by DB Nielsen
“Are you out of your bloodsucking mind?” Cole asked, horrified.
“No, Cole. I’m not.” Aislinn sighed, watching the boy’s face start to take on a healthier hue as the wound healed itself. “But I want to ensure that your blood is destroyed completely so there’s no possibility of him becoming an immortal or living even slightly longer than he should. Sunlight will do it.”
“Oh, you’re right about that! We’re all gonna die.” He whimpered pathetically on a self-pitying note. “We’re doomed. It isn’t fair. I’m too young to die. I haven’t even lost my virginity yet.”
“You haven’t?” she asked. “Why the hell not? What are you waiting for? Is it an intimacy thing? Because you can’t catch a disease now, you know? Never mind. We’ll discuss it later.”
Before the boy regained consciousness, Aislinn instructed Cole to help her watch him as she moved into the tack room to get the equipment. Avoiding the slits of light that penetrated the barn’s timber walls, she returned in seconds and began tacking up the horse.
Cole looked at her, his pale eyes wide and fearful as if to suggest that this was a very bad idea.
“You could have let him die, and his soul would have gone to Etherean,” Cole grumbled as he carried the boy, who weighed less than a feather, and placed him across the saddle.
“Right. Yeah. And you know that his soul would have gone to heaven because?”
“Because he’s a child?” Cole replied to Aislinn’s skeptical reply.
“And so why didn’t you want to die and go to Etherean, seeing as you were all chaste and pure?” she mocked him, flashing an exasperated look his way. “Aren’t virgins guaranteed a place in heaven, right next to the poor in spirit, the meek, and the righteous?”
Cole didn’t answer her. In fact, he looked as if he might not speak to her for the rest of his grand tour, but, at least, she didn’t have to listen to his constant complaints since he knew she’d just start in on his virginity again. He sighed. She had him by the balls.
“When I get the barn door open, I want you to slap the horse on the rear and send him out of the barn,” Aislinn instructed, sliding open the stall door. “Make sure you immediately slide closed the stall door so you’re safe from the sunlight after he bolts. Got it?”
Cole nodded apprehensively. “Isn’t that suicide? What if you can’t avoid the sunlight?”
Aislinn shrugged. “Then my only piece of maternal advice to you is, whatever you do, don’t fuck with Styx’s daughter or there’ll be hell to pay. And I’m not being hyperbolic. But don’t worry. I have no intention of getting fried.”
She slid open the stall door just enough to fit through and, at a furious rate, began throwing bales of hay to pile against the wall closest to the barn door. It would give her some protection at least.
“Ready?” she asked, but, not waiting for Cole’s answer, she whizzed toward the barn door in a blur of motion and threw it open. In that exact moment, she shouted, “Now!”
Cole released the horse as it reared and bolted in a straight path out of the barn with the child on its back, instantly sliding shut the stall door and hiding in the dark. It was dimly lit, rather than completely dark, in the stall now, but it wasn’t unbearable.
“Aislinn?” he called. She still hadn’t made it back. She was taking too long. He didn’t know what he should do. But he stayed put, just as she instructed. His voice rose an octave in pitch. “Aislinn? For the love of Vlad, answer me! Are you okay?”
“Yes.” Her voice was a bell that tinkled through the barn, reassuring him.
He slumped in relief. But where the hell was she?
Chapter 13
The angel sat high in the shadows of a canopy of trees that spanned the collection of outbuildings, containing a spring house for refrigeration and dairying, a bake house, a smoke house, a woodshed, a privy and a wash house; many of which had fallen into disrepair and dereliction due to the war. Having retracted his wings, his back rested against the smooth bark of the tree, and his feet were propped up on the roof of the woodshed as he took a bite out of the floury-tasting apple leftover from apple picking.
When the two vampires had appeared carrying the small boy, moving swiftly and confidently across the field, his dark eyes narrowed in surprised dismay. They’d interrupted his leisure, and he wasn’t amused. It seemed that everyone but him had a moment to themselves, escaping from their duties to experience a little fun in the other realms. But he knew that if he admitted to the others his desire for a getaway, even for meditation, they’d remind him of his responsibilities as the Left Hand of God.
