by N M Thorn
The lock clicked, and Damian cracked the door open without walking inside. He quickly scanned the house for the presence of human souls but didn’t find anyone there. His intuition twitched, suggesting something wasn’t right. He frowned, pushing the negative thoughts out of his mind. Time was working against him, and he couldn’t delay anymore.
Turning to his brother, he whispered, “Cole, I don’t think there is anyone in the house. No guards, no live-in help... Something is not right.”
“Or something is exactly right.” Cole winked at him, but a shadow of concern crossed his features.
Damian grunted, biting his lip. “Just be careful.” He sighed and opened the door wider. “The collection is in the large hall at the end of the hallway on the right. Hopefully, Ace is right and there are no motion detectors in the lobby and anywhere in the hallways, otherwise, we’re screwed.”
The magpie leaned forward, its long black tail rising, and pecked Damian on his cheek. “Hey, Kid... dammit, I mean Child of Earth, can a little birdie tag along? It’s fun... yeah... what you two are doing... please-please-please...”
“No!” snapped Damian in a low hiss. “I need to focus on the mission. I don’t need a bird’s voice screeching in my head.”
“Screeching?! How dare you? I don’t screech. I vocalize in a musical and euphonious manner. Luh-luh-luh-luh-la-la-la-la-laaaaa....” The bird hopped in place and moved its wing across the beak. “My beak is sealed.”
“It better be,” grumbled Damian, carefully passing through the doorway with the magpie still nestled on his shoulder.
He stepped into a large lobby—glass and marble—and stilled, taking in his surroundings while scanning for the presence of magic. Despite the late hour and the absence of the house owner and staff, the lobby was well lit with electric lights. Two beautifully crafted staircases positioned at either side of the area led to the second floor. A tall arched window effectively decorated by curtains presented a gorgeous view of the desert. A white grand piano, surrounded by a few leather sofas, took the center of the floor, and a large, crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling right above it.
Damian motioned for Cole to follow him and crossed the lobby toward the wide hallway on his right. He walked slowly and as soundlessly as he could, keeping his second sight open, but just like in the lobby, he couldn’t detect any presence of magical energy. Everything was quiet and unremarkably human.
The hallway opened into a small hall. One of the walls was made entirely out of glass, presenting a view of the desert and mountains. The entire space of the other two walls was decorated by different weapons—crossed swords, shields, and daggers. By the looks of them, all the weapons were modern and presented no monetary value, used as décor only. Four security cameras were installed at the four corners of the hall, but as far as Damian could see, there weren’t any motion or heat detectors here.
The wide doorway on the wall across from the entrance led into a large windowless space. Multiple shelves with different weapons and artifacts were positioned inside, protected by thick glass cases. A few marble pedestals were arranged across the floor, each of them holding a single dagger, illuminated by a thin chain of LED lights installed around the perimeter of the base. To Damian’s unease, he noticed that the items on pedestals weren’t enclosed in glass, confirming the statement Az had made earlier, and even with his other sight, he couldn’t see any other methods of protection.
Cole halted at Damian’s side and pointed toward the room and up at a few motion detectors and cameras of the security systems. Damian nodded, confirming that he had registered the mundane security devices as well. Cole leaned closer to him and whispered so quietly that only Damian with his sharp hearing could make out his words.
“I see the dagger,” he said. “Not under a glass, and there are no laser beams around it either. I would sense them. I’m good to go.”
“Cole, wait,” hissed Damian, grabbing his brother’s arm, his fingers clenching it stronger than he intended. “It’s too easy.”
Cole turned, staring at his brother with reproach. “Since when is easy bad?”
“Don’t you think if something seems too good to be true, it most likely is?”
Cole tilted his head, a sad smile curving his lips. “Dima, I’m reckless, but I’m not an idiot. I know you’re right,” he whispered, his lips barely moving. “But do we have a choice? Do you see any other options?”
Damian frowned, slowly shaking his head, his chest numb with dread. He let go of his brother’s arm and dropped his head.
