by V L Moon
Upon receiving orders from his Holiness, Arial took to the streets. Starved and in need of sustenance, he'd trailed the foul stench of his meal for nearly three miles before the scourge of a demon realized it was being hunted. By that time, Arial was ravenous with hunger and leapt at the demon before it descended into Hell through one of the many portholes that adjoined each realm. It’s delicious scream of fear and pain sweetened the ripe bounty of Arial's loathsome curse, but never rid the Fallen of his disgust on having to feed.
Coated in the foul stench of sulfur, Arial exited the alley where his evening meal lay in a crumpled heap of fine white ash. Ridding himself of the black oily residue lining his mouth, Arial came to a stop at the sound of a fight. Homing in on the grunts of anger and the hard smack of flesh, he'd not taken two more steps when the line of Arial's spine chilled from the overwhelming sensation of excitement and fear.
On turning left from the alley mouth, Arial took the next turn east where the looming darkness of shadows danced in the throes of what appeared to be quite a battle. Surrounded by Nephilim, a male of considerable size and form stepped from the veil of night’s embrace. Baring fangs that glistened with the blood of its kill, and seething with scorn, the mountainous male tore through flesh and crunched through bone as he ravaged the feral harbingers of death to his race.
His eyes glowed crimson red as he spat out the repugnant taste of the Nephilim’s flesh. Every twist and lunge, every stab and thrust was directed with all the skill and grace born from the training of an archaic race. Yet, an angel he was not. Confused by the familiar memory of the warring male’s age old dance of hand to hand combat, Arial watched, lost to his own surroundings and beguiled by the one man war the vampire raged. The command and mastery of his movements flowed like the edge of a sword; graceful yet deadly precise. The male bore a semblance in skill to one Arial knew. The only one of its kind, neither woman nor man but celestial of the highest rank and most noble of command.
Arial had fought side by side and trained in his ways, until the day his father conveyed upon him a great gift and delivered him unto Hell where he was sanctioned with an honor few received.. The keys to the gates of Hell were placed within Arial’s opened palms; he was made a Guardian. So very long ago…an eternity, in fact.
Arial had delivered those memories back into the depths and watched in awe as the vampire danced and the Nephilim silently fell. Arial's curiosity flared at the audacious skill the vampire displayed, and he wondered at its origins. Knowing the traits of a warrior’s stance, he watched from the shadows entranced and somewhat heart sore. Arial missed the serving of his station, missed the training and the acts of valor that came with the archaic deliverance of his wings.
“Serve him. Honor him.” The words came as a whisper on the breeze, but the scent of justice and righteousness held within them were all Arial needed. When the last Nephilim took its fall and turned to dust, an ache greater than that of his fallen curse rose in his chest. The killing was a just cause. The Nephilim were wild, taking more and more lives under the command of a ruler who cared not for his own race. The Nephilim were not truly evil, not yet. Arial felt their pain as each one fell and the dust of their corpses coated his tongue. The taste of death in his mouth saddened him. He knew beyond doubt that these Nephilim at least fought out of fear.
“Bring about the change my brother, for I will guide your path and stand alongside you as I once stood alongside our one and only Creator.” Eyes wide, heart racing, Arial stepped out of the shadows under the watchful glowing glare of the vampire’s gaze. The flicker of the vampire's eyes and Arial knew they were not alone. Standing his ground, Arial waited, every fiber of his being screamed for him to run, but he stood firm, stoic in his actions until the one he awaited strode from the shadows in a rolling gate of thunder and infinite power. Laziel’s eyes flared in an arch of blistering light. Its blinding glare forewarned of doom should he take one more meager step. Sure as the seconds dawned, they were to be his last.
Arial waited for the regaling pain to send his soul to its rightful place in the bowels of Hell. For, Laziel, the mighty Seraphim, still held every essence of power that had been his to command in Heaven. The powerful angel glowed visibly and unfurled massive black satiny wings. As they arced around the vampire male and drew his body back to the angel’s chest, Arial stood transfixed by the act of possessive protection formed around the vampire. The slam of power surged through his knees and Arial fell to the ground as Laziel’s ancient voice peeled in his mind in the ancient tongue.