Nathan rolled his eyes, frustration and envy welling up in his chest. He was fully aware of his purpose as the Lord’s Left Hand. He’d been doing the same job for the past two millennia, almost without a break.
But even angels should be given time off for good behavior, he thought.
He had thought to grab a brief moment to himself before going about the Lord’s business. War was particularly difficult. As the Angel of Light in a time of darkness, there was even more to do than normal. And now he had to contend with these vampires.
They passed beneath where he sat unnoticed, their pace quickening as they continued toward the barn. There was a frisson of fearful desperation in their movements, and it permeated the crisp, pre-dawn air. He recognized the daughter of Kayne from her distinctive platinum-blonde hair. She had the appearance of an angel which, clearly, she was anything but, yet he certainly hadn’t expected her to be carrying a human picnic.
Nathan noted the gunshot wound seeping copious amounts of blood from the boy’s side and could already perceive the boy’s bright soul shining through. Another one bound for Etherean. There would be someone along to collect it soon.
But the vampires’ uneasiness made him pause. He wondered what they were up to and decided to hang around for a while longer, just to ensure the boy’s soul was retrieved without any delay.
Great. Just what I need. Baby-soul-sitting.
When they entered the barn, Nathan creeped along the thick awning of branches like a breeze passing through the leaves, leaving only a slight rustling in his wake, until he reached the roofline. He sat comfortably on the apex of the pitched roof, legs dangling over the edge, and bided his time, chewing another mouthful of his apple.
But something wasn’t right. He’d sensed it from the first moment he’d spotted them. She seemed somehow vulnerable. And the other? Well, he just looked scared.
Eavesdropping—not a very angelic thing to do but, hey, who could blame him?—he frowned as he overheard them.
“You could have let him die, and his soul would have gone to Etherean.”
“Right. Yeah. And you know that his soul would have gone to heaven because?”
“Because he’s a child?”
Nathan frowned, puzzled at the discrepancy between what he knew of vampires and what he was hearing. They weren’t seriously considering saving the boy’s life, were they?
Not that he wouldn’t put it past the daughter of Kayne. Her father acted like an arrogant douchebag who believed he was master of life and death. Honestly, his ego was astounding. So, it wouldn’t surprise him at all. Like father, like daughter.
But still.
He received his answer when, after a few moments more, the barn door was thrown open and a horse and the unconscious boy bolted past. Nathan’s narrowed eyes followed the pair, and suddenly, he realized he could still see the boy’s brightness lighting him up from inside, but he was no longer clinging to life. Instead, there was a vibrancy to his features that suggested that his body clock had been reset.
What in all of Etherean?! This simply can’t be happening! Why would God even allow it?
Though shocked, Nathan had the presence of mind to mystically slow the runaway horse before it took the recovering boy over the next border or two and past the horizon. Then he slipped silently from the barn roof, almost floating to the ground, just in time to hear—
“Ais
linn? For the love of Vlad, answer me! Are you okay?” The other vampire’s voice rose an octave in pitch, his concern palpable.
“Yes.”
But clearly, she wasn’t. She was standing behind the still-open door, staring warily at the wedge of sunrise that blocked her path from joining her vampire friend and then down at her unmarked pale skin, as if she expected she would burst into flame if she attempted to cross the barn.
Tossing the apple core away, Nathan made no effort to mask his entry. He strode purposefully into the barn, his extremely long shadow cast upon the barn floor announcing his dramatic arrival. The silhouette, despite his retracted wings, heralded his angelic origins.
Aislinn looked up. Despite her height, she still had to crane her neck to look him in the eye. But surprisingly, she met his eyes without a trace of the fear that Nathan had grown to rely on from those who weren’t angels—nor the awe and wonder from many of those who were.
“If you’re the Angel of Death, you’re a little late,” she said, raising a perfectly curved eyebrow. “The boy’s still alive. And neither of us vampires have had a pulse for centuries.”
