by V L Moon
An inner voice called to Laziel. The rise of his emotions and feelings grew stronger in nature; far stronger than Laziel was used to, and blossomed into an unyielding affliction that bore an ache into the core of Laziel’s celestial heart. It fixated his intentions solely on the male who'd grown into an almighty force of strength, courage, loyalty and grace. Laziel fought a war against the affliction, burying it deep, keeping his yearning for more his darkest secret.
Laziel knew Lachi, knew more than anyone what defined the vampire, what fed him and his desires. The image of Lachi, slick with sweat after one of his torturous sessions, involving the sting of a whip or the bite of a chain, brought Laziel to heel. The angel mercifully explained to Lachi on many an occasion all about endurance and the satisfactory ramifications of pleasure and pain. But, for Lachi, those same methods carried through to the more carnal parts of his vampiric desires.
Many a night, Laziel bore witness to the vampire King's ravenous explorations and sexually assertive nature. Oh, Laziel enjoyed those moments. The angel, in Lachi’s preferred male form, filled his cesspit of yearning with a delicious abundance of lascivious need, a menagerie of want, desire and lust. And, on top of that, Laziel heaped on a double helping of sacrificial love. Shit, he had it bad. And didn't that just brighten his mood. If anything, it turned Laziel darn right nasty.
The relationship they shared was both complicated and exclusive. Unlike the human’s topside that dabbled in the art of bondage and BDSM, Laziel and Lachi held no use for safe words or dominant versus subservient roles. To Laziel, it was more than being a willing recipient of Lachi’s deviant attention. He was the only one capable of taking the brutality of the vampire King’s predilection for sating his anger via the infliction of pain. It was what made them tick, their way of giving and receiving, the only remote emotion they allowed themselves. The bite of the whip or the crack of a cane was nothing to Laziel who'd fought wars. This was his gift. The only thing he could offer to Lachi that the vampire King was willing to accept. For Laziel, the infliction of the pain Lachi dealt him was nothing compared to the ache he felt from the burden of unrequited love.
Laziel used the staining of his addiction to his best advantage. After Lachi exerted himself, sating his need and covering them both in the heat of melted wax, or flayed the skin of Laziel’s rippling flesh with the sting of a whip, Laziel trained. He dragged his shattered, broken heart to the brink of exhaustion, by taking Lachi to the war room where they battled through a torturous regime of punches, kicks, dagger blows and more. Their exertions drew pools of crimson blood and sweat from every pore. Lachi's body ached and Laziel’s heart screamed for more; more pain to overwhelm the torrential ache residing in his heart. A pain that some five hundred years later, burned hotter than the Earth’s molten core.
Over time feelings had changed. At present, they were a union, a consolidated force of power and strength that nothing, not the Court fools before them or the powers above dared to break apart. The words Laziel's Creator forewarned on the day Lachi first breathed upon the Earth echoed just as clearly as they did that first day. “The ties of life you bind yourself to will only ever be broken by the joint ending of your union of light.”
Laziel’s hand shifted and came to rest on the shoulders of the King and gripped him hard. Leaning in, Laziel whispered, his breath was deep and husky as it tantalized the hairs on Lachi's neck. “Let’s blow this place…there's something that needs your attention more. And, I don't think it wants to wait.” Raising a brow to Lachi's questioning face, Laziel gave a most wicked grin and then stood back to wait.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Sprawled in the opulent gilded chair the vampire race reserved for their King, Malachi Denali surveyed the cackling idiots that made up most of his Elder Council. The incessant posturing of the Elders partnered with their asinine opinions grated along Malachi’s nerves. He detested these quarterly gatherings almost as much as he loathed the pompous asses filling the plush leather chairs. Tension coiled in his muscles, a vice banding his broad shoulders beneath the black silk shirt he'd donned specifically for the meeting. It perfectly matched the custom fitted black Dolce and Gabbana trousers hugging his thighs. For himself, he preferred his black leather pants, black tee and biker boots. He rarely made concessions for the meetings, but tonight, he'd swallowed his abhorrence and dressed the part of the King. His eyes raked the room again. Only one or two of the assembled garnered his respect.
