Janrae Frank Dark - [Dark Brothers of the Light 08] - Blood Hope

by Blood Hope [lit]

  * * * *

  Stygean bounced the red ball to the little children surrounding him. They were a mix of the sa'necari and nibari children, all playing happily together. It gave him an odd feeling to see them like that, but he said nothing. Their laughter reminded him of his own when his life had been better. He had forgotten how to laugh except when he was with them. He paused to look as Jun and Amiri crossed nearby. Then Jun stopped short, rounded, and came stalking toward him. Stygean released the ball and backed away at the flaming hatred in Jun's eyes. He still remembered the beating the tall, rangy vampire had given him.

  Jun's hand came down hard on Stygean's shoulder, closing painfully. Stygean cried out and flinched. I haven't done anything, he protested, searching his mind for possibilities and coming up with nothing that could have made him this angry.

  "Little bastard, Jun growled. I'm taking you to Dawnreturning. He'll decide if you're guilty or not."

  Stygean's eyes saucered in fright as Jun began to drag him along. Of what?"

  "You know what you've done."

  "I don't. I haven't done anything."

  When they reached the command tent, Jun shoved him inside. Isranon turned to them. I didn't tell you to bring Stygean yet, Isranon said.

  "Check him! Jun shrieked.

  Isranon's hand dropped to Jun's grip on Stygean. Release him and get hold of yourself, Jun."

  Stygean felt better when Jun's hand came loose from him. He craned his neck and could see Amiri kneeling beside someone on Isranon's bed, taking little tissue samples, and sealing them in the Reading crystals. The body was smaller than he was, and the face, distorted by death, not immediately recognizable. Then the dead girl's identity slammed through him and he remembered Jingen's words about how tired she was getting. Nolly."

  "Yes, Nolly, you murdering, little ass-sucker, Jun snapped.

  Isranon held up his hands for silence. Enough! Jun, if you cannot control yourself, sit outside."

  The vampire quieted.

  "She was pregnant, Jun, Isranon said. Did you know that?"

  Jun's eyes widened and he growled. I didn't breed her. Why would I check for it? The little bastard did it. He got my Nolly pregnant and then he killed her. Jun glared at Stygean.

  Amiri paused in her efforts, her expression fathomless. We might as well establish one thing. Stygean, come here."

  Stygean swallowed and went. Amiri grasped his wrist with one hand and held the crystal with the semen sample in the other. She closed her eyes. Stygean shivered as he felt the touch of her awareness fly through him. Amiri released him with a shake of her head. It wasn't Stygean."

  "Double the guard on the blood-slaves, Isranon ordered. There are too many of them for Anksha to manage properly. One of them could be getting out."

  "Can I go? asked Stygean in a small voice. His stomach felt tight and queasy.

  Isranon looked at him with a mixture of relief and compassion. Yes."

  Stygean fled, running without stopping until he had reached the tent he shared with Jingen. His tent mate sat reading a book in the middle of his cot. Stygean grabbed Jingen and slammed him to the floor. You killed Nolly. They thought I did it and Jun was ready to kill me."

  Jingen's expression turned dangerous. What did you tell them?"

  Stygean glared at Jingen and climbed off him, to stand facing away with his arms folded. How could you do this? Did you know you got her pregnant?"

  "Pregnant? That's interesting. Jingen tilted his head, grinning slyly. I wonder what Nolly would have looked like belly-swollen."

  "What's wrong with you?"

  "Nothing is wrong with me. I am sa'necari. That is what I thought you were. Jingen sat up and brushed dirt from his clothing. I told you I would be finished with Nolly by now."

  Stygean's muscles tightened along his neck and shoulders. Jingen had told him that, but Stygean had not allowed himself to accept the full ramifications of Jingen's words. Why couldn't you have chosen someone I didn't know?"

  Jingen shrugged. She died on your bedroll by the way. I had a time of it sneaking her back to Jun's tent while all of you were gone."

  Stygean shivered, staring at his blankets: he had slept there last night, secure and comfortable in his ignorance. Poor Nolly...."

  Jingen sneered. You care too much for the cattle. They are food, not pets. You shouldn't bother to learn their names if it's going to bother you to eat them."

