by V L Moon
“Where am I? Mal?” Confusion laced Vischeral’s voice as Malachi knelt beside him. “I’m here, Vish. You’re safe.” Laziel left them then, taking with him Vischeral’s memory of the kiss and leaving Malachi with an invaluable lesson. The angel was right. Vischeral was too vulnerable, too fragile for Malachi’s attention. Bitterness lodged in Malachi’s heart. A hope newly born on that night had been killed within minutes.
After that catastrophic encounter, Malachi vowed to never tell Vischeral his secret, but late one night their trip home was interrupted by a pair of hungry vampires. While Vischeral drew the small knife he carried and prepared to defend himself, Malachi’s stomach had churned with bitter bile.
“Oh look, Malachi brought us a snack. And here we thought you didn’t like us.” Two of Darklon’s inner circle stood facing them, leers on their pale faces. He’d stepped in front of the human, weaponless.
“You’ll not touch him if you want to see the inner lining of your casket at daybreak, Pierson.” He’d heard Vischeral’s stunned gasp, but ignored the man. He had to stay focused on the threat before them.
“And, you are going to stop the two of us, are you? I don’t see that guardian angel that usually hovers around you like a sailor with his whore.” Pierson, tall and lanky but older than Malachi by a few decades, nudged his shorter, more heavily built companion. “What do you think, Nash?”
“I think I’m hungry and this human will do nicely.” They’d attacked in unison, fangs flashing in the moonlight. Malachi thanked the Creator that Vischeral hadn’t panicked. Trained by the Seraphim, Malachi proved more than a match for the two overconfident bastards. When their beheaded lifeless bodies lay twisted at his feet, Malachi turned worried eyes to his friend.
“Well hell. All this time and you never told me you were vampire.” The tense set of his shoulders eased. Malachi wiped the blood from his hands.
“You aren’t scared? Or thinking of staking me, which doesn’t work by the way.”
“We’re friends, Mal, and friends don’t chase friends with pointy wooden sticks. They help bury the twisted mangled remains of their enemies.” Vischeral had smiled at him then, the last time he’d seen the wicked playfulness in the man’s eyes.
The next night, Darklon sought vengeance for his friends’ deaths. He’d arrived at their villa in full vampiric rage, demanding Malachi’s death. When Laziel met him at the door and refused to produce his charge, Darklon attacked. A mistake he never made again in the ensuing years. The terrifying power of the Seraphim rained havoc down upon the Elder’s head. Fire and brimstone licked along the clothing of him and his entourage. Wind whipped around them knocking them from their feet, while hailstones slammed into them from the sky.
The vampires stood no chance against the force of Laziel’s will. To the present day, Malachi still remembered that showdown with stunned awe of the angel’s supremacy. The celestial had toyed with the Elder as a cat playing with a mouse until he’d tired of the game. The final blast of authority cleared the area of Darklon and his posse in one fell swoop. Furious, Laziel had turned to him and uttered the most horrifying words.
“He’ll go after Vischeral now. We better hurry.” But, they’d been too late. The human was nowhere to be found in the city or the village where they met. Only a stroke of luck led them to where Darklon held him captive, and only a miracle had set him free.
He hadn’t laid eyes on the male since the night of the escape; barely maintained tabs on him for fear Darklon would discover his whereabouts. He’d thrown himself into his training, determined to become King and take control of the Elders who savaged their own people and ruptured the foundations of their world with attacks on humans. The already feral nature of his soul darkened even more as bitterness and guilt weighed heavy upon his shoulders.
“My fucking fault.” Malachi wasn’t aware he’d spoken aloud until Laziel’s warm breath brushed his ear.
“No.” Laziel always denied it, but it was.
Children lost, families decimated; entire enclaves wiped out because one fucking vampire entertained delusions of grandeur and hated Malachi’s fucking guts. The bastard would never see the throne. Malachi would kill him first and the vampire code and Council could go to Hell. His head turned toward the ante chamber where he knew Darklon lounged.
Exempt from normal protocol, the Elders though subject to Malachi’s rule, played by different rules. Only treason to the race or a direct threat to the King allowed for immediate death. If Darklon was to be brought down, Malachi needed indisputable proof. His hands curled into fists. It wasn’t his nature to wait, he’d prefer to rip the bastard’s throat out and drain his tainted blood.
