by V L Moon
“I will take leave of you, my liege. Once Roman’s orders are delivered, I will have little chance to submit another report until I come back. If anything of interest should arise, I will endeavor to get in touch. My liege…Laziel.”
Without waiting for a reply, Arial bowed and strode briskly from the room.
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CHAPTER TWELVE
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Tendrils of relief and fear coiled through Roman Di Sangue as he strode out of the King’s Council chambers. As the massive double doors closed behind him shielding him from the view of the pureblood King and his fierce angelic guard, his shoulders sagged. Chin met chest, and he fought to quell the rush of moisture that filled his eyes. The horrific pictures of a slain Mendeeto scalded his brain. Pain swelled in his chest. The King truly was a bastard. How could he so blithely shove such atrocious pictures under his nose with no warning?
Only a few short weeks ago, the South American enclave had been home. The vampires there counted as his friends and family. A band tightened around his chest. Mother! With trembling fingers, he pulled his cell from his pocket and punched in her number. Blindly, he reached for the wall as the rings sounded in his ear. When the quiet answer came full of the anguish of loss, he slid weakly down the wall.
“Mother. Thank the Creator.” A sob echoed in his ear.
“Roman?”
“It’s me.” He paused, scared to ask. “Were you…are you injured?”
“No, I hid in the alcove under the floor. The one you built for me. Oh Roman, Mendeeto’s gone.” Another heartrending sob throbbed across the line.
“I know, Mother. I’ll be home in a few hours.”
“No, my son, stay away. You don’t…”
“I have no choice. The King is sending me back.” He didn’t know how to tell her that he would be replacing Mendeeto. A shrill scream pierced the background.
“I must go, Roman. Carmelishia is awake again.”
Before he could respond, the tormented moan of a lost mate raised the hair on Roman’s arms. The line went dead. She was gone. The phone fell into his lap, and he tunneled his fingers into his hair.
Rough hands grasped his biceps and snatched him up. “This area is off limits. You want to piss about, find somewhere else.” Roman looked up to see two of the King’s guards eyeing him. “Laziel catches you out here lurking around; he’ll tie your intestines around the columns out front.”
Roman shook free of their hold. “I’m going. Just give me a minute.” The guard on the right took an aggressive step toward him.
“Hold, Saul. Lord Di Sangue has been in audience with the King.” Roman’s gaze flicked to the left. Ms. Stroner, the King’s personal secretary, strolled toward them, the same look of disgust on her face she’d worn the last time they’d met. His spine straightened.
As a child, he’d suffered the taunts of the other children when questions of his father were raised. He’d grown a thick skin, determined to never let anyone make him feel inferior again. But, this female. With one look, she found the young eager to please male who couldn’t understand why the other children laughed at him. The remembered hurt and confusion pissed him off. His eyes narrowed and he quirked a brow.
“Seems they would’ve known that if you had been doing your job, female.”
Sparks of outrage flashed in the depths of chocolate eyes. “It’s not my fault they caught you on the floor wallowing in the filth of your ancestry.”
Rage roared through Roman. “How dare you cast aspirations against my character? You don’t know me or my mother.” He took a step in her direction and came up hard against Saul’s chest. Behind the guard, the female’s eyes widened and an angry blush singed her cheeks. The fire in her eyes intensified as she moved forward.
“I don’t need to know either of you. I know the evil that you call father.” With a proud toss of her head, she whirled and strode away. Despite the temper and anguish seething inside, he couldn’t take his eyes off the gentle sway of her hips as she retreated.
“Put your eyes back in ya head, kid. It’s time to see if those balls you're sporting are real or fake.”
Roman growled. He’d had enough degradation for one day. He was a fucking Elder now and some fucking body was going to show him some respect. He spun around and nearly swallowed his tongue. One of the biggest motherfuckers he’d ever seen in his life loomed over him. Menace leeched from the male’s skin, permeating the air. Death and damnation lurked in burnt gold eyes. Ragged wings arched grotesquely at the male's broad back, and a black brow lifted as if the male had read his mind.
