Crimson Reign

by V L Moon

  “Carmelishia, it’s Roman.” The second scream set his stomach to churning. His fingers closed over one shoulder, and he grunted when sharp fangs latched onto his wrist. She let go when he did and scooted back across the mattress intent on escape. When her mouth opened for the next scream, a shadow encroached and loomed over them both. The female’s wild eyes tracked up and she went statue still. The breath in her lungs froze. The terror he expected never materialized.

  “The angel of death.” Anguished words fell into the silence. “He’s gone, isn’t he, and our son with him.” Roman remained silent as Arial nodded, his face stony. “I want to be with them.” The female slunk across the mattress and practically crawled up the Fallen’s chest. “Take me to them. Please, just take me to them.” Roman’s heart broke right along with her voice.

  “I need you here, Carmelishia. The King has…he’s given me Mendeeto’s seat. I have no idea what I’m doing. I know it’s asking a lot, but I need your guidance. The vampires still here need to see you. You will give them hope,” Roman spoke earnestly, desperate to reach the grief stricken female. For several minutes, she didn’t move from where she lay curled tightly against the Fallen’s chest.

  “Madalina, please get my robe.” Behind him, Roman’s mother hurried to the makeshift closet. Arial eased the female to her feet and took the robe. He swept it around her and offered her his arm. Wrapped snugly in the warm material, Carmelishia rested a hand on the Fallen’s forearm. “When the time comes, you will take me to them.”

  The finality of her statement sent a chill of premonition down Roman’s spine.

  “Now, young Roman. We have business to attend.”

  ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

  A day later, Roman stood in the cleared common area. The robes sewn by a young Carmelishia draped around him from head to foot. At his side, she stood proudly, her hair glistening in the moonlight. Barefoot, dressed in the gown she’d worn for her mating, she murmured the quiet prayer of passage for the dead. As one, the gathered vampires raised their heads.

  “Tonight, we gather to mourn the loss of our loved ones and friends. Our enemies have brought us to our knees, weakened our will, and broken our hearts. But, they did not kill us all. We will honor our dead this night, and tomorrow, we will start to rebuild. Vengeance will be ours, and in gaining same, we will honor the ones we have lost. Our King, Malachi Denali, sends his deepest condolences and a promise that he will not rest until the ones responsible for this atrocity are brought to justice. As your new Elder, I will ensure our loved ones are never far from his thoughts.”

  Stepping back from the microphone, Roman took Carmelishia’s hand and led her down from the small stage. Together, they selected a burning torch and walked slowly through the throng to the tallest of the funeral pyres. Built of tightly woven limbs from a multitude of felled trees, the funeral pyre was filled with the remnants of Mendeeto’s life, his clothing, his favorite sword and works of art, his desk. And, amidst his father’s things, their young son’s favorite toys and stuffed animals lay awaiting the kiss of the flame.

  Atop the structure that stood taller than Roman’s head and pursuant to Carmelishia’s request, Mendeeto lay in state his arms wrapped tightly around his son who lay curled against his chest. A sob broke Carmelishia’s control. The other vampires each selected a torch and approached the last resting place of their loved ones.

  “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” Roman intoned the words loud enough for all to hear, the signal to light the pyres.

  The lit torch swayed closer catching the bottom tier of wood aflame. Designed perfectly, the pyre caught quickly and erupted before them. The heat from the fire pushed Roman back and he tugged at Carmelishia’s arm. She stumbled and then shook free. Slowly, her head turned and he saw her decision in her eyes.

  “No!” He lunged but strong arms caught him around the waist. Struggling, kicking and cursing, Roman fought against Arial, desperate to stop the female.

  “It’s what she wants, and it is her right.” Arial’s deep baritone growled against Roman’s ear as the Fallen grasped his chin in one hand and snatched his head back. “Calm the fuck down, or I’m going to knock your ass out.” Even before the male finished speaking, it was too late. Porting directly into the flame and landing prone against her mate, Carmelishia wrapped her arms around Mendeeto and her young. If she felt the kiss of the flame, her face never betrayed it.