“Not male or made, but vampire and King. A creation born with the blessings of our creed. He is the essence of my will, and the soul I protect. Arial the Fallen, do you so concur to offer unto us here this night that you will gift your allegiance, your honor, and your sword arm to fight and serve once more under my guiding hand, by the blood of your race and the noble word of your archaic grace?”
“Are you auditioning for the part of some fucked up tomb stone or some shit, or are you trying to scare the gargoyles lining the walls with the sour look on ya face?” The voice startled him. “Get in here motherfucker before I change my mind and have this place sealed up, with you in it.” The grip of Laziel’s powerful hand pulled Arial toward the concealed opening under Lachi's domain. Laziel’s demand automatically dragged Arial's mind from his memories of the past and brought him barreling head first back into the here and now.
“You always were a sweet talker, Laziel.” Arial sneered and nearly collided with the celestial’s back when the looming fucker stilled, and then turned on bare heels to look down on him.
“Oh, I can be sweet, not sure you're up for knowing just how sweet. Ask Lachi, that vampire of mine thinks I'm melt in the mouth sweet.” With a playful wink, one that quirked Arial's brow, the mountainous mass of muscle turned and strolled into the small private chapel Malachi Denali had commissioned for him on the very same day the new vampire King claimed his throne. Distracted, Arial nearly choked on his tongue when the low wasted jeans Laziel wore slipped down further to reveal the rhinestone encrusted strip of a bright pink G-string.
Rolling his eyes, Arial tried desperately to dislodge the visual seeping into his brain. The stories he'd heard from the King’s own race were enough to make what was left of his wings tremble. Laziel had always been different. Arial knew the celestial to be unique. Being Seraphim, the angel held no apparent sexual gender and could shift between female and male. But, he'd never pegged the warrior elite for a masochist. But then, Arial relinquished a sigh. We just can’t help who we fall for.
Malachi Denali might be the vampire King, but that held no light in comparison to the depth of the bond shared between the vampire and Laziel. Like the proverbial Earth rotating around the sun, they were orbits to each other’s souls. A very endearing quality considering the King’s addiction to the angel’s blood. The predilection seemed to strengthen their mutual desire for each other. Fuck, what Arial wouldn't give to find that sort of inner peace. The righteous connection to another that joined two as one. A soul mate. Of course, for Arial there would be no such thing. He was fallen, doomed to an eternity on Earth until the one he hunted redeemed him of his sins.
Standing before the marble altar, Arial eyed the ornate sculpture of their Creator before shame rose inside of him and he quickly turned away. “There is no shame in what your heart desires Arial, only in that you refuse to accept it.”
“Get out my head, Laziel. Do not presume I won't find him. I will. I have to. Then and only then, when I have bathed in its blood and cleansed myself of its evil impurity will I be able to ask for my rightful redemption.” Arial scowled and watched as Laziel’s heated gaze poured scorn over Arial's fallen demise.
“You are wrong, my brother. Tis not scorn I afflict on you, but the disbelief in your theory. If we as celestials were not supposed to feel the beauty of love then I myself should wear the same shame you burden yourself with, should I not?”
“I stand before you as I have d
one for many a year my friend, ruined and shamed by the burden of my will. Yet, you still title me with the affiliation of your blood, your brother. When our own Creator and my own kin renounce me, you do not. For that, and the gift of the service you offered unto me, I offer you and your King my eternal loyalty. Know I shall never endear to befall thee.” Pride was a rueful quality, one Arial still held in abundance.
“I'm glad to hear it, and so is Laziel. Now, Arial, my friend, pray tell us what brings you into our wicked graces. Have you news?” The King’s voice instantly commanded the attention of the room with his precise enunciation accented more by his Italian flare.
