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He shook his left index finger at her—refusing her!

  Time stood still, suspended, as Azrael stepped down from the window sill and glided toward her. In his right hand, he held his scythe. The light in the room cast its reflection off it, causing her to close her eyes against the blinding ray. She forced them open again. Squinting, she noted droplets of blood trickling from the tip of the sharp blade. When the blood touched the floor in front of her, it dried, leaving nothing but a heap of dark red powder before her.

  Standing directly in front of her, looking enormous from her position on the floor, Azrael reached down toward the back of her head and grabbed a handful of hair, ripping some from her scalp. In her stupor, only in the warped atmosphere of her mind, the sound of her hair breaking resembled the sound of guitar strings snapping. There was a strange, distorted tone that hung in the air after each strand gave. She heard this clearly; it intrigued but confused her.

  Azrael pulled her across the hard floor, her wet skin gliding easily. He slid his hands beneath her armpits to pick her up to eye level. She looked at his eyes, only he did not have eyes, only empty sockets. The skin around where the eyeballs should have been was wrinkled and dried out. She swallowed the fear that rose abruptly in her throat and willed herself to search his sockets as if they had eyes.

  His lips curled into a smile, acknowledging her inner battle, pleased that she would pretend he had eyes instead of gawking like the rest of them. It always annoyed him; made him want to rip out their souls without any explanation, against Fate’s timing. He pushed all that to the back of his mind and refocused on the young immortal in his arms. He removed his hands from her armpits.

  Alethea became utterly aware of her status: she hung like a puppet in midair before the Angel of Death—her arms were stretched out lazily and her legs dangled beneath her.

  She watched in terror as Azrael left her there to retrieve some of the blood-powder from the floor. Returning to his position before her, he opened his palm and slowly and deliberately blew the dust into her face, saying, “This will ease the pain; it will give you the magic needed to will it away. It does not seem you have the focus to do this yourself, but you must get through this torment to fulfill your destiny.”

  Alethea gasped a full breath, closing her eyes against the grains that flew into her face.

  Just like that, the pain was gone. She felt renewed energy and focus—it was like she understood how it was done, how to take her own pain away.

  But why would Azrael help her? Was it because she was already dead? Was she one of his kind? What did he expect from her in return?

  Stealing her thoughts from Azrael’s random display of affection, she was returned to her present situation. She moved her eyes to Lokee and watched in anguish as he unbuckled his pants. “No,” she whispered, desperately trying to crawl away from him.

  “Will you deny me now,” he asked, moving in on her quickly, “or will you cooperate with me? How do you know that I cannot give you immense pleasure? Trust me, child, you will never forget this night.”

  Alethea shook her head and punched at him as he bent down to gather her up and put her on the bed. He ravaged her with stiff, dry kisses. She moaned in disgust. He kissed her neck, then moved his way down to her belly. It felt like sandpaper to her, scratching her delicate belly skin, tearing at any innocence left inside her.

  Ripping her blouse to reveal plump breasts, he fondled her and buried his face in them. She cried against him, sobbing for freedom.

  Out of nowhere, her hands were bound and tied to the bed posts by an unseen force. She realized then that there was truly no more hope; he would have her and there was nothing she could do about it. In vain, she continued her struggle against him. He tore and shredded her clothes. He slugged her, close-fisted, in the face.

  That was the blow that silenced her, for she had lost all respect for herself in her nakedness as he prepared her to receive him. Riddled with shame and disbelief, she prayed to a Goddess she did not yet know: Lillith. She prayed simply for release in death; it was all she had left to hope for.

  Lokee, pleased by her sudden lack of struggling, threatened to beat her again if she so much as muttered a cry. Not wanting to be introduced to another blow like the last, she choked on her sobs. He suckled her breasts, biting at her nipples and making them bleed.

  Alethea became completely motionless. He poked and prodded at her. She was wide open and undefended. As he lowered himself on top of her, intending to ravish her sexually, she turned her head to the side, trying to bury herself and hide in the pillows. She could pretend it wasn’t happening. She could pretend it was her Roman. In her head, she tried to dream of Roman making love to her, tried to see it on the wall like a movie.