  Stygean winced at the implications of Jingen's words.

  "What did you tell them?"

  "Nothing. Only that I didn't do it. Stygean hunched his shoulders.

  "Did they believe you?"

  "Yes. They compared my genes to your come."

  "Good point. Jingen pursed his lips thoughtfully. I should have washed her out when I finished with her. Now I need to pick another one."

  "How can you take this so calmly?"

  "I am sa'necari. Have you no gratitude? I just got you your vengeance on Jun. Remember how he beat you?"

  Stygean dropped to the ground cross-legged, his chin sank to his chest, and he blew out a heavy breath. I liked Nolly."

  Jingen shrugged. She was cattle. There are plenty of cattle here. I will be more careful next time. I won't leave anything of myself behind."

  "There should not be a next time, Stygean said, his voice trembling with the sudden onset of reaction.

  "There must be, Jingen pointed out. After all, you said that if I did one, then you would."

  Stygean's eyes widened and then narrowed again. I don't want to...."

  Jingen's eyes flashed with anger. Are you sa'necari or not? Have you just joined the cattle or are you still a predator?"

  "I am sa'necari, Stygean said so softly Jingen could barely hear it.

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  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  KILLING FOR MY SINS

  Isranon slept uneasily. He had been forced to resort to the Sanguine Rose again to ease himself. Sanguine Rose was a cocktail of powerful drugs and herbs in a troll's blood base. Troll's blood had an intense effect upon hemovores, passing along some of the creature's regenerative qualities for as long as it lasted in the imbiber's system. It was not a healing potion for humans. Coupled with the drugs that laced the blood, Sanguine Rose eased pain, brought sleep, encouraged healing, and, in very large doses, produced hallucinations.

  He floated in its warmth and the dreams came, memories of terrible of things. The day of the attack upon him by five of Anksha's other blood-slaves had left him permanently crippled in body, although he hid it well.

  Shirtless in the summer heat, Isranon sat again beside the tiny postern gate they called Anksha's Gate, waiting for her return. This was where she entered and left the grounds on her hunts. He had liked sitting on the boulder near the odd gate even before he had known that it was Anksha's. The deepest part of the thickets in the most tangled portion of the far northwest section of the garden concealed the gate from casual eyes. It was wrought of high quality steel twisted into the shape of lions leaping. Bone runes were set into the stone of the arch that held it. Isranon could not read those runes and often wondered what they said. No darkness emanated from them, and the one time he had touched them he had felt a clean savagery in their depths like a wild beast's, something whose mind was not turned to evil for its own sake.

  Isranon smiled. A small pouch with candy in it for Anksha hung from his neck on a leather thong. He had just sat down on a boulder with his flute in his hands when the five sa'necari emerged from the trees around him.

  Isranon stood up. What you do want?"

  "To speak with you, Bodramet said, coming nearer. Bodramet was nearly as powerfully built as Isranon. He wore his black hair oiled and gathered at the base of his skull in a dozen tiny braids.

  Isranon stepped back without realizing the others had closed behind him and he had placed himself into their hands. Power slammed into his head from four directions. His shields snapped up, only to buckle instantly before their onslaught, the backla
sh of power making his head ring. Isranon dropped the flute, reacting where others would have reeled or fallen. His magic overmatched, he struck instinctively with his hands, knocking Ennis into the bushes and doubling Petros over with a solid jab to the solar plexus that whooshed the air from his lungs. He glanced around for an avenue of escape and saw Bodramet close the distance between them.

  Pain seared through Isranon. He dropped his eyes to Bodramet's hand and saw the long carving knife being shoved into his mid-section. The point emerged from his back as Bodramet ripped it upward. Desperate to gain control of the blade, Isranon grabbed at Bodramet's fingers, trying to pry them off the hilt, struggling to prevent him from moving it in the wound or piercing him again.

  Bodramet slammed Isranon with a lance of power through the chest, reaching into his being to wind his spells through the Dark Brother's core. As he sobbed for air, Isranon's hands came loose from the blade-hilt and he grabbed at his chest.

  "Half-a-mon, you should have taken what I offered. Bodramet gave the blade another twist and Isranon shuddered. When sa'necari kill sa'necari they do it well."

