This was the fun part, the part she lived and died for. Her adrenaline kicked into high gear and her muscles tensed with anticipation. She knew the drill, the vampire would either try to run, using his superior speed to slip past her or, he would fight. She hoped he would fight. It had been far too long since she’d had a good battle, and her palms twitched as fingers tightened their grip on the daggers in anticipation.
A sharp pain in her side, where her ribs were still healing from the last punishment for her failure in Los Angeles, reminded her that she had a mission to carry out. Before the night was over she would not only have one hell of a fight, but would also return to the enclave with a vial of heart’s blood from a vampire sired by the so-called Lady of the City.
“My death?” A look of confusion flashed in the vampire’s eyes. He glanced up to the heavens again and a moment later peace replaced confusion. His gaze returned to her, and he smiled, flashing unnatural fangs. The vampire dropped to his knees and leaned forward, offering up his neck to her. “Make it quick and try for one stroke. I don’t know if I can control my rage if you need more than one.”
Knight 225 looked at the daggers in her hands, ready to do what she required, every admonishment she’d ever heard about vampires ran through her mind. Yet, she hesitated.
She approached the kneeling vampire with caution. Bloodsuckers were known to be clever and would use every devious advantage they could find to gain the upper hand. Wary for any sort of trickery she asked, “Why?” The question left her mouth on a whisper before she could stop herself.
The vampire stared up at her, scars on his face becoming more defined. Now that 225 could see him up close, they appeared as though pressing red-hot crosses to his flesh had made them. Some tiny part of the person 225 had been before the initiation rites wondered who had burned him and what he’d done to deserve such a cruel fate.
His eyes pleaded with her. She’d never seen such strange eyes. They held variations of brown, to mahogany… so dark it appeared black with flecks of pale tan and a coal black ring around the iris that defined them.
“What?” he asked blinking his eyes as though waking from a nightmare.
“Why do you want me to do this?” She gritted her teeth against the stab of pain that lanced through her own side.
Questioning was not tolerated. She was not an inquisitor, skilled in extracting information from the enemy. Yet she felt the need to know more about him before she ended his existence.
The pain in her side grew in intensity as if her body warned her of the price she’d have to pay for such curiosity. She teetered dangerously close to the end of the line. Failure carried a high price.
“I did not ask for this… to be what I am and cannot continue this. No way am I a killer.” His voice boomed as a deep, dark chasm that stretched out before him, and a solitary tear slid from his eye and down his cheek.
Knight 225 rocked back on her heels as though someone had slapped her hard, maybe even landed a solid punch to her face. The bloodsucker met her gaze, and his pupils contracted down to almost nothing, allowing her to see more of his unique eyes.
“Please do not put me through another night of this torture. I hear their screams from the time I rise until oblivion takes me.”
“You’re pathetic,” she said, spitting on the ground beside him. “Why not just kill yourself and get it over with?”
“You think I have not made attempts?” Defiance flashed in his eyes. That split second reminded 225 that though he may seem meek and harmless, he was still vampire. Strong, fast, and full of hatred.
“So, now you want me to finish what you can’t?”
“Yes.” The vampire let out the remainder of his breath and the tension in his body followed.
Horror filled the small part of 225 that remained human and spilled over, flooding her psyche with thoughts and memories that threatened to overtake her. Without thinking, 225 stepped back, giving herself physical distance from the creature.
This confrontation had spiraled out of control since the very beginning. The vampire wanted to die, wanted her to do it. Taking his life in a fight was one thing, but doing it as a favor, while he was unarmed, on his knees and begging her…
She stretched her hands out in front, as if to shield herself from a blow and backed away, shaking her head.
“No! You can’t.” The vampire’s eyes grew wide, and she witnessed the panic creeping in. He rose and started toward her. “I will not listen to that frantic endless pounding until I give in. If you do not grant me peace, I will take what passes for your life.”
The vampire lunged, his superior speed catching 225 off guard. She reacted, working on instinct and training alone. Her hands went to her blades, drawing and bringing them into a defensive stance, ready to meet his attack. His body slammed into hers, and her arms acted like a shock absorber, deflecting the worst of the momentum. Waves of sensation radiated from the impact point. Through the weapon, she felt the moment when flesh gave way, the steel ripping through it doing untold damage.
His face twisted in an expression somewhere between pain and relief. He hissed as momentum carried him forward, the finely honed edges sliding deeper into his body with ease. The blade found space between his ribs by sheer dumb luck.
Finally, 225 gasped, and staggered backward, letting go of her weapon. For the first time since she’d become an acolyte of the Order, she felt remorse for what she had done.
Her victim smiled as he sank to his knees, hands wrapped around the hilt of the dagger. She expected him to remove the weapon, but the vampire held on as if it were giving him life, not taking it. On his knees, he swayed, and she knew that the mix of poisons that coated the blade must be taking effect. His brown eyes met hers, and she saw only peace, no fear, no regret…
An acceptance of his fate.
A moment later he coughed, a splash of crimson appearing on his lips as if by magic. The vampire reached out his hand toward 225, toward his killer. She knew she shouldn’t go to his side, but even though every muscle in her body resisted, she reached out. Touching his outstretched fingers, her mind screamed in protest as she knelt in front of him.
