Surrender the Dark

by Tibby Armstrong

  With his magic at its full power, Benjamin’s sweet blood singing through his veins, Tzadkiel had been able to fortify his mora’s abilities. They had destroyed nearly all of the keres in blasts of fire that had come from deep within their bellies. Rage had undergone an alchemical transformation that he still tasted as brimstone on his tongue. His family had not been dubbed Dragoumanos without reason.

  While the Morgan’s keres were decimated, the man himself still commanded the Common with the pentacle intact. He had lost few of his coven members and remained a powerful if somewhat lonely figure at the top of the monument hill. Lady Morgana’s meager force covered the vampires’ ultimate weary retreat, but only after exacting a promise that the vampires not return to the Public Garden uninvited.

  “You promised me the return of my home,” Tzadkiel had reminded the fae Lady.

  “Bring me a victory over my husband next time, and you shall have it,” she’d responded before retreating beneath the lake’s inky, ice-dotted surface.

  Carrying Benjamin’s cold, lifeless body to the theatre had nearly brought Tzadkiel to his literal and figurative knees. Hours of bickering and posturing with the mora had ensued. He wondered if the man he loved would ever be allowed to come back to him.

  Please, come back to me, hunter mine.

  When he emerged from the vision—from Tzadkiel’s memories—Benjamin, panting, wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “Gods.”

  “Now you understand?” Tzadkiel asked, taking the cup from him.

  Benjamin nodded. “I do.”

  The man who sat next to him on this mammoth bed in an underground compound, the experience of millennia behind him, was deeply and unabashedly in love. Benjamin, who had been his mortal enemy, and the son of enemies who had done everything possible to destroy what Tzadkiel held dear, was now his heart. He would die—had planned to die—before he would have let anything separate them.

  Leaning forward, Tzadkiel brushed his thumbs lightly over the scars where Benjamin’s eyes had once been. The touch activated seldom-fired nerve endings, and Benjamin sighed in bliss.

  Tzadkiel’s earnest gaze searched Benjamin’s face. “Are you upset that I turned you?”

  Benjamin thought about it for a moment. Perhaps he would have been, if Tzadkiel hadn’t shown him what had been in his heart. There was no way not to understand when their connection had been forged, literally, with blood, iron, and a measure of steel against steel. He held his wrist up to his own mouth, and his fangs popped in autonomic response. Startled, he jumped, then gave a little laugh before he bit.

  “This is my answer,” he said and pressed his wrist up to Tzadkiel’s lips.

  The War King’s gaze flared, and he drank. Benjamin poured into each heartbeat the safety, security, and conviction he felt in his bond with Tzadkiel. Everything was so right, there could be no room for wrong. A short while later, fervent suckles gave way to licks and nips that trailed from Benjamin’s wrist, up the inside of his elbow to his shoulder, and from there to his jaw. He tilted his head and moaned, pulling Tzadkiel down into his arms.

  Covers shifted and the bed creaked as it took Tzadkiel’s weight. Benjamin plucked at the ties of the ceremonial himation Tzadkiel still wore, and realized it was marked with their mingled blood. Drawing it over his head, Benjamin revealed scars of long-ago battles, and a sprinkling of dark hair. Dusky nipples formed little points, begging to receive attention.

  “Lie back and enjoy, or we are not doing this now.” The severe line of Tzadkiel’s downward-winging brows said the War King would suffer no refusal of this command.

  Benjamin, a bit catlike, stretched provocatively, and laced his fingers behind his head with a grin. Tzadkiel laughed and gave a playful slap to Benjamin’s thigh.

  “The hunter is a wanton.” A dimple he hadn’t known Tzadkiel possessed, popped to life in his right cheek, and Benjamin’s heart did a pirouette.

  “With you?” Benjamin rasped, when Tzadkiel’s fingers drifted to his nipples. “I can’t get enough.”

  A little twist of the barbells sent a thrill of pleasure from Benjamin’s chest to his feet. Toes curling, he let his legs fall open, and realized he was naked. Tzadkiel’s flattened hand smoothed downward, chasing past the lightly muscled corridor between Benjamin’s abs to his lower belly.

  “You undressed me.”