Dressed impeccably as usual and attired solely in black, the King, was the epitome of the fictional vampire portrayed in present day romance novels. The biggest difference was Malachi Denali would never fit within the romantic fables foretelling of whimsical female fantasy and love. With penetrating dark eyes, he possessed a fathomless stare cold enough to chill even the hardiest of warriors. He wielded the strength of Braun and a presence that overtook any room he entered. The vampire King was no one’s idea of Prince Charming. Arial could reel off a list the words to describe the male’s appearance and persona, but only two really signified the dark untamed depths of Laziel’s vampire. Feral and malevolent in every extreme, the King and Laziel were an unholy duo vindicated by the heavens.
Their ferocity didn't forestall them from having enemies. If anything, the unity of their bond and their radical reforms to strengthen the vampire race instigated vehemence in the ranks. The Elders dared not stand against their true blooded King. But that didn't stop the whisperings of unease, or the blatant disregard by the odd right wing extremists who thought they knew best. Shoring himself up for what was to be an intriguing evening, Arial awaited instruction from his brother and his liege.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Arial didn't sit. Instead, he let the weight of his back settle against the marble altar and listened to Lachi's address. “This God-forsaking cock sucking, son-of-a-bitch is really starting to get up in my face. Not only is he making waves topside by feeding on the humans, now the Pope’s been contacted. Anonymously, of course. Fucking coward, we all know who it is, but we need the damned proof. The fucker’s going to slip and when he does, I’ll rip his motherfucking treasonous head off.”
Laziel stayed silent, eyes watchful for the encroaching darkness always lurking just beneath the surface. Malachi's eyes glowed an intense pitch black with just the barest flicker of red, a sure fire sign of the rage at war within his head. Arial stayed stoic, unaccustomed to the ferocious beast of Lachi's true form. He had not been introduced to the more acquired side of Lachi's savagery. Laziel felt the Fallen's tempered anxiety and couldn't help the sardonic grin that spread over his face. The fucker needed to be aware, and watchful. God help anyone if Lachi ever lost hold of his will. Even now as the vampire paced, his mind reeled from the news that one of his own kind had seen fit to contact the Pope. The Pope, of all humans.
The treaty between Nephilim and vampire was a goddamn joke, fractured and more fragile than fine china. The cracks grew wider with each passing century. Nephilim of a darker, more ferocious nature were on the rise. They thought nothing of slaughtering whole enclaves of vampire communities in surprise attacks orchestrated by the same fucking someone that had to be behind the contact with the Pope. The same someone who held direct knowledge of both races.
Pushing away from his position against the far wall, Laziel cut into Lachi's path and brought the King up short. Lachi’s gaze swept up to Laziel and his nostrils flared as he drew in the angel’s scent. Placing one hand on Lachi's shoulder, Laziel willed his male calm and drew into himself the noxious rise of anger residing inside the vampire.
“It's as plain to me as the nose on my face. The rise of the Nephilim, the strength of their army, the obscene number of slaughtered vampires, and now the hierarchy of the church being propositioned; we have a traitor, a vampire deranged enough that he’s willing to sell out his own kind and stand cold as their slaughtered remains are brought back in shrouds.” Lachi stilled at Laziel’s words, and Arial moved to join the vampire's side, listening intently as Laziel went through the workings of this latest rise of attacks.
“It's not a fully thought out plan, and we know the one that’s responsible for this is infiltrating not just the church, but the Nephilim, too. Now, while I think there are many who seek the direct power Lachi has seized for himself, there are few who see sense in challenging what they will never defeat. Lachi is, as we all know, mine in every way, shape and form, a conscript that few would ever endeavor to understand. However, they might think with enough provocation they could somehow bring him down.” Laziel looked over at the two stoic faces and smiled before closing the gap to brush the pad of a broad thumb over the vampire’s hard chiseled jaw.
“Your race is not a stupid one my liege, and that notion in itself leads me to believe the workings of the mind behind this is unduly troubled. Sick with the ramblings of age and lost to the delusional workings of a bitter angry mind. So much so, that breeching his own personal ethics and pride come second to bringing down the one thing this loathsome character hates more than any human or Nephilim.” Laziel sat, stretched out the full length of his long heavy legs and hung his head back to let the length of his hair pool on the floor.