He winced, breath hissing through his teeth and his body swayed in place, teetering close to falling onto his side. She caught his arm and eased the wounded vampire down to the pavement. His body trembled at her touch while his breathing became labored.
She sat, entranced, watching in fascination as the blood drained from his body. Lack of blood left his skin a chalky white color, a strange bluish cast on his lips.
The vampire took her hand and pressed it to the flesh above the dagger’s blade over his heart, the heart she knew her blade had pierced. Sticky, cool blood soaked his shirt seeping under her hand as she fought to staunch the wound.
He coughed again, more blood flecks appearing on his lips. “Thank you,” he whispered before pressing a chaste kiss on the back of her hand.
Baffled, feeling the world spin out of control around her, 225 couldn’t think of anything to say. She just watched as the light in the vampire’s eyes faded to nothing and his labored breathing slowed and stopped.
Everything 225 knew… had been taught, had taught others about vampires… was wrong. Feeling rocked to the core, she sat beside him, waiting for his soul to return, waiting for the denizens of Hell to welcome him. Nothing happened. He hadn’t been beautiful, deceitful or calculating or, as far as she could tell, an intentional liar.
“I didn’t even know your name,” she told the corpse as though he would return to life for a second time and answer her. Why didn’t I take a second to ask his name? At that moment, something within her broke. She stood and staggered away from the body like a drunkard down the alley and out to the street. Well-meaning good Samaritans offered help, but 225 brushed them off with a curt gesture.
The woman pushed past Marcus, seeming to be in a similar daze. He watched her go, his feet frozen to the ground. He wasn’t certain what he’d just witnessed, but a sm
all part of him knew he should have at least tried to intervene. No, I just stood here like an asshole. Now that guy’s dead though he seemed to want it. Whoever that chick was, she’s in the wind. Fuck. I should have followed her.
Marcus shook himself. Someone screamed. The body had been found and a crowd had begun forming. He knew nothing could to be done to help the vampire, so he whispered an ancient prayer beseeching the death Gods to take his soul into their keeping. He turned away and threaded his way through the humans back to Bourbon Street. About halfway back to the bar, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and without slowing his pace, he dialed the Enforcer’s number and waited as it rang three times before she picked up.
“Marcus, what can I do for you?” Her sweet, honeyed voice came over the line.
“Jessie, I need to meet with you tonight. Like before the sun comes up.”
“That’s usually what tonight means. What’s up?” she asked, something in her tone of voice had changed because she wanted to hear what he had to say. He’d bet money she’d gone from lounging to sitting up straight.
“I just saw some weird shit go down, and I’ve got no idea what’s up. I think it’s something you’re going to want to include in your nightly report to the Assassin.”
She chuckled. “You know he hates being called that. So, do you want to do this over the phone or meet in person?”
“In person. Can you make it to my joint in the Quarter?”
“I’ve got a couple of things I can’t get out of right now, but I can be there by three. Does that work for you?” Uncertainty tainted in her voice.
Because she was still new to the posting in New Orleans, Marcus was certain her hesitation had something to do with the fact that he’d asked to meet with her. “Perfect, closing is at two o’clock and the crew should be done with their work by then. We’ll have the joint to ourselves. Thanks,” he said, keeping his tone calm and reassuring.
“Anytime, Old Man,” she said in a teasing voice before hanging up.
“Young whelp. Maybe she’s not as uncertain as I thought.” He grumbled to himself and put the phone to sleep before slipping it back in his pocket. A quick glance at his watch told him he still had two hours to kill before she’d make it to the bar. I’d love to take the chance to get shit faced and forget whatever I just fucking witnessed, but I can’t. He almost hoped a fight would break out and he’d have the chance to knock some heads together before closing time.
The Order’s Knight 225 was still in a daze, flashes of confusing memories assaulting her mind when she arrived at the front doors of The Enclave. Her eyes took in everything around her, but her mind wasn’t really processing what she saw. While her mind began to clear, her feet carried her into and down to the corridor where the High Lord’s audience chamber waited.
Stepping into the room, she closed the door without making a sound before she took three long strides to the center of the room and dropped to the floor in full obeisance before him. Her knees ached and a she had a tickle at the back of her throat from breathing the dust that drifted through the air.
“You have failed.” His frosty voice and its echoes sent spears of ice down her spine.
She didn’t react; to do so would make her situation worse. Fighting the urge to sneeze, she tried every trick she knew to swallow the tickle, nothing worked. It remained, waiting for the worst possible moment.
“Did you not hear? I said you have failed.”
“Yes, High Lord.” Keeping her tone neutral and hoping that by showing respect, she might win a small measure of leniency. There have been too many failures in the past few weeks to hope for complete forgiveness.
The High Lord’s chair slide back, and he exhaled in a long-suffering sigh. His footsteps echoed through the room. Though 225 kept her head bowed, she knew he stood over her when his footsteps stopped.
“Perhaps you’d care to explain why you do not have the item you were sent to acquire?” His smooth voice sent tendrils of something slithering into 225’s mind before sinking its hooks deep into her psyche.