His brows rose a fraction at her insolence. “I’m the Angel of Light,” he announced.
“Really? Well, I think you’re in the wrong place. But you can do me a favor and close the door on your way out. And be sure to take your light with you.”
A loud rapping on the service entry door had Aislinn abruptly coming out of her reverie. She made her way down the back and opened the door to Varya, who was in a foul mood and looking as if she was ready for battle.
“What happened?” her friend asked. “Where is the bitch now?”
So, she had already heard the news. No doubt from Cole and Lark as soon as they’d returned to the manor house.
Zhenya. In London.
If she told Varya about Stanislav’s letter, Varya was going to lose it. If she didn’t, she’d have to find someone else to accompany her tomorrow night, and when Varya found out, she would definitely lose it. And it would be way worse than missing a couple of phone calls. Besides, Varya was one of the best warriors in the coven.
But on the flip side, Varya was volatile. And she hated both the underground Russian vampire mafia—hell, who was she kidding? Varya hated the Russians in general and Zhenya in particular—with a vengeance since she had trained with Zhenya under Caleb at one stage in counterintelligence.
And if she was weighing up the cons in taking Varya with her, then she would also need to take into consideration the fact that Varya now answered to Julius as his right hand. While she trusted Varya, she had no idea what Stanislav wished to discuss and how it might affect both her and the coven, and whether the proud Sanguis would feel it necessary to report back to Julius or be forced to tell him what had transpired.
Inwardly sighing, Aislinn felt that she might just have to take that chance.
“I’ve got no idea where Zhenya is, but she’ll be back,” Aislinn assured. Returning to the bar, she poured Varya a nicely warmed, room-temperature drink. Then holding her friend’s gaze, she handed Varya Stanislav’s letter in silence.
There was a brief pause.
Varya still held her gaze, but there was an infinitesimal trembling in her hand which made the paper flutter slightly. Aislinn could only imagine Varya’s thoughts. And her blood rage which she struggled to control.
She gave a brief nod and turned her attention to the letter. When she finished it, she handed it back to Aislinn, and picking up her glass, she downed the scarlet contents in one gulp.
“Tomorrow night.” Not bothering to ask permission, Varya poured herself another glass. “You bringing Caleb too?”
Aislinn nodded. “I’ll get Benjamin to babysit Cooper for me. Can’t be too careful now.”
Varya took it for granted she was coming along, and Aislinn had little energy left to argue. “I guess we can rule out Stanislav as your admirer. He’s not subtle. If he wanted you dead, he’d send—well, I guess he’d send Zhenya and you wouldn’t see it coming.” Aislinn raised an eyebrow, and Varya, giving a scowl, amended her statement. “Okay, you’d see it coming, but most of us wouldn’t. The point is that Stanislav wouldn’t send you a bottle laced with poison as a death threat.”
“I suppose you’re also going to say that since he sent me an invitation for a meeting, he isn’t going to kill me tomorrow night either,” Aislinn replied.
Varya bared her teeth. “Oh, I wasn’t going to go so far and say that. Stanislav’s the type of gangster who would cheerfully send you an invitation to your own funeral.” She paused to knock back her second drink. “But he did say he wanted to discuss something of mutual interest to you both.”
“That he did,” Aislinn agreed. “And I’ll be interested to see what that’s all about, but speaking of funerals, I think I’d better go see how the boys are doing. Want to come?”
Varya smiled wickedly. “Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for the world. It’s almost as exciting as visiting Stanislav tomorrow night. Caleb’s never going to live this down.”
“Oh, I don’t intend for him to,” Aislinn replied grimly.
Behind the wrought-iron doors of the Lamia Funeral Home, the entrance hall deceptively conveyed the tranquility of death. The long marble foyer was warmly lit by a large crystal chandelier, illuminating the red leather daybeds and antique mahogany hall tables bearing tall crystal vases filled with fresh lilies.
Aislinn passed the curtained entrance into a mirrored hallway. The plush red carpet was so soft and fluffy underfoot that it seemed as if no step had trodden its path. Reception rooms that bore a distinct similarity to exclusive hotels with sisal carpet and damask-silk high-backed chairs and plump velvet cushions flanked the long corridor. They also looked like they had never been used.