  Tzadkiel, already trailing hungry kisses down past Benjamin’s belly button, mentioned something about checking for injuries. Benjamin ceased to understand or care about the vampire’s reply as firm hands and a heated mouth focused attention on his cock.

  Reaching for Tzadkiel’s head, Benjamin lifted his hips and sighed when his hand slipped over the too-short dark strands. “What happened to your hair?”

  Tzadkiel lifted his gaze to Benjamin’s face. “Part of the bonding ceremony. It signifies a new beginning.”

  “I want you to grow it back.”

  “Done.” Tzadkiel’s voice vibrated around Benjamin’s sex.

  Hips surging, Benjamin grasped Tzadkiel’s muscled shoulder, and helped the War King set up a rhythm. Sloppy kisses and wet draws of Tzadkiel’s lips were a sweet accompaniment to the thrill of pleasure coiling at the base of Benjamin’s spine. Tzadkiel toyed with him, keeping him on the edge, bringing him close and reeling him out again, until incoherence resulted.

  Life sang through Benjamin’s veins, thrummed to his core, and raced toward a fierce finish. Tzadkiel, poised over him, fisted them both together, and intensified the friction of flesh and the press of flexing muscle until sweat slicked them both, easing the way toward release. In the final moment, Benjamin cried out Tzadkiel’s name. Fingers digging into corded biceps, he rode out the tempest that left him at once emptied and fulfilled.

  Whoever said love was blind, was right, Benjamin decided sometime later as he listened to the even rise and fall of Tzadkiel’s breaths. Once you closed your metaphorical eyes to misunderstandings and imperfections, conceits and prejudices, then, and only then, could you see the strength and beauty that had been there before you all along.

  Epilogue

  Floorboards squeaked on the newly repaired theatre stage. Footfalls and sword blows created staccato music, sawdust and sweat permeating the air. The men engaged each other in a training exercise. Under Dryas’s instruction, Nico fought Kopris. The latter’s wide swings marked him as fearful of coming too near his opponent’s blade. Nico took Kopris to the ground in a flurry of blows designed to instruct while Tzadkiel looked on. He nodded his approval to Dryas, and contemplated lifting his own sword. It had been several weeks since the mora’s battle with the coven, and he found himself in need of the exercise.

  Behind him, Benjamin and Nyx discussed repairs to the theatre’s ceiling. The fresco that had once seemed to breathe in vivid and living color had faded to ugly shades of brown. Conversations about the cost of the restoration sparked disagreement between Benjamin and his friend.

  “You can’t use your magic on that.” Benjamin jabbed an accusing finger toward the ceiling. “It’s a waste.”

  The witch placed both hands on slim hips. “And using your money isn’t?”

  Tzadkiel’s lips twitched. The same argument had been going on for days. As soon as one aspect had been resolved, another arose. First it had been about safety, then the quality of the restoration work magic could provide, and now it was about money and power. Standing, Tzadkiel decided to attempt to arbitrate the disagreement before it left Benjamin grumpy and disinterested in other plans Tzadkiel had for their evening.

  Nyx and Benjamin turned to him as he approached. “What seems to be the issue?”

  “Nyx”—Benjamin lowered his hand and pointed to the witch—“wants to use her limited resources to fix the ceiling.”

  Tzadkiel mock-frowned at Nyx, trying to appear thoughtful. “I thought you did not use your magic on mundane tasks?”

  The witch issued an exasperated breath. “It’s beautiful—or could be. I think it’s worth the fatigue.”


  As one, they looked up at the ceiling. Pan cavorted with nymphs and satyrs. He played his syrinx. The nymphs danced, their clothing fluttering behind them while the satyrs gave chase. Painted greenery, now faded, sprouted from sconces along the walls, the tendrils stretching upward to form a forest setting for the god and his retinue.

  “Why not allow Benjamin to pay for its repair?” Tzadkiel lowered his attention, knowing what Nyx would say.

  “Because you’re going to need that money to rebuild the rest of this place. And that”—Nyx indicated the fresco with a negligent wave—“is going to eat lots of cash. How many art restorers would it take? They’d need to work for years to fix that by hand. Even Benjamin’s not that wealthy. Besides, do you really want the art world to get wind of this place? Because it will.”