“Your eyes are glowing, Lachi. You need to calm down before we enter the chamber.” Laziel’s hand brushed Malachi’s cheek, his thumb stroking soothingly across his taut lips.
“You told the Fallen you have a plan.” Laziel nodded, but the savagery needed more. Despite himself and the close proximity of the Council, Malachi slid a palm around the angel’s neck and tugged him forward until their lips met. Hard and demanding, the kiss layered a soothing balm over the angry chaos spinning madly in Malachi’s gut. A fang nipped tender skin spilling sweet nectar onto the vampire’s waiting tongue. Laz growled shoving Malachi deeper into the corner and grinding his denim covered hips against him. Evidence of his arousal throbbed against Malachi’s hip. Reluctantly, he stopped suckling Laziel’s lip and laved the wound closed. Hellfire still burned through his veins, but no longer ruled his actions.
“Plan?”
Laziel growled. “Plan is to get that fucking bastard out of your head. You are mine. My fucking vampire, yet he holds a piece of you I can’t reach.” Laziel took a deep breath and tried to hide the depths of sorrow brimming in his eyes. He backed away checking the area carefully before allowing Malachi to step forward into the light. He stalked toward the Council chamber fingers tightly wrapped around Malachi’s bicep, practically dragging him to the door. “Just follow my lead vampire.” The harsh command barley contained the hurt that registered in Laziel’s voice, before the angel shoved him through the door and spoke aloud slightly above a whisper, but loud enough for any vampire to hear.
“No, I’m telling you. He can’t be trusted.” Arial. The Fallen’s image drifted into Malachi’s mind. Frustrated by the angel’s anger and his own twisted walk down memory lane, it took Malachi a second to catch on. He snatched his arm away from the male and spit through gritted teeth. “And, I say he can.” Violence brimmed in his voice, although not for the reason the vampires suspected, and carried clearly.
A hush fell over the assembled as they quick marched through this center of the room, his black mood palpable in the air. Whispers of dread reached his ears, his formidable temper legendary amongst the Elders and their staff. He paid none of them any attention, intent on reaching the outside without ripping Darklon’s head from his shoulders or bending Laziel over his knee and administering a well-deserved wake up call. The vampire in question sat smug and smiling in his chair surrounded by his sycophants while the angel wore an expression of death.
You won’t rest so easy for much longer you sick fuck. Malachi didn’t care if the bastard caught wind of his thoughts. Darklon would be brought down.
“He’s Fallen; he’ll run straight to the Nephilim just for the mayhem it will cause. He thrives on destruction.” Laziel bit out the words; bringing Malachi back to the reason for their appearance in a room he rarely visited by choice.
“It doesn’t matter what you think. I’ve contacted him, given him information. I have no choice but to trust him, and if he defies me, I’ll end him. It’s simple enough.”
“Don’t fool yourself vampire. He may be Fallen, but he is not lacking in power. He’d make a formidable enemy.”
At the wide double doors blocking the tunnels that led topside, Malachi reached out with his mind and flung the heavy oak wide, grunting with satisfaction when they crashed hard against the cement block walls on eit
her side.
“What’s done is done. We move forward.” With a resounding slam, the doors closed behind them blocking them from the other’s view, but not necessarily their hearing. Face solemn, Laziel nodded once. The bait had been delivered, now Lachi’s trust in the Fallen would be tested.
“I need to hunt and then fuck.” Malachi rolled his shoulders and set out down the thoroughfare.
“I prefer the reverse order, but what the hell, let’s do it your way.”
Laziel’s venom carried clearly to Malachi. Vischeral was a sore subject, always had been, but it was time for Laziel to realize, Vischeral was the past. Malachi’s future stood right here before him, pink fucking thong and all. Grabbing him by the neck, Malachi hauled him into the first dark corner he could find. Punishing lips found Laziel’s mouth, demanding entrance that was freely given.