“If something goes wrong, you can still teleport us out of here,” Cole whispered and slowly moved toward the entrance into the collection room. He halted by the doorway, looking from left to right, carefully exploring everything in the room. Then he glanced over his shoulder at Damian and smiled before crossing the threshold.
Cole moved slowly, stepping weightlessly and soundlessly on the shiny, tiled floor, but every step he took sent a jolt of anxiety down Damian’s spine.
“Ohhhhh... The suspense is killing me... he’ll be fiiineee...” breathed out the magpie, its voice clear in Damian’s mind, and he swallowed hard, raising his hand to pet the bird’s wings.
Damian glanced up, quickly checking all the motion detectors he could see from where he stood, but none of them seemed to react to Cole’s presence. He exhaled, just now realizing he had been holding his breath since the moment Cole crossed the threshold.
Cole halted by a pedestal at the far end of the room and sent a quick glance to Damian, slowly raising his hand. He froze, for a heartbeat remaining completely still, but then he carefully moved his hand in front of the pedestal, checking it from different angles. Once satisfied with his observations, he reached into his pocket and pulled something out. Bringing both hands up, he wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the dagger and froze again, checking the sensors.
A drop of cold sweat ran down Damian’s face as he watched his brother, and he held his breath again, terrified to make the tiniest move. Cole’s face tensed, and his vampiric essence rose around him, igniting his eyes with a bright scarlet light. In one fluid motion, Cole lifted the dagger and replaced it with something he was holding in his other hand. The change was so subtle and so immediate that neither Cole nor Damian could react.
With a thunderous bang, thick metal bars dropped from the ceiling, blocking the only exit out of the collection room. A soft, continuous hiss invaded Damian’s hearing. He screamed his brother’s name at the same time as a terrible howl of pain erupted from Cole’s lips. His fingers unlocked, and the dagger fell to the floor with a loud clunk. Cole collapsed, his body convulsing like from a seizure, and bleeding ulcers spread around the exposed skin of his face and arms.
“Cole!” Damian didn’t hear himself screaming as he reached the metal bars. He channeled all the magic he could gather and shouted, “Exitius!”
Chapter 15
~ Damian Blake ~
A mighty wave of magical energy impacted the metal bars. Normally, this spell would turn any door into scraps of metal or a pile of splinters, but the bars separating Damian from his brother barely bent inward, withholding the powerful attack. Cole screamed, large drops of blood sliding from his wide-open scarlet eyes. His body arched, and his fingers turned into claws, his fangs expanding to their full length. A heartbeat later, his muscles relaxed, and he fell to the floor, his glowing eyes fixed on Damian’s, silently pleading for help.
Blind fury mixed in with suffocating fear blended into one explosive concoction within him. Damian seized the bars and connected with his element, surrendering to the power of Earth. The muscles on his arms and shoulders bulged, a thick vein pulsing in his neck. Using his physical strength, he combined it with his elemental power and applied the pressure on the bars, trying to spread them apart. The entire house shook under the assault of his power, but the bars didn’t budge, and for a split second, he felt as though the shining metal was absorbing his magical energy, draining him. He j
erked his hands away, noticing the red blemishes on his palms resembling first-degree burns.
“Dima, stop!” Cole screamed, his voice infused with torment beyond anything any person—human or a vampire—could handle. “It... reacts... ahhh... to your magic...” He cried out again, his entire body convulsing uncontrollably.
“What reacts?” Damian yelled, slamming his fist into the bars separating them. “What is it, Cole?”
“I’ll check it!” The magpie flew between the bars and started on its way toward Cole, but after a few flaps of its wings, the bird made a sharp U-turn and flew back, its black eyes filled with horror, its beak wide open. “There is no oxygen there! Silver is everywhere! I can’t breathe!” It zoomed between the bars, dropped to the floor and flopped to its back, its tiny white chest rising and falling with strained breaths.