  Roman sagged against Arial’s hold and when the male released him, he crashed to his knees. Somewhere amidst the wails of grief, he heard his mother’s own pained cries. For the life of him, he couldn’t find the strength to move. His first job as Elder and he’d failed to save Carmelishia. Tears threatened. He’d failed here, but never again. Burying his fists in the soil, he shoved to his feet and squared his shoulders. With a last glance at the burning testament of love for their fallen Elder, he spun and glared at Arial.

  “It is time to report to the King. The dead have been cared for.” Roman strode past the Fallen and gathered his mother into his arms. As the fires lit the night sky, they burned away any last vestiges of his youth. The burden of his duties weighed heavy on his broad shoulders as he disappeared inside.

  ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

  With one last glance in the mirror to assure herself of her immaculate appearance, Kimberly Stroner smoothed her hands down over the crisp cut of her Dolce and Gabbanna business suite. As always, she was never entirely satisfied. There was something that didn’t sit right or feel right about the way clothes hung from her slender frame. The truth was Kimberly longed for a more curvaceous form; a form that included ample cleavage between the vee of her blouse, or more rounded hips and thighs instead of the long slender shape of her legs.

  She sighed pushing a sapphire encrusted pin through her hair to hold the chignon securely in place. The jeweled clip matched the small sapphire studs in her ears and the silk shirt she wore. Together, they beautifully offset the black suit. All in all, she should have been happy with the way she looked. She wasn’t ugly. Left loose, her hair hung like a waterfall of gold to frame a heart shaped face overwhelmed by large almond shaped eyes.

  Although she found fault with the thin, lean build of female vampires, she loved her race. And, if anyone were to ask her what she prized most about being blessed as a vampire, her answer would always be the same. Malachi Denali. While it was true vampires were beautiful, healed easily and had the strength and vitality of a hundred humans, all of that paled in comparison to her devotion and loyalty to their King. To her, Denali was the breath of fresh air their race needed. The fact she not only worked in his court, but held favor as his private secretary made her heart soar with pride.

  “Oh Mama, you and papa would have been so very proud. I’m sure you both would have seen his determination to lead as a noble cause. He is such an inspiration to our young,” Kimberly whispered as she tried to keep her voice level.

  It had been nearly a hundred years since her papa sacrificed himself to the Nephilim. He’d blocked the way into the enclave she’d grown up in so she, her mother and the others could flee. He’d been so brave, standing there tall and proud, his eyes burning with the ferocity of his love for his daughter and mated wife. Moments later, a horrific rumble exploded through the enclave as the earth gave way, taking her father and the scourge of Nephilim with it as it cascaded down the side of the mountain and disappeared into the deep ravine below.

  Kimberly fought back the lump in her throat and dabbed away the pink tinge of her tears. She hadn’t been very old, but the memory of her papa’s ruined body being brought back to them, had stayed with her ever since. She’d stood watch as her mama cleansed him and anointed his body in tears of blood. She cried those same tears when her mama left her alone two days after her father’s funeral pyre to walk out into the sun.

  Breath, that’s it, one in, one out. You can do it, you’ve always done it. Now’s no different to the last two hundred years, Ki
m, she told herself, fists furling into the palms of her hands until her French manicured nails tore half...moon indentations into her flesh.

  As an adult, she’d grown up to avidly understand the pain that destroyed her mama’s heart. She’d born it every day, even as a child when the sounds of her own terrified screams woke her through the day. But, for Kimberly, there had been no one to hold her hand and tell her everything would be alright. She’d been left alone to fend for herself in an enclave steeped in the old fashioned values and traditions that threatened to annihilate their race. Thank the Creator for Malachi…

  Kimberly sighed. As much as the woes of her past threatened to drag her down, there was that one glimmer of hope she and the more optimistic vampires held onto in the throes of despair. He was their savior. Malachi Denali was their last hope of bringing the their race back to life before it decayed, and ended up becoming the romantic delusional fairy tale so many humans fantasized about.