Most were outdated fools who refused to integrate their enclaves into the twenty-first-century. At every corner, Malachi faced opposition and stubbornness. Were he to have his way, the faction milling about before him flapping their gums in a severe case of one-up-manship would be stripped of their seats and banished from his Court. They did nothing to preserve their race.
Temper simmering at the boiling point and filled with restless energy, Malachi, nonetheless, reclined still as stone after his one growling outburst. A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, and Laziel’s husky voice slid into his ear smooth as molasses. The whispered words snaked a path from his ears to his groin, filling him instantly. Only the presence of the Elders kept him from grabbing the hand on his shoulder and pulling the angel down into his lap.
Nearly two centuries had passed since he and Laziel leapt from comrades to lovers. He still marveled at the change in their relationship. He'd been much as he was at the moment, anger roiling through his system, in desperate need of release. A release only the sadistic pleasure of a bound and willing partner gave him. He'd been headed out to find what he needed when the angel stopped him. The offer that fell from celestial lips had floored him.
“Use me.” Laziel’s words from that night echoed in his mind. Malachi had stood stunned, unaware the angel knew of his proclivities. He'd shaken his head and backed away, unwilling to see the censure within the angel's eyes. Shame, a rare emotion, swept over him, and he hadn't been able to meet Laziel's pleading gaze. But, the angel already knew. Why that surprised him he never understood. Laziel knew everything. With quiet determination, the angel had taken his hand and led him into the room at the bordello. Head bowed, Laziel knelt at Malachi's feet and offered himself yet again.
It had taken every ounce of courage Malachi could muster to accept what Laziel offered that night. He knew standing there looking down on that bowed head that everything would change depending on his next move. He didn't regret picking up the whip. Never, in all the years that passed, had he ever regretted it. Now, he knew Laziel’s body as well as he knew his own. Each ridge and valley of muscle had been explored by lips, fangs, tongue and fingers. Malachi's whip knew the glorious taste of the angel's blood.
His temper spiked again at being denied that which he wanted the most. His angel. Sensing Malachi's escalating temper, Laziel squeezed and pressed down, keeping Malachi firmly in his seat. For all his taunting, the angel wanted Malachi right where he was: on the throne of the vampire race. From his earliest memories, two things were constant in Malachi's life, Laziel and the incessant training to achieve the throne where he now sat. However, it was only the solid weight of the angel's hand on him that kept Malachi from projecting himself out of the Council Chambers and into the night. The pressure was a tangible reminder of his duty; a duty he fulfilled, yet never asked to be given. Most times, only his loyalty to the one standing stoic and proud just behind his left shoulder kept him from tossing in the towel and leaving the sniveling bastards to fend for themselves.
Fury's fire raced through his veins as Malachi waited impatiently for the dignitaries to take their seats. He shifted restlessly. The angel's fingers brushed up higher, his palm coming to rest on Malachi's neck. He settled somewhat, his temper calmed by Laziel’s touch, the angel’s very presence. Yet, other parts of him thickened and lengthened. A throbbing ache settled low in Malachi’s groin and he fought to keep his fangs from elongating any further. He needed blood, the angel's blood, and soon. He growled low and sat forward banging a fist on the table. Cowed by the dynamic d
isplay of Malachi's temper, the assembled vampires shuffled quietly to their seats.
The acrid scent of their fear, and one vampire's anger, stained the air. Malachi's nostrils flared at the stinging bite to his enhanced sense of smell. Finally, they all sat, or reclined as the case may be, in their chairs. Per the norm, Darklon was the last to slide insolently into his seat, the last to obey Malachi’s command. Leaning forward, Malachi deliberately tracked the circuit of faces, forcing each of them to make eye contact, reinforcing by his mere glare his role as their leader.
“Now, if you all have satisfactorily gotten your panties out of a twist, let's get this the fuck over with.” His voice, a barely controlled snarl, quelled any last murmurs from the gathered vampires, including Darklon. “Synta, your report.”
