Darkness Rises

by Tl Reeve

  He shouted after releasing his Beloved’s neck.

  Sounds.

  Light.

  Taste.

  Touch.

  He lived. He glanced down at the foolish woman who’d willing given up herself to save his worthless life, lying limp within his arms. He glanced at Clara who’d stopped chanting, her petite form curled in a small ball. Her eyes were closed, and her breath came in soft pants. Sleeping.

  He let out a breath of relief, before turning his attention back to the confounded woman. “Don’t you dare die on me,” he snarled. The thready flutter of her heart caused fear to grip his newly functioning heart. He couldn’t fight through everything, only to lose her. What kind of life would he lead without her? Not again. He wouldn’t let it happen. Changing her would take three days. It didn’t happen automatically, plus, he would need more elixir than he possessed at the moment. Nor would he do so without his Beloved’s permission.

  “Open your eyes, love,” he said. “Let me see your beautiful blue eyes.” Jonah pushed the lock of sweaty hair from her face. Had he caused her exertion?

  “Jonah,” Clara muttered, pushing herself up. “Where’s Annabelle?”

  “She—” He swallowed hard. “She won’t open her eyes.”

  Clara crawled over to her friend and the pentagram he knelt within. “I figured.” She placed her hands over Annabelle’s heart and began repeating an incantation once more.

  The white light he envisioned flowing through him swirled like a living being as its tendrils transferred from Clara to Annabelle. Her eyes popped open and she sucked in a breath, coming back to him in an instant. Clara, weakened by her ordeal, crumpled to the floor again.

  “You did it,” Annabelle stated, drawing his attention from Clara’s form. “I knew you’d come back to me.”

  “Clara, she’s…” He glanced over at her again. Sorrow welled within him. “We’ve hurt her.”

  “I’m not dead, vampire,” she quipped. “I’m drained. Big difference. Good to know you care though.”

  Annabelle giggled before pressing her lips to his. “You did it.”

  He wrapped her in his embrace, holding her close. He thought he’d lost her. He thought he’d never be able to hear her lyrical laughter or smell the subtle hint of rosewater and lilac she liked to wear. “You did it. You and Clara guided me back.”

  “You can pay me later,” Clara grumbled.

  He laughed. “I shall.”

  “Counting on it.” She pushed up from the floor. “You must go. You have a madman to stop. He will destroy everything. I have seen it. Together, now, you are stronger. You know what you must do, Jonah.” Her features turned deadly. “Rip the throat from the beast.”

  Determination and a sense of rightness settled over him. “If you don’t mind, Miss Craig, release me from this trap.”

  “Of course, Mr. McRae.” She pushed aside the sugar, breaking the binding associated with it. “Shall we?” She held her hand out to him.

  “Yes. We shall.” He glanced to where Clara eased herself into a sitting position. “Miss Jemmy will assist you in any way you may require. This house is your house. Sleep where you feel comfortable. Eat as much as you can.”

  She nodded. “Go. I can take care of myself. Save the world, Jonah.”

  “Indeed.” He nodded at her. Wrapping his arm tightly around Annabelle, he tugged her close. “Hold on, Miss Craig.”

  * * *

  The battle raged before him as he released Annabelle to stand beside him. Lucian stood upon the roof of a terrace house, located within the heart of London. Screams of terror rent the night sky, drawing his attention in several directions. The only way to win this and save everyone was to go for Lucian. Take away his ability to speak.

  “Help them,” he told her. “I have to take on Lucian by myself.”

  Annabelle nodded. “Come back to me.”

  “Always.” He grabbed her up and placed a kiss on her lips. “I will find you. I will come back.” Without a glance back at her, he sped off, zig-zagging through the horde, taking them out as he went.

  Ezra fought like the devil possessed him. The zombies were flung in every direction, yet they continued to get up. To fight. Jonah waited for the magic Lucian used to affect him, but whatever Clara had done protected him. A renewed vigor flowed through him. A menacing chuckle bubbled up inside of him.