  Benjamin made a disgusted sound. “I have enough money to do it.”

  “Benjamin.” Tzadkiel turned to Benjamin, who wore his habitual sneer. “Let your friend give the mora this gift.”

  Nyx flushed with pleasure, witch fire glowing as slim hands fluttered in anticipation of the work. It would seem the witch had an affinity for art.

  “Maybe I wanted to give you that gift.” Benjamin crossed his arms over his chest and amended, “I wanted to give the mora that gift.”

  Tzadkiel cast a sideways glance to the thirty-odd men who fought on the stage. They were all that remained of his once-three-hundred-strong band of spiritual brothers. Now that the kylix was back in his hands, they could recruit more, but in truth the soul was gone from his family. Without his brothers, and without many of the other ancient friends and family who had fought by his side for millennia, he felt unmoored from his past.

  There had been a strain on them all since Benjamin’s turning. Half the men—Tzadkiel knew who they were and kept a close watch on them—resented Benjamin, while the others had not yet learned to trust him. Benjamin’s gesture in wanting to repair the fresco, Tzadkiel understood instinctively, was one calculated to insinuate him further into his chosen family. What Benjamin failed to understand, but would come to realize with time, was that trust would be built one brick at a time and had nothing to do with grand material acts.

  “Nyx?” Tzadkiel turned to the witch who had since set to tapping the toe of one boot against the floor. “Please would you do the mora the honor of taking charge of the theatre’s restoration?” Benjamin opened his mouth and Tzadkiel held up one hand. “In whatever manner you see fit.”

  “But—” Benjamin began.

  Tzadkiel turned and gestured for Benjamin to follow. “Come.”

  Without waiting to see if Benjamin did as instructed, Tzadkiel walked toward the iron room. Inside, he allowed his War King mask to drop and leaned against the wall to regard Benjamin. His lover and life mate wore his customary uniform—a loose shirt and ripped jeans with tightly laced combat boots. Wraparound sunglasses glittered in the torchlight, completing the ensemble. His hair was a springy mop that went every which way.

  Tzadkiel smiled to soften the moment, and tugged one blond lock. “Cease questioning my orders in company. Talk to me in here if I do or say something with which you disagree.”

  Frowning, Benjamin paced away. “If I could even get five minutes of your attention, that would be great.”

  Tzadkiel thought over the past weeks and realized that he’d been working from sundown to sunup to restore the mora and to plan for the battles he knew were to come. They had not yet been able to approach the Common, and needed a new strategy to destroy the remaining pentacle to weaken the Morgan. Heavily guarded since the night of the battle, the focus of the pentacle seemed unreachable.

  “I’m sorry.” Benjamin scrubbed a palm over his face and sat on the bed’s edge. “I know I’m being petty and difficult. I’m just worried.”

  As they all were.

  Lady Morgana, of course, had reneged on their deal when the dust of the battle had settled. She claimed Boston Public Garden for herself, while her husband still ruled Boston Common. Conversations following the battle had centered around the gratitude the Sons of Pollux should show to the Lady for covering their backs and their tracks. Never mind that the favor had been owed to them from Tzadkiel’s point of view. At least the battle itself had been hidden from the public as a result of the barrier the Morgan had cast over the area, and they’d not had to deal with a police investigation into the unconventional and very open war.

  Tzadkiel sat next to Benjamin. The bed dipped under his weight. He read Benjamin’s emotions as shorthand to the conversation, plucking out the thing that worried him most. Akito. A few brief conversations with messengers from the Morgan had indicated if Tzadkiel were to turn over Akito to the coven, a deal for access to certain portions of the mora’s property on the Common might be reached. Even if Tzadkiel had believed the offer, he would not have betrayed Benjamin’s friend. Akito had fought valiantly on the mora’s behalf—out of loyalty and concern for Benjamin, of course, but that had been enough for Tzadkiel to consider him an ally. The Sons of Pollux did not betray allies.

  “I will continue to try to help Akito,” Tzadkiel said.

  Benjamin’s head snapped up. “How?”