“Brother,” Laziel’s warm tone addressed the Fallen. He hoped to keep it that way, but the rolling tide of anxiety churned away at the celestial’s gut. Lachi was pissed, and not just royally. The scalding friction of hatred rolled from the male, palpable in the air. With no one to direct it toward, the night was going to be bad. Inside, the angel shivered. Sick fuck. He knew the darkness of Lachi's thoughts and knew what it would take to ease the beast. He couldn't wait.
Careful not to show too much pleasure from its own perverted delusions, Laziel raised his head to look at the males waiting for him to make sense. With an exasperated sigh, he rolled to face them, eyes shining with the brilliance of light.
“The vampires know what they have with Lachi is pure, undiluted. They want to keep it that way. His pure bloodline will keep their race, blighted with the turnings of mortals and the weakening of their blood, strong and eternal. They won't risk losing him. They know it can only stay uncontaminated if he mates with one of their own, one untainted by human genes.” Laziel smirked and gave the male a wink. “But, vampires are tricky motherfuckers, ruled by some major crazy assed laws that Lachi here has been trying to drag into this century. It’s not easy when most of the ones you are trying to persuade are older than the hills. While he continues to persevere and refuses to let them win, they seethe. I see it every day in the courts and at other functions; their age, their power, their inability to change. If they could prove Lachi as a traitor unfit to lead and somehow lock him away, a new King, one of Elder standing who abides strictly by their old laws, would take his place.” Laziel chuckled. “Helpless and locked below in manacled silver chains, Lachi would be unable to defend himself. He'd be a whore, serving the bloodline in the only way this person sees that he is fit... a sexual stud.”
“Why? Why go to all the trouble of the Nephilim and bringing in the clergy?” Arial pondered, his hand racking through the tattered slick strands of his hair. Lachi laughed, the deep fearsome pitch, a rich ensemble that rolled from his chest.
“By approaching the clergy, our traitor believes he is covering his back by being a snitch and gaining their trust. And ,while they’re oohing and ahhing over the recent attacks, the vampire in question is reading their minds and gathering tidbits of intel on the Nephilim. Where they are, when they’re due to arrive for the next annual report to the clergy. Unfortunately, the clergy are still blinded by the fact the Nephilim exist. They stupidly hold them as spiritual beings and place them on an all too familiar pedestal, thinking them to be good while holding to the treaty. Someone is leading them, training them, turning them into soldiers of war.” Laziel took a breath and lazily trailed
his fingers over his bare chest. The vampire’s gaze tracked every movement, searing the angel’s flesh with his glare.
“At the same time, our own traitor is feeding them tidbits of information through someone in the Vatican.” Lachi took up the narration. “This person is then relaying coordinates of the smaller enclaves as bargaining chips to the Nephilim in the hope that all the chaos will spark an uprising in the ranks. They will call for my abdication and bring me down. But there's one thing they haven't banked on; the Pope’s not corrupt.” Lachi's voice held the fire of his vehemence, and he struck out hard, his fist connecting with the marble altar.
“Unlike that fucking idiot, Gabriel. Damn fool is going to get us all killed. I know what you scented from him, Laziel. He is the go between; he has to be. Our traitor is feeding him information to give to the Nephilim. What's the point of me leading when my own damned kind constantly conspire against me and want me for nothing more than a blood whore. FUCK!” Lachi's anger radiated out in a blistering cloud of anger and hate. “I should just leave the fidiots to rot in their coffins, dumb fuckin’ bastards.”
“Gabriel?” Arial's question emerged just above a whisper, but the unease in his voice was enough. “The brainless fucker.” Arial looked forlorn. Laziel picked up the slight hesitation in the Fallen’s face and inquired.
“You do know he’s tainted, don't you?” Laziel concentrated on the look in Arial's eyes, haunted, angry then flat and emotionless. Lachi came up behind him and placed a reassuring hand between the Fallen's broad shoulder blades.