  Lokee hit her again, jealous of Roman even in her thoughts. He crept up slowly to kiss her mouth, but she hissed in his face. He stared into her face for a long, uncomfortable moment, then violently took what he wanted from her without so much as a second thought or passing remorse.

  When he was finished, he withdrew and pulled himself beside her, cuddling the side of her limp body. She could feel his hardness stabbing into her thigh. He played with her more, moving his fingertips up and down her body softly. She shuddered, sobbing as silently as possible.

  Lying there in the thick silence, Alethea suddenly became aware of Lokee’s intention. He wanted to create life, to punish her for rejecting him. She was expected to bear his child, to carry within her his seed. Another act of self-indulgence? To her horror, with her vampire mind, she reached inside herself to find a tiny glimmer of life. He had succeeded! Part of him now lived within her and the very thought burned a hole through her soul.

  Forty Three

  The loud, howling wind stirred even the eldest, mystical beings from deep hibernation. Lokee stood in a rich, green meadow, sending messages to them. He begged of their assistance in battle against Devendra and Lillith. As the beings started to whisper amongst themselves, the wind carried their voices into the air. Soon, they sang in chorus, shrieking loudly, causing Lokee to cover his sensitive vampire ears against the reverberations.

  The trees cowered within feet of his approach and animals fled to avoid contact of any kind. Even the birds ceased their melodies in his presence. In this, Lokee found satisfaction. In feeling like a God and being feared by all living things around him, he gloated.

  The voices of the beings grew louder, picking at him with questions and assumptions. They tormented his devious pledge of honor. He stood in a daze, pondering the next move he should take.

  Suddenly, without intention, Lokee felt abandoned. Even with so many beings that had already agreed to join him in battle, he felt alone. The troops he already had, ready to risk their souls for his selfishness, were far from enough for him. He always expected more.

  “Do not bother to assist me. There are not enough of you to make a difference. I’d rather fall fighting alone than having only half of you! Where are the Kriestos? How dare you abandon me!” He had heard nothing from his group of slayers since before Devendra asked him about Lorien. Their silence made him wonder if Lorien was somehow responsible. It hurt him that she had not made herself known to him if she had come back.

  Worry marked his face as his thoughts melted into the slightest regret of his pride. Regret for once in all his life—to Fate, to lovers, and to his great love: Lorien.

  All the drama centered around Alethea because she now held the all-illusive key Devendra spoke of; but if Lokee lived through the battle, Alethea would still belong to him, and the very same key designed to save the Combined would turn into the one that saved the Kriestos. Alethea was the one thing everything and everyone involved was centered around. The one who stayed in his bed, hating him and wishing for death to take her away from immortal life, and most of all, from Roman and Devendra who failed her when she needed them most.

  Lokee pulled in some of the cool, crisp air, but even it seemed to try and reject him. The air fought against his draw of it. No elemen
t wished to grant him the least bit of life. To force was all he had left.

  He raised his arms and threw his head backward to howl. No movement came in response—his echo ricocheted off the mountaintops surrounding him. He released another, this time at the very top of his powerful lungs. The few birds that remained in nearby trees took flight.

  “You haven’t the right to judge me,” he cried out to the emptiness. “You have no right to choose my destiny! You, our Mother, have no right! You yourself are damned!”

  His breath was labored and his voice became hoarse from the strain. “You have no superiority over other Gods and Goddesses! With the Kriestos by my side, I can beat you!” He spit out the words in a growing frenzy. He waved a clenched fist in the air. “I will find a way, and then we will judge you!” He fell to his hands and knees as dark clouds swept in and blocked out the glistening moon.

  “I will find a way,” he swore. “Then I will judge you! Judgment long over due for the pain and rejection you have made me suffer. I blame you!” He shut his eyes tight, swallowing the remaining wrath.

  The wind picked up even more and the sky fell completely black. Thunderclouds rumbled and lightening lashed out across the sky. A downpour of rain tried to drown him as mud surfaced, pulling him down into the Earth. He picked his face up from the ground, ripping his arms and legs out of the mud.