  Tzadkiel looped his arm around slender shoulders and kissed the top of Benjamin’s head, thoughtful. Akito had freedom to come and go from the mora as he chose. Daily walks through Boston’s streets with Nyx seemed to soothe the agitation building inside him. Everyone’s best guess was that he existed halfway between two worlds—part vampire and part human—and no longer had a foothold to the mortal world, but also did not claim the immortality of Tzadkiel’s kind. Poison blood from a dead vampire tainted his own, much as the iron had Tzadkiel’s for so many decades. It ate at his soul, slowly driving him mad. Though they had attempted to find a way to purge the Morgan’s toxic magic, they had not yet succeeded.

  “Akito’s effots in gaining the kylix have not gone unnoticed.” Tzadkiel wrapped Benjamin in his arms, elderflower soothing his senses. They should have had this conversation long before now. “I keep him here against the mora’s wishes in honor of his sacrifice.”

  Tzadkiel left unsaid that Akito was also important to him because the man was important to Benjamin, but he knew Benjamin understood.

  “Do you know what happened to him?” Benjamin asked, needing but not wanting to know what his friend had done in the name of attempted heroism.

  “The best I can understand is that he went with the Morgan willingly, hoping to undermine him. He saw the Morgan misuse the kylix to make the keres, and knew what the coven had planned. Though Akito’s drinking from the kylix was self-serving—a chance to attain that which he envied in you and Nyx—he truly thought he would be able to help you better if he were transformed first.”

  “So he’s what now? Not even a vampire? Half a man?” Benjamin spat the word like an invective. “Fat lot of good his stupidity did him. Clueless bastard.”

  Tzadkiel found himself more surprised than wounded. “Do you hate us still? Do you wish I had not changed you? Would you deny your friend a chance at the same immortality?”

  “No.” Benjamin shook his head, emphatic. “I’m pissed that he’d do this to himself out of some idea he wasn’t enough. That he wasn’t good enough as he was.”

  Tzadkiel stroked Benjamin’s cheek. “He is not a vampire. Neither is he a ker. Somehow, the ceremony he took upon himself without the Morgan’s help left him in limbo. He is between human and undead, mortal and immortal.”

  “I know that…What I really want to know is whether he’ll survive.” Benjamin said after a while.

  Tzadkiel answered as truthfully as he could. “I do not know, hunter.”

  A sharp nod, more to himself than to Tzadkiel, seemed to settle the matter for now in Benjamin’s mind. He twisted, lifting his face to observe Tzadkiel. “Thanks for letting Nyx stay. There’s not a lot of room, and she’s sort of a girl.”

  Surprise made Tzadkiel blink. “We have nothing against women. Nyx is a warrior with many ta
lents.”

  “I know.” Benjamin’s questing fingers explored Tzadkiel’s shirt buttons. “You’ve said your magic doesn’t work to turn them—that they have their own sect. But still.” He shrugged. “I know it’s cramping your style. I like knowing Nyx and Akito are safe.”

  “I cannot promise to keep them here forever, but I will keep them for as long as I can.” Tightening his hold on Benjamin, Tzadkiel hugged him reassuringly. “They are your family. As you are mine.”

  At the thought—voiced before it had truly taken hold in his conscious mind—happiness ballooned in Tzadkiel’s chest. Until he’d uttered the sentiment, he hadn’t realized he thought of Benjamin as family. Of course, Benjamin was his lover, his subject, and his life mate. These were natural conclusions Tzadkiel had already drawn. This new discovery, however, filled places he thought would remain empty for the rest of his existence.

  “I love you,” Tzadkiel whispered into Benjamin’s hair.

  A contented rumble made its way from Benjamin’s chest. He slipped his fingers under Tzadkiel’s collar and drew out the chain that rested there. Two points of white bone dangled from the silver. Benjamin caressed them with the pad of his thumb before pricking himself on one sharp point. A drop of blood welled, which he held up to Tzadkiel’s lips.

  Tzadkiel felt his own gaze intensify, his sex growing heavy at the implied act as he drew Benjamin’s thumb into his mouth and sucked the bright taste from his flesh. Pulling Benjamin around to face him, he placed a lingering kiss on his lover’s mouth. Tzadkiel drew away before the embrace became overly heated, knowing he was expected back in the training arena to review the men.