An attractive, doe-eyed Sanguis receptionist greeted Aislinn and Varya, expressing her condolences. “Good evening, Prima Aislinn. We’re sorry for your loss. Our deepest sympathy. Perhaps you and your guest would like to take a moment to reflect in our Hamptons Visitation Room?”
Aislinn’s eyes rounded, and she exchanged a look with Varya.
At that moment, Nikolaus appeared. “Thank you, Trinity. I’ll take it from here.”
Aislinn felt relieved to see Nikolaus. The athletic, young Malum who oversaw the Blood Bank also ran the medical centers. Solid. Dependable. Intensely focused. And sexy. His high cheekbones, straight nose and square jawline formed rugged angles in an otherwise too pretty face.
“Nik, how are they doing?” Aislinn asked.
Nikolaus’s unusual blue-grey eyes warmed with laughter. “Well, they’re not dead, if that’s what you’re asking. Sorry about that. We often get enquiries for funeral plans from humans and planned assassinations from those vampires too timid or stupid to go to Styx. Trinity flags these for us. As you can imagine, we don’t often get visitors. Most vampires are solitary creatures. They might hunt together and belong to a coven, but that’s where the connection ends.”
“Have they been giving you much trouble?” she asked as they began walking down another long corridor, almost identical to the one that they’d just come from.
“No, not if you discount Caleb’s singing ‘Highway to Hell’ when we began the ABO transfusions. It only became an issue when he managed to pull out his catheter trying to play the air guitar.” Nikolaus was trying hard to keep a straight face. “Luckily, Cooper only knew the chorus, so we were spared having to listen to them both sing. I’m sorry to say, Aislinn, that even with lessons, there’s no redemption for them. They suck. Big time.”
“Damn, I missed it?” Varya muttered in disappointment. “I could have taken a video and posted it on Instagram.”
“Oh, you haven’t really missed anything,” the other Malum assured as the automatic doors opened before them. “Get your camera ready.”
Nikolaus was right. As the soundproof doors opened onto the emergency room, a loud, discordant singing could be heard, vaguely identifiable as Queen’s
“Another One Bites the Dust”.
Varya’s pale eyes lit with glee as she pulled out her smartphone. She might as well have fist-pumped the air. “As Mia would say, ‘oh it’s fucking lit’.”
Aislinn sighed. “And he gives Cole a hard time about his poetry.”
Caleb and Cooper were lying beside each other in the luxurious emergency room with its soft color palette, antiques and original artworks, fine Egyptian-cotton linens, and fresh flowers on the tables. Beside each of their hospital beds was an IV drip connected to a machine monitoring the amount of blood intake.
“That’s his third unit of blood,” Nikolaus said, gesturing to the blood bag feeding Caleb, which was about three-quarters full. “Usually one unit is enough, but he’s an extremely fit vampire.”
Caleb seemed unaware of Aislinn’s presence.
“He’s still drunk?” she asked, alarmed at his lack of recognition.
Nikolaus shrugged. “Blood poisoning affects some vampires differently. Fevers or chills. Weakness. Confusion. Red spots. Abdominal infection. Infected teeth.” He looked over at the beefy Malum lying on the bed, singing happily. “I would say there’s still some confusion. But he’s doing fine. Responding well to the ABO transfusion. No infection, which is a good thing.”
“And Cooper?” she asked, moving toward her progeny, ignoring Varya who busily took pics and video of Caleb making a dumbass of himself, which she was going to edit into a funny clip later and upload to Instagram and YouTube.
“Oh, he consumed far less, which we can be thankful for. It wouldn’t have killed him of course, but it would have paralyzed him for several days.” Cooper was reclining on the hospital bed, propped up at a forty-five degree angle. His face was flushed, skin warm, and he looked healthy. His blood bag was almost finished, and Nikolaus crossed to his side, preparing to take the catheter out of his vein. “This young man’s doing fine actually. Apart from a slight Oedipus Complex.”