  Gareth stabbed Isranon. The blade went in to the quillons and the deathtree runes seared his skin when they touched it. The Master of Blood sends greetings, Isranon."

  "The price of heresy is death, Ennis growled, rising from the bushes and drawing his blade. He lunged at Isranon and sheathed the blade in his ribs.

  Isranon stiffened, then jerked, and opened his mouth to scream.

  Laughing, Yoris popped one of Anksha's scarves into Isranon's mouth as he plunged the runed blade into his back. Petros whipped a second scarf around Isranon's head to secure the first one, swiftly knotting it tight.

  "Traitor, Petros snarled as he caught Isranon's shoulder, slipped his blade in.

  Blinded by pain, Isranon faltered. His hands dropped first to his sides, and then clutched at his wounds, his shoulders hunching. Too late ... too late ... I brought this on myself.... I defied them ... I broke the teachings...

  Yoris caught him by the arm and stuck him again, slamming the Master of Blood's runes hard against Isranon's bare flesh. The runes left a blackened burn on Isranon's skin.

  The dark magics of the demon-forged blades wove a flaming web of agony through Isranon, burning like venom in his veins and arteries. Isranon reeled away from them, struggling to keep his feet, heading for the trees. The sa'necari were on every side; and no matter which way he turned, they stabbed him. Again and again the hell-runed quillons met his skin as the blades entered his flesh.

  Isranon reached the first tree ... staggered three more steps.

  A trail of blood marked his progress.

  In the shade of an elm tree whose leaves dappled him in shadow and light, Isranon's body surrendered its strength to resist. He stumbled to his knees before Bodramet. His chin settled to his chest. Five blades protruded from his body. Isranon's eyes blinked slowly, unable to clear his clouding vision. He swayed. Father ... I will join you soon.

  Bodramet regarded him with satisfaction, head tilted, and sneering faintly. Gareth threw a net of death magic through Isranon and drew it tight before dragging the blade along his arm. Isranon no longer tried to scream; he had no strength left for it. He recognized the spells: they were severing his ability to heal with blood.

  "Are you lovers, Isranon? Did you trade one prince for another? Bodramet knelt, pulling the knife free. Having had Mephistis, you had to have Timon? Bodramet hissed in Isranon's ear. Bodramet tangled his fingers in Isranon's hair, twisting his head around. He pulled the second scarf down around Isranon's neck and kissed his lips as he shoved the blade into Isranon's side and rotated it in the wound.

  Isranon looked at Bodramet with dulling eyes. He heard Yoris giggling; the others jeering. The sa'necari pulled their blades out of him and slid them into new places in his body. Isranon slipped into a netherworld of shock, everything going gray around the edges.

  Bodramet forced his tongue into Isranon's mouth and encountered the scarf. He pushed two fingers in and pressed the scarf into Isranon's cheek, so that he could twine his tongue around Isranon's before lapping at the blood pooling beneath it. Bodramet kissed Isranon's lips again as he drew the blade slowly forth. He noticed the sack of candy and sliced it open. Candy spilled across the ground, stained with Isranon's blood, like an offering to the earth of sweetness and sorrow.

  Isranon crumpled forward, sagging against Bodramet. Ennis and Petros caught him, holding him up to get at him better. Petros fangs lengthened and he sank them into Isranon's neck, then drew his blade along the Dark Brother's thigh and shoved it into his leg. Ennis bit him on the shoulder and began to suck.

  "How do you like our kisses now? Gareth worked a spell to force Isranon to remain conscious throughout their assault, yanking him back every time he started to slip away. You're going to feel all of itevery last bit of it, until I release you or death takes you."

  Gareth and Bodramet twisted their webs up from the bottoms of his feet, from his hands and his head, knotting them together in his guts.

  Petros lifted his face, Isranon's blood rimming his lips. My steel cock still hungers for you. He put the blade repeatedly through Isranon's thighs. See how hungry it is?"

  Bodramet drew the blade desultorily along Isranon's leg. He shoved Isranon's pants down and pushed the others away. Bodramet dragged him to the boulder by his heels, panting with eagerness. Dirt got into Isranon's wounds, the rough ground pulling at his torn flesh, small rocks and soil coated his chest. Bodramet draped Isranon over the boulder on his stomach.