“I am yours, angel. Every wicked savage inch of me. This obsession you have with Him has to stop.” As quick as he’d kissed him, Malachi returned to the street, booted feet thumping on the pavement. He had to get away from the male, or the night would be lost. Hunting first, and then fucking. Because once he got Laziel naked, it would be a long fucking time before he came up for air.
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CHAPTER FIVE
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Laziel mutely seethed at the guilty imagery playing on Lachi's thoughts. An age had passed since the ulcerous wound of Vischeral Bourne had been opened up. But, here it arose yet again, festering inside him. It bathed Laziel's heart in an acid bath of fear and doubt that no amount of mental scolding erased. Dark thoughts tormented him. Visions of a kiss, so very tentative in its nature, sent a bolt of pain straight through the core of his angelic heart to bring a sheen of blistering tears to his sinister, brooding eyes. Laziel always wondered whether taking away Vischeral’s memory of that kiss was the right thing to do. He knew somewhere deep inside Malachi pondered the inevitable question. If he had stayed with Vischeral, would he have turned him?
Fuck. Just the thought of the two of them together all those years ago still hurt like a fucking bitch. Laziel couldn't breathe let alone gather another thought without seeing Lachi firmly pressed against the more than welcoming form of Vischeral fucking Bourne. Lachi's words, “This obsession you have with Him has to stop” tainted the angel's constricted throat with acrid bile. It burned.
It's not my obsession, motherfucker. Unspoken words, Laziel dared not speak, loitered in the confines of his celestial memory. Why, after all this time were the memories of that Godforsaken night still plaguing his mind as though it were only yesterday? Raw with the turmoil of emotion, Laziel’s mood plummeted. The air around him took on a palpable chill that radiated out from the pores of his skin. Laziel heard the words possessively spoken from the vampire's lips and damn near broke apart with need as that same lush mouth descended onto Laziel’s hungry ripe lips. The want and need to devour Lachi rose fast and only agitated Laziel’s foreboding mood when the vampire turned and stalked away.
Fists clenched Laziel jettisoned angelic molecules out into the night and appeared topside. The hilt of his trusty sword nestled against the line of his spine, waiting as always for the feel of its owner’s call to appear steadfast and held tight within lethal hands at the slightest inclination that trouble was near. Hot on the heels of Lachi’s ground eating stride, Laziel’s heightened senses screamed with alertness. Damn it to hell, what the angel wouldn't give for a good fight. Hand to hand combat against an opponent worthy of drawing blood. But alas, Laziel knew of none that would ever equal the capabilities of the Creator’s mighty Seraphim.
Instead, Laziel stalked the shadows for the want of prey. Unable to speak due to the agonizing lump stuck in his God damned throat, he searched in silence along the alley ways and rooftops in the hope of finding the Nephilim and coating the ground in the warmth of fresh blood. Mortals that the Nephilim cajoled wouldn't dare have the brass balls to confront Laziel’s kind. It was if they sensed the danger that leaked from the very well of each pore. But, the Nephilim had just the right amount of stupidity and gall, at least Laziel hoped they did, to engage him and he defiantly prayed they would.
With his thoughts momentarily splintered. Like the proverbial fork in the road, Laziel pondered over Darklon's depth of deceitfulness and his many traitorous deeds. The Elder vampire's treason strayed far beyond any form of redemption. In truth, Laziel had long known the devious bastard would worm his way into the religious realm of the Vatican's clergy and taint them with bitter lies that condemned the vampire King to yet more political shit.
Laziel berated himself for not having dealt with the motherfucking cocksucker centuries ago. But, as the Creator maintained, “Fate always finds a way.” And, so he waited; filled the lengthy days and even longer nights fighting the war on the Nephilim, while deep in his own subconscious, the angel wondered if all the training, the centuries of blood and pain had been worth it. Yes. Laziel had raised and trained an almost unstoppable killing machine, and a male worthy of any fucking throne. But for what? The vampire race was stuck; stale in its regimental beliefs and attitudes toward change. So much so, they stagnated, drowning in the pompous ceremony of their own self-righteous and old fashioned laws. Laws they refused to change.