“Something on your mind, little boy?”
Roman unglued his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “I’m, ah. It’s Roman, not boy. And you are?”
“Arial. Your new leash puller courtesy of Daddy Dearest and the King. We’ve been assigned clean up duty in South America so if ya done sniveling, we need to get our asses moving.”
Recognition dawned in Roman's mind. Arial, Darklon's second in command, spun on a booted heel and strode down the hallway in the direction of the living quarters. When Roman caught up to the male, he cleared his throat. “What happened to your wings?” The piercing dark glare from Arial snapped his mouth shut. “Yeah, so not my biz, forget I asked.”
Back in his quarters, Roman stared at the open bag on his bed unsure of what he needed to take back with him. Across the room, the extra...large former angel swallowed one of the antique Louis XVI chairs. He appeared to be asleep, but Roman wasn’t taking any chances. As he tossed things into the bag, his mind churned. Only a stroke of fate had delivered him from the massacre in his home enclave less than two days ago. Darklon, Elder of the Vatican enclave, had shown up at their door proclaiming himself to be Roman’s long lost father.
His distraught mother denied the allegations, but blood matches proved her wrong. Everything after the introduction transpired so quickly the details eluded him. A haze seemed to have settled over his memories; however, he vividly recalled being pried from the arms of his overprotective mother to travel across the world.
His first introduction to the King’s court had overwhelmed him. Vampires and humans alike paraded around the Vatican, priceless jewels flashing at throats, ears and wrists. On the surface, a veneer of civility hid the pretentious snobbery, conspiracies, innuendo, and treachery hiding only millimeters beneath the surface. Everything in Italy differed from home. Having traversed the ballroom with none knowing his identity, he could understand the hard edge maintained by their King. Where Mendeeto enjoyed camaraderie and fellowship from his enclave, the King slogged through a mire of chaos unable to trust any save the male constantly at his side.
“He is the leader of the controversy. He refuses to submit to his duty, refuses to mate and produce an heir.” Darklon’s voice sounded in his head. “He has most of the Council fooled, but not me. He may be pureblood, but he is tainted. His heart is as black as night. He’ll trample our race into the ground unless someone takes him firmly in hand. I intend to be the vampire that does it, and now with you at my side, my goal is closer than ever.”
Roman hadn’t understood the last part until the announcement of his ascension to an Elder’s seat. It had astounded and elated him, until, he stood in the King’s office and saw his slain foster father, and realized his seat came due to the spilled blood of one he loved. The war with the Nephilim had always seemed a distant thing, but the indelible pictures now ingrained in his mind brought the war to his doorstep.
“Enough wool...gathering. Time to head out.” Roman jumped at the words. Arial stood directly behind him, yet, he’d never heard the male move.
“Yes, I suppose I’m ready.”
Arial pawed through the bag and shrugged. “The ceremonial robes will be in Mendeeto’s quarters. You’ll need those for attending the funeral pyres.”
“No!” Horrified, Roman spun to face the other male. “Those were his robes, sewn by his mate for his ascension. I’ll not wear them and di
shonor his memory.”
Arial bent at the waist and shoved his face directly into Roman’s personal space. He growled. “Oh, yes, you will wear them, even if I have to shove you into them like a newborn. There is no time to have new ones prepared. The living need closure.”
“Carmelishia….”
“Will not notice. She has lost her mate and her young. Her reason to rise and face each day has been lost. You’ve no idea of such loss.”
Roman shoved him then, anger burning away the fear. “I loved Mendeeto. You’ve no right to say I don’t understand.”
One minute he stood facing the bastard, the next he hung from Arial’s double fisted grip. “Have you ever truly loved, Roman? Have you ever cared for another so much that you would lay down your life to protect them, loved so hard that you could not see yourself living in a world that did not include them, loved so fiercely you would suffer the curse of drinking demon’s blood for all eternity to ensure their safety?” He grunted as Arial flung him to the floor and stalked out without another word.