“All is…” Synta, Elder of the Asian region, stood and cleared his throat, “All is clear, Malachi-Sama. We have no issues.” Bowing slightly, the diminutive vampire took his seat and lowered his gaze to the table. The slight trembling of his slender frame irritated Malachi.
Of the assembled, Synta was one of the few that bore the weight of Malachi's favor. Always quiet and direct, Synta oversaw his area with a gentle but firm hand. On the opposite end of the spectrum, sitting on the first row directly before his King, was Darklon. Malachi’s greatest nemesis and a vampire who dominated with cruelty and power, Darklon Di Sangue always stayed just within the strictures of their race. He regretted scaring Synta; however, the ones such as Darklon required the dominant show of power and a reminder of Malachi's authority.
Malachi inclined his head acknowledging Synta's information before turning his attention to the next Council member. Three more all clear reports and malice filled green eyes clashed with Malachi's own. Darklon smirked as he rose sinuously to his feet. Older than Malachi by half a millennium, he balked at bowing to Malachi's dominion. Publicly, he supported Malachi's regime; he wasn't stupid, only twisted. Privately, he fought Malachi at every opportunity.
From across the room, Darklon's animosity rolled off him and slammed granite hard into Malachi. His lip curled in response to the unstated challenge exposing his fangs. The snarl boiling in his chest vibrated his ribs as he struggled to hold it in check. Behind him, the angel exercised no such self-control. A growl slithered into the air, daring the older vampire to act. Malachi lifted a hand from his lap and palmed Laziel's rock hard thigh holding the angel in place at his side.
“Report, Darklon.” Venom laced Malachi's words causing the other Elders to retreat deeper into their seats. A battle of wills would be futile, Darklon was destined to lose.
“The region is clear and well protected as you obviously already know. The Nephilim have kept a low profile in the last quarter.” Darklon's condescending tone set Malachi's fangs on edge, but he refrained for allowing his anger to show. Disappointed at the obvious lack of response, the other vampire steepled his fingers on the table before him. He contemplated his reflection in the highly polished black marble surface. “However, there has been rumor that one who was thought lost is… not.” Raising his head, Darklon's piercing gaze bore into Malachi's own carefully schooled, bland expression. After several seconds, Malachi arched a brow, but maintained his bored “put upon” façade.
“Not this ancient argument again, old man,” Malachi drawled, deliberately taunting the other male with his sarcastic tone. Nudging Laziel’s leg with his elbow, Malachi chuckled and commented, not to Darklon, but to the angel, “I do believe one is becoming senile. Haven't we been over this subject ad nauseum, Laziel? You would think by now, one would realize that He is no longer alive. Such obsession is so… human.” The utter disdain in the last word fell like a bomb in the crypt quiet room. The ripe scent of Darklon's fury billowed from his end of the table, actually making Malachi smirk. Leaning back in his seat, he crossed one booted foot over the opposite knee giving all appearances of being utterly unconcerned with the other male's' rage.
“Have you anything else, Loni?” The hated nickname rolled smoother than honey off of Malachi's tongue, drawing a throb of laughter from Laziel. To Malachi's secret delight, Darklon swallowed the bait. He disappeared in a blinding flash of light and reappeared with clawed hands extended for Malachi's throat. Although Malachi didn't budge, Darklon never reached his target. Utter and complete faith in his angel kept Malachi seated despite the very real threat. His trust was rewarded.
Taller and broader than most vampires, including Darklon and Malachi, Laziel agilely flashed between them, catching Darklon one handed by the throat and lifting him clear of his feet. In the other hand, a wickedly curved dagger appeared and pressed into the vampire's jugular. A whine of pain at silver's merciless bite echoed in the silent room.
“Shall I dispose of him now?”
“You can't, you bast...Sire. You deliberately provoked me. The Council is witness,” Darklon wheezed through the angel's punishing grip. Malachi cast his eye over the assembled and chuckled derisively.
“You've done nothing to encourage loyalty from your peers, Loni. I would speculate that if I chose to end your miscreant life right this moment, none here would oppose my decision. However, to prove to you once again why I am the better vampire to lead our race… you are free to go. By rights, I am entitled to your heart in my hands. You make the mistake of attacking me again; Laziel has my permission to extract it… painfully.” Malachi surged gracefully to his feet, and turned his attention to the last remaining Elder.