As a toxic wave of panic enveloped Damian, the adrenalin rushed through his system, sending his heart into a wild overdrive. His training kicked in, and he let go of the bars, taking a step back. To think clearly, he needed to calm down. Closing his eyes, he dropped his arms and took a few deep breaths, getting his anxiety and panic under control. He let go of his elemental power and magic, carefully suppressing them. As soon as he did that, Cole’s body relaxed, his eyes rolled back, and he blacked out, blood still slipping from under his tightly shut eyelids.
“On your knees! Hands behind your head!”
A loud voice sounded behind Damian, and he spun around with his hands clenched into fists, a feral growl rumbling in his chest. At least ten men—most likely guards—stood around him, their weapons trained at his chest. They were dressed in what appeared to be military tactical uniforms, but strange vests covered their chests. They were too thin to be bulletproof, and their surface shimmered with bluish sparkles, reflecting the electrical light. The weapons they held also weren’t something Damian had expected. While two of the guards had guns pointed at his head, the rest of them held strange weapons the likes of which he had never seen before. They looked like spears, but their long spearheads, made of some silvery metal-like material, were split into two at the end.
One of the men stepped closer and thrust his spear into Damian’s chest. He didn’t put a lot of force behind it, and the sharp ends of the spearhead barely penetrated his skin, but a wave of weakness rushed through him, making his stomach heave. Damian seized the spear with his hand and took a tiny step forward, leaning heavier on it, anger spiraling through him. The guard didn’t expect it. His eyes widened in unmistakable shock, and he pulled back slightly, still holding the spear at Damian’s chest.
“Lower your weapons and let my friend go,” Damian growled, his voice deep with unadulterated hatred. “Or I swear to all the gods I know, I will kill every single one of you and take this house apart brick by brick.”
The men exchanged a quick look and burst out laughing. Two more stepped closer, holding their spears at the ready. “On your knees, freak,” commanded one of them, pointing at the floor before him.
Damian’s body locked up with rage and despite his effort to control his power and magic, tremors spread through the floor. In response, Cole howled in pain, his fingers scratching spasmodically at the polished tiles.
“Everyone, stand down.” A deep male voice sounded behind the group of men. It was filled with the kind of authority that comes only with years of experience of giving orders and a habit of having every single one of them obeyed, no questions asked. The men lowered their weapons and spread apart, allowing the newcomer to come forward.
He made his way between his guards and halted a few steps away from Damian, observing him with interest in his dark-brown eyes. He was at least six feet tall and moved with a confident swagger bordering on arrogance. He didn’t look more than thirty years old, but after the display of power he had over these men and the unmistakable vibe of authority he gave off, Damian wondered if he was older.
The man’s large eyes under long, black eyelashes swept through the room, and his sensual, full lips twitched into a frosty smile under his mustache, dimpling his cheeks covered in a stylishly trimmed stubble. In his hands, he held a box made of either lead or iron, or some kind of mix of both. The lid was tightly closed, but he held one hand over it, ready to flip it open. Cocking his head slightly, he raised his dark eyebrows.
“What a gorgeous specimen you are, aren’t you?” he muttered under his breath. Although his looks suggested Hispanic heritage, he spoke in perfect English without any accent. “As much as I would like to see you in action, I don’t think you’ll be killing anyone today. Unless you want to murder your vampire-pet, that is.” He jerked his chin toward Cole and waved his hand slightly as if dismissing the matter. “Let’s be civil, shall we? Get down to your knees, and we’ll call it a day. I’m a lover, not a fighter, you know.” He smiled, his smile almost playful, despite the situation. “I would much rather settle the situation in a peaceful, business-like manner without the need to apply physical force, but if you don’t comply with my orders, you’ll leave me no choice.”
Damian stared down at him, focusing on suppressing his magic and elemental power. “No,” he said softly.
The man pursed his lips, shaking his head, looking almost crestfallen. Then he seized the lid of the box and cracked it opened. A wave of magical energy escaped through the opening, impacting Damian straight in his chest. He grunted and staggered backward until his back hit the bars. Overwhelming weakness spread through him, making his knees shake, but he grasped the bars behind his back and remained standing, ignoring the pain in his burning palms.