Demon’s blood? What the hell? Roman scrambled to his feet, snagged the bag from the bed and jogged after the other male following him into the either. Roman materialized back at his home enclave and lifted his head to scent the wind. A tainted mixture of spilled blood, burnt flesh and smoldering feathers clogged his nose. Bowing his head, he murmured a prayer for the souls lost and the survivors waiting for him to find sanity in the chaos.
The enormity of the duties resting on his shoulders threatened to crush him. His spine stiffened, and he lifted his eyes to rest on the massive doors hiding the death and desecration that waited. A brush of air across his cheek drew his attention. The immense form of Arial Nathanial, materialized to his right. Roman took a deep breath and reached for the intricate handle. Slowly, he worked through the pattern of twists and turns required to open the door. His heart ached and his gut roiled.
“Malachi would not have sent you if he did not believe you capable.”
Looking up into Arial's grave face, an odd mixture of pride and awe squeezed his chest. It didn't escape his notice that the male had just called the King by his given name without batting an eyelash.
“The King seemed more intent on punishing me. I know this is a test. One I intend to pass.” Roman took a fortifying breath and stepped forward to push the doors open. Arial's large hand dropped on his shoulder.
“You are right. The way you handle this situation will tell the King a lot about the male you are. But, know this. Malachi Denali is a true King. These enclaves, his people, he's devoted his life to the protection and prosperity of the race. So as I said, if he did not think you could give his people the closure they need, you would not be here. Do not make the mistake of disappointing him.”
Roman barely stopped the shudder as those hard eyes turned away from him. “You are one scary ass angel, Arial.” Beside him, the male stiffened and slowly his dreadlocked head swiveled back around.
“I am no angel, kid. I am the fodder of vampire children's nightmares. I am a true Fallen.” With what amounted to a warning ringing in the air, Arial shoved open the door and stepped across the threshold. Taking a deep breath, Roman entered the enclave behind him.
The pictures on the King’s computer in no way prepared Roman for the desolation of his once proud home. The photographer had focused solely on Mendeeto cutting out the utter destruction of the enclave. Embers glowed the deep rich red of hell beneath mounds of rubble. Outer walls lay in ruin, revealing the inner confusion of destroyed homes and lives. Vampires with vacant eyes wandered through the destruction stopping occasionally to retrieve some memento from the wreckage.
The smell of grief seared his nose, almost, but not quiet obliterating the coppery prickle of blood. Unclaimed dead lay where they had fallen, their families either dead or too crazed with grief to retrieve them. Roman shoved aside the anguish and fear threatening to overwhelm him. He met every blind, unseeing gaze, carefully committing to memory the names of friends, acquaintances and warriors that would join Mendeeto in the funeral pyres. Arial stood silently at his back, waiting for his next step.
“I need to find my mother. Let her know I’m here.” When the Fallen offered no protest, Roman picked his way carefully across what had been the common foyer. As he passed the body of a small female child, he paused and dropped to one knee. Tears clouded his eyes as he remembered her, days before he left, dancing through the hallways, blond ringlets flying around her head.
“Arianna.” He glanced up at Arial. “Her name’s Arianna. Her mother and father doted on her.” Reaching forward, he closed her eyes and smoothed her hair away from her face. The gaping hole in her chest drew his angry gaze. “She wanted to be a princess, wanted to live in Malachi’s court, and wear pretty dresses. She’d never met a human, never even been out of the enclave.” He shoved to his feet and dashed a hand against his eyes. “Why does your kind hate us? What kind of monsters kill children?”
Although he knew Arial was not responsible for the massacre, he couldn’t quell the anger in his voice. Slowly, the Fallen met his gaze, his strange yellow eyes somber.
“The Nephilim did this, yes, but they had help. Don’t you find it odd that an Elder shows up to claim you, and whisks you away hours before this tragedy occurs? Even odder, he immediately petitions Malachi to make you an Elder and conveniently a seat opens up.”
With his bombshell dropped, Arial whirled away and strode deeper into the carnage. Roman could only stare after him. Surely, he wasn’t implying Darklon had a hand in this atrocity.