Like Synta, Mendeeto had earned Malachi’s respect. With his wife and young son to protect, Mendeeto had proven himself a ferocious warrior and fearless leader. He encouraged his enclave to embrace the changes Malachi introduced and willingly embraced the technology and modern day convenience that would see their race into the new century. “Men, I’ll have your report in my office later. I believe that concludes our meeting. Laziel, release him before I change my mind.”
With a vicious shake, Laziel tossed Darklon across the room. Malachi didn't wait to see him sprawl in an inglorious heap. Turning his back on the other vampire, he strolled from the room, his action a deliberate insult to Darklon's prowess. A large shadow engulfed him and though the angel made no noise, Malachi knew Laziel followed him from the room. A roar of outrage erupted behind them.
“You should have let me kill him.”
“I know... maybe next time. Right now, I do believe you have something that needs to be tended to?”
Wicked laughter filled the tunnel and Laziel disappeared in a flash of sparkling light. With a growl of arousal, Malachi followed quickly behind him.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
CHAPTER TWO
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Laziel took form deep in the catacombs leading to Malachi’s private chambers. Lonely corridors led down into the underground maze of ornate walkways that dissected the enclave. Stretched out before them, portraits of every great vampire king decorated the partitions. Antique rugs and furniture lined the walls and floors of the arched walkways; some so old they predated even the oldest vampires living in similar opulent surroundings hidden around the globe. Laziel knew because the angel pre-dated everything and everyone in and above them, and had since the dawning of time.
As they walked, Laziel hung back and watched as the broad expanse of Lachi's shoulders gradually started to relax and unwind. Staying silent, Laziel’s senses all bargained against each other, warring for that metaphysical top slot that protected Lachi from the deadly intentions that came hand in hand with his legitimate role as the vampire King.
Laziel knew the chambers where the vampire race and their King resided were guarded better than the human’s fabled Fort Knox. But, that didn't stop Laziel’s constant vigil where Lachi’s safety was concerned. Although he’d trained each one of the specifically chosen guards and they’d sworn to give their lives to protect their liege, Laziel relied solely on himself to keep Lachi safe. The idea of Lachi ever being harmed caused a scowl to work its way across Laziel’s face.
Darklon, or Loni
as Lachi liked to call him, was just the sort of motherfucker Laziel constantly watched. The renowned, aged vampire was dangerous and smart. However, the bastard was also prone to erratic bouts of violent psychotic delirium that would eventually see him put in silver lined box until his body withered and rotted. Hopefully sooner rather than later.
But, for now, Lachi tolerated the Elder. Truth be known, Darklon maintained his own little band of right-wingers who took great pride in hounding Lachi. Purposely, they instigated doubts within the Elders' community until the populace questioned their King's willingness to take the hand of a female vampire. They maintained their vigilance was solely for the purpose of keeping Lachi’s bloodline as close as possible to the undiluted force running inside Lachi's veins.
Laziel needed to stay alert and keep Lachi safe, especially from the likes of Darklon. The Elder wasn't past trying to do the job himself as evidenced by his display in chambers only moments before. Laziel and Lachi both knew the crazy bastard harbored the initiative to destroy Lachi the first chance he got. Darklon was old and on one of his better days still yielded the power of his will like an iron rod.
“You know Darklon and his cronies are never going to let up, don't you?” Laziel’s voice stayed low out of habit, not that he was worried. They were well out of earshot of the Elders and the guards of the court. The only guards found this far into Lachi's quarters were Laziel’s own chosen. They held century against the solid oak doorway sectioning off the private domain of Lachi's living chambers. These sentinels were the most elite and loyal to the crown. Picked and trained by Laziel himself for their honor and strength, they held a trust beyond all others to serve and die for the life of their King. Lachi's fixed black stare rose slowly to meet the angel's knowing gaze. Holding it, Lachi refused to deflect from the question at hand.