  Nooooo. Not the rite ... not the rite ... Isranon's fading consciousness shrieked as he hung unmoving, his hands and feet in the dirt, his cheek pressed against the cold rock, feeling a chill more profound than stone settling through his flaccid body.

  Terror pounded in his failing heart as Isranon felt Bodramet's hands spread his buttocks, and forced his rod inside.

  "Yeeesss! Bodramet hissed in triumph, grasping Isranon's hips to go as deeply and savagely as possible. His companions began demanding a turn. Bodramet's juices spilled forth and he pulled out. You may ride, but not rite."

  Gareth mounted Isranon next, and they took turns in order of their standing. Finally, they hauled him off and straightened his clothing. They set Isranon against the boulder as if he sat leaning there; but he would not stay upright. So they wedged some sticks under his armpits, and braced them with rocks. They walked off, laughing.

  Then two new voices added themselves into the dreaming memory. Stygean and Jingen stood there looking at him, sticking fingers in his wounds and licking the blood off.

  "What do you think? Jingen asked. Did they do a good job of it?"

  "No, Stygean said. If they had, he'd be dead."

  "We can fix that. Jingen pulled a sa'necari dueling blade. It left fragments of cursed obsidian in the wounds, which slowly crawled through the victim's body until reaching the heart. He shoved it into Isranon's ribs.

  "That isn't the right way to do it, Stygean said. He pulled his own blade, drove it into Isranon's heart, and rotated it methodically.

  Isranon snapped awake with a cry of anguish and looked down at himself. The embedded spells, left from the divinator runes that had been on the blades Bodramet and his companions stabbed him with, had reopened two of his original wounds. He was bleeding.

  * * * *

  Stygean watched Nainee closely after the lessons were done. Jingen was driving him mad with insistence that he kill a nibari also. He had to go Jingen one better. Taking Nainee would be a challenge. She irritated Stygean; the entire idea of a nibari acting as his schoolmaster inflamed him, and when he got too far out of line she was not slow to threaten him with Jun. Stygean did not wish to be beaten again.

  She was privately owned, which meant she might resist him, where the others had not. She belonged to the vampire, Haig, and his mark was on her and upon her collar. He would be taking a chance. Perhaps he could make it look like another vampire was doing it, mimic
their passion-dance of blood obsession.

  "Nainee, I have a problem with my homework. Could you help me? he asked in the most childlike manner he could manage.

  Nainee smiled in response to this unusual openness. Yes, of course."

  He almost laughed; clearly she thought he was finally responding to her. Can we sit under that big shade tree over there to go over it?"

  Nainee glanced where he pointed and saw the tremendous oak with a bit of scrubby brush around it. Certainly. It should be cooler there."

  Once they were there, Stygean reached for her mind. She twisted, her eyes going wide as she resisted the intrusion. Then he slipped his power in a needle-thin lance under Haig's protections in her mind, and took her. Come into the bushes with me, Nainee, and take your clothes off."

  She followed him docilely. As soon as she was laying nude beneath him with his cock sheathed inside her, Stygean became very happy with himself. His confidence and feelings of triumph soared.

  * * * *

  Isranon sat in a patch of trees beyond the perimeters of the camp. He had needed fresh air and time away from the crowds of people. Merissa was more and more on his mind. He needed to write her directly, instead of sending word through her father. He wondered what his son looked like, was he fair like his mother, or dark like his father? He would have to tell her about Anksha. How would she react to that?

  He had never lied to Merissa when they began sleeping together. He told her that he could not afford to fall in love. That they could only be friends. Would she think that Darmyk would change that? It had been Merissa who insisted they were merely making love like the wild cousins, with no commitment involved. Yet, he had never expected her to become pregnant. Sa'necari had a lessened fertility compared to most races. It was very hard for them to procreate. Yet, Rose had been pregnant by him when Troyes killed her. Merissa had borne him a son. And now Anksha was pregnant. What made him different? The rites, perhaps? Did performing the rites gradually render sa'necari sterile? It was a possibility. If he could find the time, once they were settled in somewhere for the winter, he would make a study of the blood-slaves and determine some of that.