicate pearl, Ruby, with her legs crossed and a wide grin plastered on her face.

  “How in the hell?” He tried to shake off what he’d just imagined. “How did you do that? How did you get in my mind?” She invaded his thoughts as easily as he could do to a human and distorted the memories he had of his father. Somehow, she burrowed herself into his mind and searched through memories collected before he became Deamhan. He believed that vampires couldn’t do that. Not even Dorvo vamps could do that.

  “You’re taking advantage of me,” he said.

  “True,” she said while gripping Maris’ amulet in her hand. On the ground next to her sat a large wooden box filled with holes.

  Remy wondered how long he’d been out since the torture began. He vaguely remembered her ordering the other Dorvo idiots to tie him to a chair where she repeatedly jabbed him in his stomach with a thin piece of wood. Afterward, she moved her line of sight to his heart where she continued to poke him just deep enough so he could feel the wood grazing over his heart. The pain made him pass out but only momentarily. As his body continued to heal, it sucked away his energy, making him weaker. He had to feed and none of the Dorvo vampires got close enough for him to try.

  “Ruby, darling,” he said out of exhaustion. “Can we continue this later on tonight?” He turned his head slowly, hearing his neck crack. “It’s morning. I need my beauty rest.”

  She eyed the windows covered in dark tarps. “Yes, it’s morning. You’re not burnt out, are you?”

  He tilted his head back. “I’m beat.”

  “All you have to do is tell me what you saw and this will end.”

  His eyes fluttered. “Why don’t you come closer so I can tell ya’.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  His throat constricted and, for the first time in a while, he coughed in pain. “How about this? Send Alexis over here and I’ll tell you what you want.”

  She looked over her shoulder at Alexis who stood, mesmerized by his state and Ruby’s sadistic means. By the look on her face, Remy had no doubt in his mind that she enjoyed seeing him in pain. She would attempt to do it herself if Lambert didn’t always stop her. She had no love for Deamhan, especially him. She considered his kind to be an anathema—a plague to the Earth, warping the fabric of life with every human and vampire they killed.