  Secure in her own beliefs and her King, Kimberly stowed her phone, keys and the minimal amount of cosmetics she wore into her purse and draped the delicately linked strap over her shoulder. With a mental shove, she pushed back the tide of her melancholy thoughts, grabbed her personal organizer, and headed for the door totally unprepared for the piercing tendrils of pain that froze her in place and speared through her brain. Her mind instantly recognized the intrusive touch threatening to take her free will. She fought against it. Drawing on Malachi’s guidance, she mentally erected wall after wall and pushed against the probing nature of the scowling male towering before her.

  Darklon’s gaze bore into her, capturing Kimberly off guard. Mentally, he seized control of her limbs, rendering her useless against his energy force. Her body jolted, violently sending ricochets of pain shooting down her spine. Cold, hard hands cupped and held her face as though she were a fragile piece of bone china. The calloused pad of his thumb stroked over her face as his stare beguiled her mind and left her mental walls in a crumbling heap. Defenseless against the power that came with the Elder’s age, Kimberly Stroner succumbed yet again to the psychological rape. Powerless against Darklon’s enthrall, Kimberly wished she were elsewhere.

  The distressing feel of Darklon rifling through her mind made Kimberly sick to her stomach. Why he constantly saw fit to besiege her for the chance of information obtained from the King’s court confounded her. After Darklon’s first attempt at controlling her resulted in a subliminal ‘fuck you’ courtesy of Malachi, Kimberly thought the Elder would leave her alone. Boy, she was wrong.

  Clearing her mind of anything remotely connected to her job or the King, Kimberly focused all her strength and attention on the vision of a beautiful moonlit beach. She concentrated on how the sand would feel beneath her feet and the scent of the ocean as the waves broke upon the shore. She used the anger born of her mother’s abandonment in an attempt to push Darklon out of her mind, and for a split second when his grip on her mind faltered, Kimberly caught a brief glimpse of the chaos that abided inside the Elder’s troubled mind. The enormity of his hatred toward their King shocked her to core.

  “Think to pry into the mind of an Elder, you fucking bitch? You’re nothing to me, and when I rule, I will make you his whore. You will be the vessel for his young as he rots under my thumb.”

  The harsh crash of Darklon’s hand connected with her face. Kimberly stumbled from the force of the blow, her head bouncing off the wall. The impact cracked bone and split skin. Darklon laughed and with savage glee at her pain. He tore free of her thoughts, leaving her alone, sprawled on the floor of her own home dazed, confused, and still securely held under the haze of the his enthrall.

  Trapped inside her own mind, Kimberly screamed. Why? Why me? She knew from experience that fighting against Darklon’s compulsion was futile, but Creator save her she hated feeling so weak. If she lived to be over a thousand years old, she might one day be powerful enough to fight against the insurmountable force of an Elder. But, Kimberly was young in vampire years. At only one hundred and seventy years old, she was relatively a baby compared to the likes of Darklon.

  With a grimace against the pain in her face and head, she righted herself and rose on shaky legs. Carefully, she smoothed her rumpled suit. Her movements were automated. The lack of pride in her looks was an obvious flaw Darklon either chose to overlook, or used to further distress her. Her mind rebelled as she made her way from her own apartment within the Vatican enclave to her station outside the King’s private office.

  All the way, she prayed nothing would be disclosed or divulged in front of her regarding the clandestine nature of the King’s private life. The thought of Darklon obtaining such information through her sent a slither of betrayal through Kimberly’s heart. She would never willingly betray her devout loyalty to the King and commit treason. Not by choice.

  On entering her office, Kimberly failed to recognize or speak to a worried looking Saul, even when the guard’s brow arched in question and a concerned expression formed in the depths of his eyes. She ignored him as though he were nothing but a peasant, all due to Darklon’s influence. Instead, she made her way toward the male seated alone outside the King’s office as he waited to give his report.

  “Lord Di Sangue… Roman. It’s a pleasure to see you again. I do hope our King hasn’t kept you waiting too long. Please excuse my late appearance. Is there anything I can offer you while you wait?”