  Neck after neck snapped within his hands as he took out each zombie he passed. It might only hold them off momentarily, but it gave the humans a chance to retreat to the tunnels and find safety.

  “I’m coming for you,” he yelled. “Your time grows near, Summoner.”

  Ah, Jonah. How great of you to join us. Lucian’s laughter filled his mind.

  “Not this time.” He pushed on, climbing the wall to the home. He stood mere feet from the man he swore he’d crush between his palms. Rage pumped through his veins, boiling his blood. A new sensation joined it. Justice. The giddy anticipation in understanding what he’d accomplish that night would protect the people of London most certainly, but all of England and the world would be included.

  “Silly boy,” Lucian growled. “I am your master.”

  “Fool me once,” Jonah stated. “Shame on you.” He advanced, each step he took drawing him nearer to the man who’d created hell on Earth. “Fool me twice…”

  He curled his lip, exposing his canines while closing the distance between them. Up close the man appeared tired. Taxed by the incantations he used. A bit of him had to feed his horde. No wonder why he needed Jonah. Never ending life. A conduit. Never again.

  “So dramatic,” Lucian smirked. He muttered in something in Latin. When nothing happened, he muttered the same statement again.

  Glee burst forth from Jonah. He tsked the necromancer. “Shame on me.” He grabbed the man by the throat, and lifted him from his feet. “You have terrorized this town for long enough Lucian. It’s time to meet your maker.”

  The man flailed within Jonah’s grip. His skin fluctuated from beet red to white, and back again. The blackness coating his eyes retreated revealing a frightened blue gaze. The whites became bloodshot, each line spreading outwards until it filled with blood.

  Lucian’s hands wrapped around Jonah’s forearms. The man kicked at him. Thrashing about as he did caused his strength to wane. He should chain the man in Omer’s tomb, wait till the fight was fair, then drain him. Revenge pushed back against the need to heal. He hasn’t given Jonah the same satisfaction. In fact, he made Jonah feed from his best friend. Brought Lucian to the brink of death before letting go. For that, he couldn’t forgive this man.

  Jonah lowered his wiggling form and stared into Lucian’s horrified gaze. He wanted the man to see who took his life. He wanted this bastard to feel every ounce of fear he had while under Lucian’s spell. He wouldn’t make this quick. He’d savor it. Take his time.

  Another scream rent the air, and he took his focus from the man for a split second. It was all the time he needed to break free from Jonah. Lucian ran for the ledge of the building. Bollocks. Jonah caught up with him. “Did you believe I’d let you go?”

  Lucian pulled a silver encrusted stake from the waistcoat of his suit. He pressed it to Jonah’s chest. “You’re going to let me go,” he croaked. “I might not control you, but I can still kill you.”

  He could. However, before the stake pierced his chest, he’d have snapped the man’s neck. “Well. Go on. Do it.” He assisted, pressing the wooden spike against his skin. “Do it!”

  Lucian shouted, raising the object above his head like an imbecilic. Jonah struck. He lurched forward, sank his fangs into the man’s throat and yanked backward in one fluid movement. Blood spurted everywhere as shock registered on the man’s face before he crumpled to the roof. Jonah spit out the vile flesh and stepped back. His breath came in harsh, heavy pants. Adrenaline spiked through his system.

  He stared down at the unmoving form, at the man who’d made his life a living hell. He’d raped Jonah’s min
d. Stole his memories and almost took away the one thing he’d coveted above all else. Annabelle.

  A whoop of celebration echoed off the buildings, drawing him from the limp body in front of him. Each zombie fell to the ground then exploded into a pile of dust, like a row of dominos, until nothing was left of them. The raucous sounds of victory rang in his ears as he continued to stare down at his fellow team mates. They’d done it. They’d destroyed the Summoner and his horde.

  The people of London crept from the underground tunnels warily. They eased closer to his band of Dreadfuls and Annabelle’s misfits. Their soft murmurings were of cautious optimism. He grabbed Lucian’s body and threw him to ground below the house. It hit the cobblestone with a great splat. As disgusting as it might be, he had to show them all they were safe, and they had nothing worry about, ever again.