“Arial, wait!” The Fallen didn’t slow, forcing Roman to chase after him. Arial stopped before one of the few remaining doors and raised a fist to knock. “Damn it, you can’t say something like that and walk off.” Roman grabbed the big male’s arm and froze when menace filled eyes locked on him. “Explain.” Arial cocked a brow and Roman dropped his hand. “Please.”
One broad shoulder lifted and fell. “You’ve been snatched into a world you know nothing about. Consider what I said a warning. Everyone is not what they seem, including me. Of all the evil you will meet, your father is the worst. I’m Fallen, cursed, and I don’t try to hide it beneath a veneer of civility.” A massive arm swept out encompassing the slaughtered vampires. “All around you is evidence of Darklon’s quest for power, his determination to remove Malachi from the throne by whatever means necessary.”
“But you work for him. You’re his second in command.” Arial’s eyes dimmed, the dusty gold color darkening to black. His lips firmed and Roman winced. He’d pushed too far.
“We aren’t talking about me. I’m Fallen, my soul cursed.” His shoulder lifted in a careless shrug. “Besides, he pays well and promised me a place in his Court.” Roman took a step back distaste clearly written on his face.
“But, what about the King and the other angel? They trust you.” The great male went still only the tattered feathers stirring in the breeze. A battle seemed to rage in the Fallen’s eyes. Finally, he met Roman’s gaze again.
“Malachi is no fool. He knows and understands the ways of the world. My actions will not disappoint him. It’s you he’s trusting right now.” The door behind Arial swung open and a soft gasp interrupted their conversation.
“Roman?”
“Mother.” Stepping around Arial, he pulled the sobbing female into his arms. “Let’s get you back inside. Is Carmelishia here with you?” She nodded against his chest as the door closed behind them, and then pulled away to lead him down the hallway. Their footsteps echoed around them. Dust motes danced in the flashes of light from holes in the walls. At another set of closed doors, his mother paused.
“She’s sedated. Every time she comes to, she starts screaming. All of the servants have left. They can’t bear her pain.”
Roman covered his mother’s hand where it rested on the latch. “We’ll take care of her. You’ve been a loyal friend. I’m sure when the grief is not so intense; she will remember what you’ve done.”
She nodded then her eyes drifted over his shoulder and widened. Fear bloomed in their depths.
“This is Arial. The King sent him with me. He’s not one of the Nephilim. He’s here to keep me safe.” Though he was the topic of discussion, the large angel paid them no attention. Instead, he studied the walls and standing structures around them.
“Roman, he can’t go in there with her. She’s too fragile. He’ll terrify her.” The hushed whisper brought the male’s head around.
“It is my duty to protect the Elder; therefore, I must be in the room. Out of respect for her loss, I will remain out of Carmelishia’s sight. I do not wish to cause her any further grief.”
“Elder? Oh, my, Roman, tell me you haven’t.” Real fear shone on his mother’s face.
“Malachi appointed me Elder of the region at the Elder’s Ball.”
When Arial snorted, he cast the male a quelling look. One the Fallen ignored. “The King had little choice in the matter. Darklon is a proud papa. He wasted no time in gathering the needed signatures to promote the boy to Elder.”
“He’s not Roman’s father.” The immediate denial singed the air.
“Mother, the blood tests confirmed his claim.” Roman frowned. The automatic defense of the man sprang to his lips. His mother’s eyes clouded, the words deflating her. She seemed to sag before squaring her shoulders. “Mother, I’m sorry. I…”
“Carmelishia. You’re here for her.” Turning away, she swung the final door open. They entered the darkened room, Roman’s eyes easily adjusting to the gloom. Centered in the middle of the space, a large four poster squatted. A barely there bump huddled under the duvet. True to his word, Arial stayed near the door while Roman approached. At the bedside, he stopped and stared down at the still form. What did he do now? While he debated, a soft whimper rose. The petite female curled tighter into a ball, emitting another moan. Suddenly, her eyes flew open, and she heaved in a breath. An ear splitting scream ripped through the room. He reached out, intending to soothe her. She shrunk from him, her eyes wildly darting from spot to spot around the room.