  Internally, Kimberly raged against the pleasantries offered to Darklon’s son, and the utter snobbery of her disdain toward Saul. If she’d had the strength to fight through the fog in her head, she’d have happily punched the smug cocksucker seated before her right in the face. Roman di Sangue was no fucking Elder; in fact, as far as Kimberly was concerned, she’d scraped better shit off the soles of her shoes.

  He was nothing; nothing but the spoiled, useless, hate filled lowlife son of an Elder. He abused the subjects of the enclave that embraced him for his own grotesque gain. God, she fucking hated him, hated them both. How dare he sit there with his oh so perfect looks and his beautifully shaped lips, dressed in the finest suit money could buy while sporting that wide eyed open look she found entirely too cute. She knew all that lay beneath was the same rancid toxicity that pumped through his father’s treasonous heart. She wanted to spit at his feet, she would have…

  Pain lanced through her brain as Darklon’s icy grip tightened its hold. The warning sent Kimberly listing toward the Elder’s son. Roman surged to his feet and steadied her in his arms. The heat smoldering in his eyes took her breath away. His fingers rose up to touch her face and came back coated in red. Her blood…when had she done that…how? She felt dizzy and sick, yet warm and safe in the confines of Di Sangue’s arms. She was floating, the deep voice inside her head guiding her to be calm.

  “Enjoy the unity of your allegiance to me, Miss Stroner, and I will reward you with what you wish for. Malachi could be yours, the King’s filthy whore and the mother to his pureblooded young. Take it, follow me…Darklon, the only true King.”

  “Noooo.” She struggled against the ties that bound her, but her feeble attempts against such an impenetrable strong hold were useless. She was lost, only Malachi could help. She screamed his name, using every last ounce of her own mental strength. “Malachi…Malachi… please, help me.”

  The sounds of doors crashing open, followed by the heavy fall of footsteps echoed in her mind. Saul’s angry voice growled, demanding Roman let her go, and then she was flying. Gentle arms held her close to a solid bare chest that smelled as if Heaven had covered it in something sweet. The scent made her moan for more, and she turned into the feel of his skin as a blanket of black hair swept across her face.

  “Bring her to me, Laziel, over on to the couch.” Malachi’s rich Italian accent poured through the room, and Kimberly stiffened. Oh Creator, Laziel’s arms encircled her. His body thrummed against hers in a rhythmic pulse that virtually purred when Malachi spoke.

  Fear of who held her rendered her mind in
capable of thought. Laziel was huge from a distance and distance usually suited her fine. But this close up, with that scent emanating so strongly from his skin…

  The last thing she registered before she fainted was the soft vibration of Laziel’s laughter as it rumbled in his chest and the infusion of sweetly scented heat when she was sandwiched between Malachi’s and Laziel’s bodies as the King’s elite guard gently placed her into the hands of her King.

  ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

  Mired in the deluge of paperwork generated from the violation of the South American enclave, Malachi expelled a frustrated breath. After the first hundred, the facts ran together, but the names stuck, so many fucking names. Soul deep rage churned helplessly in his core. Entire families wiped out in the blink of an eye, generations of vampires lost, their bloodlines vanished into the mists of the afterlife. Thoughts churning and muscles vibrating for retribution, he shoved back from the desk and surged to his feet to pace.

  “So damned many lost, and I can do nothing. Not a damn thing while that bastard parades around this Court without a care. How the fuck does he sleep?”

  “He sleeps because none of them matter to him. He wants the throne, that’s all he cares about.” In his usual attire of low slung jeans and nothing else, Laziel’s right foot lunged forward, katana balanced shoulder level. The blade pointed at the door held steady without a trace of vibration. With an elegance and fluidity Malachi strove to match, the angel swung to a new position, blade poised overhead, right foot raised to rest against a denim clad left thigh. Red tinted eyes flicked in Malachi’s direction. “The only thing he wants more is Bourne.”

  The growl throbbed into the air. Malachi spun to face his Guardian, his anger screaming across the room to crash into the angel. “Don’t say his name.” A wash of pure power blasted Malachi in return. Sheer will kept him from staggering back in wake of Laziel’s own fury.