  He searched the crowd of people as he descended. He had to find his Annabelle. The group of people parted and there she stood. Her hair mussed up. Both of her guns in her hands. His Beloved. A warrior any man would be proud to call his. With purposeful stride, he closed the distance between them. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to him.

  “You did it,” she said, grinning up at him.

  “I did, with your help.” He brushed his lips over hers. “I thought I lost you forever.”

  “Hush.” She pressed her fingers to his lips. “We’re celebrating. Later we can contemplate our lives without one another.”

  “Later then,” he replied.

  “Take me home before we have to explain this to everyone?”

  He glanced around at the growing crowd of people. How did he explain necromancers and wolves? How did he explain any of it? “Yes. Let’s go.”

  “Do you think Miss Jemmy could make us some breakfast?” Mr. Nealy inquired coming up beside them.

  “Where is Clara?” Ezra snarled. “Why didn’t she join you?”

  Ah, yes. Just like old times. “I am sure she will explain when we return, Mr. Blakely.” He glanced at Mr. Nealy. “Most assuredly. You’ve seen how she gets when she is nervous.”

  “Aye, I have. Perhaps we should hurry.”

  “Yes,” Jonah answered. “We should.”

  15

  Two weeks later.

  The night was cold, foggy and dark. The moon hid behind the clouds, which helped her when she hunted. None of it bothered Annabelle as she patrolled, alone in the park. Instead she embraced it, allowed it to rejuvenate her. Jonah was alive. The Summoner, along with his zombie horde, were dead.

  London had returned to normal. Those humans who witnessed the attack surprisingly said little and returned to their homes, grateful to be alive. She waited though for the stories to begin. Journalists were ferocious after all and they wouldn’t be able to let what happen go.

  Clara, now fully recovered along with Jack and Ezra, had spent several days removing and destroying any evidence Lucian left in the catacombs. Jack suggested destroying the tomb, but Omer wouldn’t allow it. Instead they sealed it, both physically and magically forever to allow those whose remains it housed to rest in peace.

  Her little band of misfits had moved into the mansion last week. It was somewhat unconventional but it worked for them. The only issue they had so far was Omer. He seemed to be under the illusion he had some say in how she ran her misfits. She allowed the Ancient one to provide input and she often listened to his advice, but in the end the decision was hers. They fought about it several times. Jonah had smartly stayed out of it, refusing to pick a side. Of course, the bonus of living in the mansion was that she slept with Jonah during the day and hunted with him at night.

  A twig snapped to the right of her, pulling her from her musings. She did not pause or glance around, instead she continued at her slow walk. Her purpose tonight was to lure the prey to her and deal with them accordingly.

  Whoever it was made no attempt to be silent as she could hear the heavy footsteps grow near. Training had taught her it was a man who trailed her. The path split ahead, and she stayed to the right—the less traveled one. Her goal? Make whoever stalked her think she was an easy target. The man or beast would soon find out the hard way this was not the case.

  Her heartbeat increased, and adrenaline rushed through her body as she anticipated the fight. Rolling her neck, she smiled, looking forward to releasing some of the pent-up energy which had been building in her body. After the death of Lucien, it seemed as if the evil which normally resided in London had left and patrolling had become…boring. Which didn’t bode well for someone who loved the hunt.

  Done with the cat and mouse game she played, Annabelle stopped under a large sycamore tree, and pretended to dislodge a stone from her boot. It gave the illusion she’d hurt herself, or didn’t pay attention to her surroundings. The set up was perfect, except after fiddling with her shoe for five minutes, no one had approached her.

  Standing, she scanned the area. Although she did not see a single soul, she felt a pair of eyes watching her intently. It was irritating. Whoever was following her should have attacked her by now.

  The wind shifted, catching her attention as the leaves on the ground rustled and moved across the walk way.