“Fuck it, and fuck them,” Laziel bit out. The grind of his jaw was hard enough to break teeth. “Stupid fools!” Laziel’s head snapped upward when an upsurge of wind brought with it the divine scent of at least five or maybe six Nephilim all zeroing in on Lachi's coordinates. Laziel thought the thought and in a flash shifted the expanse of muscle and bone to where Lachi grimaced, fangs salivating with the realization of what was on its way.
“Looks like Darklon took the bait. He must have had these jackasses on fucking speed dial and gone after Arial himself.”
Lachi grunted. “Fuck them, Arial will be alright, but for now, my angel, we dance...shed blood. Then I'll hold you to that promise of a good long fuck.” At the inclination of the vampire’s head, Laziel turned. Back to back, Laziel and the vampire King waited, the beat of their hearts pumping in unison rose like a dark tide of death, beating, pounding, pushing the same surge of blood that flowed like fire through their veins. The seconds ticked down and the air around them bristled, raising the hairs on the backs of their necks. Laziel felt every sensation running through the heavily muscled male standing at his back. From the chilling grin now forming on Lachi's chiseled face, to the pent up aggression growing inside him, making each and every inch of Lachi's body thrum with unreleased energy. Dust rose up from the ground, indicative of the Nephilim descending with the line of their wings arched as they reached their battle ground. A roar of frustration blasted into the air, the force of which rocked the angel on his heels until he recognized the sound of his own ancient war cry.
It didn't matter to Laziel that Lachi was his own male, a vampire born to the noble arts of blood and war. Laziel would risk purgatory rather than see any other mar the vampire’s flawless flesh. Malachi belonged to Laziel.
“Yes I do, mine angel, just you hold that thought.” The words drifted into Laziel’s mind and spread a gentle stream of something wonderful through his thoughts. Laziel exhaled on a sigh. He reached back to tentatively brush his fingers against Lachi’s clenched fist, an unusual sign of affection for Laziel, especially when they were about to go to war on the small group of Nephilim riding the gentle jet stream of wind to land around them.
“Focus. Angel.” The mental image of them entwined was shoved into Laziel’s mind almost painfully. But, with the depths of his mood so dark, the image didn't last. Instead, it contorted; Laziel’s wings faded away and an image of Vischeral took Laziel’s place. The bastard vampire’s heavily muscled arms enveloped Lachi in a powerful embrace. Laziel roared his distain and dark thunderous clouds closed in above them to crash together in a storm fuelled burst of angered energy. Laziel’s eyes took on the same color as the rolling clouds and darkened from the intensity of rage. Faster than the Nephilim could b
reathe, Laziel become a force of death. Shifting the weight of his thick heavy thighs onto the balls of his feet, he didn't call forth the sword from its back. He assumed a fighter’s crouch causing his muscles to twitch and flex. Hand to hand battle was a must for the mood Laziel was in this dark and deadly night.
Lachi shifted into gear and launched himself forward. Laziel couldn't see the male in action, but definitely heard the grunts of exertion coming from the enemy as the stupid fools engaged the vampire King. Darklon’s stupidity astounded Laziel. A direct attack on the King minutes after he stormed through the Council chambers. Although Laziel knew there would be no proof, he couldn't stop the malevolent grin spreading across his face. All they needed was for that bat shit crazy bastard to take the bait with Arial, and Darklon's future was doomed.
The ferocity of Laziel’s anger churned back to the surface, boiled up inside and sent a blast of scalding heat out toward the three approaching Nephilim. As one took a direct hit and fell to the ground amidst the stench of burnt wings and flesh, the other two wannabes cautiously split and approached from different angles. Laziel rolled his sardonic, glowing eyes and let them approach. His body practically hummed with energy, and none of it was intent on doing something good.
The bitter memory of Lachi and his first taste of love fuelled the fire of Laziel’s anger caused by his doubts. Inside, Laziel mentally centered the core of energy and drew it down into the ball of his hands. Intense light blazed in an arch of undiluted power from the tightly clenched fist, the physical manifestation of the angel’s power grew into a fire ball of pulsing heat and flew at the Nephilim approaching from the right side. As soon as the bolt of power touched the approaching enemy’s skin, the Nephilim instantly turned into a fine cloud of ash that disintegrated into the breeze. Laziel sneered and turned left to face the last Nephilim who looked beyond terrified.