A deep shudder ran through Damian as he recognized the malignant energy signature of the artifact hidden within the box, and the blood froze in his veins as with painful clarity, he realized how hopeless his situation truly was. The so-called gray stones could bring any being of magic or elemental power to their knees, no matter how powerful they were. Even gods weren’t immune to their toxic magic, and depending on the size of the stone, it could drain them completely, making them weak and helpless against those holding the artifact.
“Impressive,” exhaled the man, staring at Damian in awe. He took a couple of steps closer and opened the box slightly wider.
As the next wave of weakness overwhelmed him, Damian dropped to his knees and leaned forward, wrapping his arms around himself as his stomach twisted with nausea. Struggling to breathe, he raised his eyes at the man holding the box.
“Much better...” The man leaned down and seized Damian’s hair, tilting his head backward. As his eyes halted on the scar cutting across Damian’s left cheek, he frowned and waved at one of his guards. “This is quite a landmark here.” He followed the shape of the scar with his finger, eliciting a growl of anger out of Damian. “Find out who he is and what his supernatural identity is. He should be easy to identify with this beauty.”
The man let go of Damian’s hair and straightened, gesturing for one of his guards to approach. “Check the vamp,” he said icily. “I want to know if he’s worth anything or if we need to put him out of his misery.”
Damian groaned, making an effort to look over his shoulder at his brother. Even this tiny movement came with a serious effort, sending the next wave of nausea through him, and he moaned softly, his own defenselessness crushing and suffocating him. The guard left the hall, and a few seconds later, he walked into the collection room through a tiny door Damian hadn’t noticed before, wearing a respirator mask.
He approached Cole and yanked his head backward, prying his jaws open. His fingers quickly checked the vampire’s fangs and then moved down to his arms and chest, probing his muscles. The guard’s moves were so precise and habitual that Damian was positive it wasn’t his first rodeo. Cole didn’t fight him—most likely too weak and hurt to make a move—terrible bleeding ulcers covering his skin, drops of blood sliding from his eyes, nose and ears.
“This one is old, Mr. Torres,” said the guard, rising. “Has to be at least five hundred years old if not more and in good
physical shape.”
Mr. Torres… This is Ricardo Torres. A thought flashed through Damian’s fogged mind as he turned back to the man with the box.
“Find out his name,” Ricardo Torres commanded as the guard returned to the hall, wiping his hands on his pants.
“Should we package them both?” asked the guard, halting before him. “We have two sets of restraints ready, sir.”
Ricardo Torres peered down at Damian with a calculating look in his dark eyes and rubbed his lower lip with his finger, a deep vertical wrinkle materializing between his straight eyebrows. He thrust the box into the guard’s hand, making sure that the lid remained just slightly open.
“Hold it like this and don’t open any wider. I need him conscious...” He switched his attention to Damian and squatted in front of him. “Normally, this would be the moment where my guards would restrain you with the kind of restraints no creature of magic can escape from.” He ran his fingers over his mustache, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t know what’s so special about you, but my intuition tells me I shouldn’t do it, and I learned to respect my intuition.” He got up and looked at Cole through the bars. “What did they try to steal?”
The guard approached him, offering him the dagger with the eagle-head pommel. Ricardo took it and twirled it between his fingers, his eyebrows rising.
“Really?” he asked, lowering to Damian’s level again, shock imprinted on his features. “Really?? Out of everything I have, all the magical artifacts in that room, you decided to steal the most useless one? You could have walked into my kitchen and steal my steak knives. They are worth about the same. What’s so special about this dagger that you risked everything to have it? It has no magical properties and even though it’s old, I couldn’t discover anything interesting about its history.”
Damian looked straight into Ricardo’s eyes but said nothing.
“Okay,” Ricardo said softly. “Let’s try to have a little conversation first. My name is Ricardo Torres. You can call me Ricardo. I don’t like all that official bullshit.” He smiled as if he were talking to his best friend. “I own this house and everything around you. Would you like to tell me your name?”