  In a blink of an eye Annabelle found herself gently pressed against the trunk of the tree she had leaned on.

  “Good evening, my sweet,” the impressive form whispered across her bared neck, licking a trail up to her ear. Her body shivered in a familiar need.

  She didn’t struggle; quite the opposite, she allowed every muscle in her body to relax.

  “My sweet? I prefer Beloved. It rolls better off your tongue, Jonah,” she confessed.

  “You knew it was me?”

  “No,” she admitted. “Not till you touched me. Did you step on the twig on purpose?”

  “Yes,” he said, nuzzling her neck with his lips. “I wanted to feel your heartbeat increase, taste the rush of excitement you get at the hunt.”

  She smiled into the darkness. “You could simply make love to me. My heartbeat increases then too.”

  “Different taste,” he mumbled over her skin before using his canines to gently scrape the delicate flesh of her throat.

  “Jonah,” she groaned.

  “You were supposed to wait for me, Beloved.” Her sex ached every single time he called her ‘beloved.’ “Did we not agree to it?” he demanded.

  “Omer and you were locked in your study, deep in conversation,” she replied. “Hunting waits for no man or beast. You know this.”

  “If you allowed me to change you, I would worry less.” He pulled back, his gray eyes watching her attentively.

  “I believe this is the one hundred and thirty-first time we’ve had this discussion in the last week alone,” she chided him.

  “I will not give up. Every day you grow older, running the risk of an illness,” he reminded her.

  “I am aware. But I am still young and I still want to hunt. How can a vampire hunt its own?” she asked.

  “Easily. If the vampire takes life without worry, preys on the weak and is sick, you kill them. You were prepared to do it to me if Clara’s spell did not work. What is the difference?”

  She shrugged. “I am afraid,” she admitted, reaching up to cup his cool cheek. He nuzzled her hand.

  “I know. I would be with you every step and teach you the skill required to survive with minimal damage.”

  He meant taking human life.

  “I like the fact you feed from me.” She went with another tactic, hoping he would soon drop the conversation all together.

  He nodded. “I would still feed from you, Beloved, and you would feed from me. The sex,” he leaned down, nipping at her lip, “would be spectacular.”

  She laughed.

  “It already is.” Her nipples pebbled in need when he chuckled.

  Jonah had a sexually voracious appetite and he fed from her every time. Sometimes it was a sip, other times he would drink till she thought she would pass out from the mixture of pleasure—him bur
ied in her and drinking from her. He often would feed from her in other spots other than her neck.

  “I would not have to hold back. Fear hurting you with my strength,” he confessed, his grey eyes swirling with worry.

  “You cannot hurt me by loving me, Jonah; I believe we have already proven this point. Several times over in fact,” she decreed. It did not surprise her when he opened his mouth to rebuke her. “When the time is right, then you will change me. Not a moment before.”

  “All right, Beloved.” He smiled down at her. “The only time I will not wait for you to tell me is if you are hurt to the point where I might lose you.”

  “If such a time occurs, you have my permission to turn me,” she replied.

  He nodded and his look of worry receded; his smile reached his eyes.

  “It is dead out here tonight,” he stated and she laughed at his wording. “Would you like to do something else?”

  “Like?”

  “I am hungry,” he admitted, pushing her back against the tree.

  “You fed when you woke.”

  “Not that kind of hungry, Beloved.” To prove his point, he pushed his groin against her hip. She felt his hard ridge of his cock glide across her. “I want to fuck.”

  “I could be persuaded.” She groaned, rubbing her aching pussy against his thigh.

  Jonah picked her up, and she instinctively wrapped her legs around his hips as he moved them behind the tree and away from prying eyes, should anyone dare walk down the dark path.

  “Here?” she inquired when he removed her leather vest, dropping it on the leaf covered area.

  “Yes, here. You are safe,” he answered her as he reached for her blouse and ripped it off her. His gaze feasted on her full, aching breasts. “I will also make sure you get back to the house without being seen.”

  “Touch me, Jonah,” she begged.