“He surprised me,” she answered, unable to lie though she wanted to, knowing it would make things easier for her. The strange haze she’d experienced since first encountering the vampire began slipping away. Deep down, 225 was disgusted by her actions; she was a Knight of the Order of the Black Rose. Weak willed hunters showed mercy to the blood suckers, but normally they were beneath her. She deserved the High Lord’s contempt and worse. Remaining in place, forehead pressed to the floor, arms outstretched above her head, palms flat against the hardwood as it pressed into her knees and shins, she said nothing.
The High Lord tsked several times before he knelt and slid his fingers under her chin, tipping her head up so he could meet her gaze.
“You failed because the bloodsucker did what?”
Knight 225 wanted to curl in on herself to stay warm as the temperature plummeted several degrees, but she couldn’t. She met the High Lord’s stony gaze and swallowed hard. “He surprised me, High Lord.”
“How?” The contempt in his voice was like a slimy concoction sliding down the back of 225’s already sore throat. “Why do you not have the blood I require… the blood I ordered you to obtain? Tell me 225, why do I have an errant Knight and no vampire blood?” His tone drifted to something singsong with an edge of taunting to it.
“I…” she began, but her vocal chords seized. She couldn’t continue. When she swallowed hard, the High Lord’s grip tightened on her chin. “I don’t have any explanation. The situation caught me off guard. I panicked. I fled before I could obtain the blood.”
“Is the vampire dead?”
“Yes.” The claws retracted, slipping from her mind. She couldn’t stop the tremors that ran through her, and 225 gasped as her eyes rolled back in her head.
“Panic is not acceptable in a Knight. This second failure goes beyond the failures of 157.” He released her chin, and she listened as he took a few short steps back. “Do you believe I should hand down a similar, if not more severe, form of punishment?” He knelt and took her hands in his. It should have been a kind gesture, but 225 knew it wasn’t. The gesture asserted his dominance over her, and the High Lord pulled 225 to her feet. Her muscles and joints flared with pain after the long time spent on her knees. The silence in the room grew as though the world held its breath, waiting for something. His eyes narrowed and his brow drew down, the upper part of his face cast in deep shadow. “Do I need to repeat myself, Knight?”
Knight 225 shook her head, “No, High Lord.”
His voice and expression softened though a shrewdness remained behind his pale green eyes. “So, 225, tell me. What do you suggest?”
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. He had placed her fate in her own hands. That was the worst part. If she chose something too lenient, the High Lord could well order something devious and more painful than she could imagine. On the other end of the spectrum if she went harsh, he might deem it an appropriate response.
“Death.” The word hung in the air, growing in weight and importance even as it had slipped from her mouth like any other word.
She heard the High Lord’s sharp intake of breath and wondered what it meant. The sound of his footfalls retreating from the room before he’d pronounced her sentence sent a thrill of dread through her whole body.
The footsteps paused no more than ten feet away. “Take that one to the dungeon. She will be useful and it may bring about the death she has asked for.” The High Lord ordered the Blades standing near his door to comply before she heard his footsteps begin again, fading away to nothing as they were replaced by the soft whisper of the Blades as they moved to her sides.
24
Morgan walked through the forest following a well-defined path. To the left and right, she heard telltale signs of denizens of the forest moving in the shadows. She picked up the pace, her heavy skirts and layers of petticoats brushing against her legs. As she moved deeper into the forest, she began hearing whi
spers. Unable to understand what they were saying, the voices slithered into her psyche, trying to draw her from the path. In her mind, she heard Richard’s voice.
Remain on the trail. No matter what happens, do not step off the path. Morgan shook her head, trying to recall why she couldn’t step off of the track when it seemed to go on forever.
“Run.” A voice hissed from behind her, sending a spike of terror through to her core.
Morgan swallowed hard and took a slow, deep breath, letting it out on a slow count of ten.
“Run or die.” The beast’s breath burned the back of her neck and she smelled the nauseating scent of the speaker’s fetid breath.
Panic took over, Morgan ran as fast as her vampire speed would allow, lifting the front of her skirt so it wouldn’t get caught on her feet. Swallowing her scream, she concentrated on running and staying on the path. It all continued for several minutes with the creature breathing down her neck. Morgan skidded to a stop, the ground opening up in front of her. Staggering back, she found herself standing on the edge of a canyon, more than ten feet wide and so deep she couldn’t see the bottom. The canyon wound into the distance and out of sight in both directions.
Feeling the creature drawing closer with each passing second, Morgan shook her head and bolted left. The moment her foot connected with the ground beside the path it shattered under her weight. She screamed as gravity dragged her down into the black abyss until she lost all sense of space or time.
At the bottom, her senses returned. Though still surrounded by darkness, Morgan knew she wasn’t alone. In an instant, a floor appeared beneath her feet and soft light filled the room. She glanced around and found herself in the center of an amphitheater with stone benches rising up on all sides.
“You lost focus because you failed to follow instructions.” Richard’s voice boomed through the room as he made a grand entrance down the stairs in front of her.
Forged in Flame Page 16