  “You wish it were so easy!” he declared, and set out for his fort.

  “In the time of darkest defeat, victory may be nearest.”

  –William McKinley

  Forty Four

  Weeks passed from the time Lokee had embedded Alethea’s womb with his seed. She had slowly stopped fighting his advances to avoid the beatings. He was stronger than she was, and he always would be. As long as she was there, she was his prisoner. There was nothing else she could do, and feeling nothing inside except hate and resentment toward everyone and everything, she had decided to do a 180 on the situation, to which Lokee was very pleased.

  Alethea had taught herself a trick that could get her through the remainder of the trauma. She learned to conjure enough focus to tap into her vampyric skills and successfully cloak her thoughts.

  Inside, she prayed for rescue, but even with a glint of hope, she remembered the torture she had endured, and nothing, not even her new trick, could save her from that. The reminder grew by the moment inside her. The only way to find any kind of peace, any salvation at all, would be to join her captor—allow the treatment, encourage it even. At least then he wouldn’t hurt her anymore.

  She was sour.

  Waking from her daily nap, Alethea stretched her naked body along the bed lazily, like a cat as Lokee entered her room.

  Lifting her head, letting her eyelids rise slowly, Alethea pushed herself up and back against the headboard, and to her own surprise, smiled at him seductively. Each time he came to her, she grew stronger in her actions. She pretended to see him in a different light. His fertilized seed had spoiled her, so why should she care about her body anymore? Perhaps she could abort the fetus by persuading him to take her roughly again.

  She made herself want him. Not him, but his sex. Sex could be used as her release, and although Lokee’s sex had been rough and against her will, she felt that if she could control it, she could endure it, and if she could bring herself to do that, she could make it through anything else he threw at her.

  Lokee sat beside her, gleaming with her sudden acceptance of him, caring not that it was peculiar. She fell into his arms, willing herself to smell Roman’s familiar scent. It worked for a few moments, but Lokee rubbed the inside of her thighs, causing the mirage to fade. Alethea found her magic to be strong, but not strong enough. Appalled, she pushed herself away from him harshly.

  “What?” Lokee growled. “You were hot a minute ago, begging for me. What happened?” He held his hands up in frustration, glaring at her.

  Easy, girl. Easy. You’ve still got it. Just focus.

  Shivering and confused, she reasoned it to be Lokee’s interference that weakened her magic. He must have sensed her deception, but he wasn’t angry with her. Her head ached.

  “What is it,” he cooed, reaching out to her face. She turned away from him, her right hand rising slowly to her head, as if cutting through wind gusts. Her body felt invaded. Invisible tendrils prodded at her arms and legs.

  Yes, this was Lokee’s work. Her ability to think, which was not working as sharply as it usually did, comforted her. She was able to fight his magic with her own. She was learning, and she was on to him.

  Gathering her strength into a pool of calm rage, she lowered her hand and looked under her eyelashes at the man sitting next to her. “You want to play?”

  Grinning at her playfulness, Lokee moved in closer. “What do you mean?”

  Vengeance!

  All at once, the invasion was gone. The presence vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving Alethea in a stupor from the fierce struggle to retain self-control. Her thoughts ran wildly and Lokee mumbled outside her attention span.

  Disoriented by the rapid change in her space, her thoughts turned to the babe growing inside her. How Roman and Devendra would try to convince her to abort it. She wondered if she would put up a fight.

  No. No more fighting. If she never had to fight again, she might live the rest of her eternity somewhat content.

  Pulling herself back to the situation at hand, she studied Lokee, unsure of what she would allow herself to enjoy, unsure if she would hate herself later when she had to explain the why to her Roman.

  Lokee reached for her, trying to decipher her horrified expression. Pulling up her magic once again, she shook off the fog and quickly cloaked her thoughts.

  Without making a true decision in her heart, she lay back against the pillows like a mechanical doll, spreading her legs for him to have her—opening her arms to embrace him. Never opening her eyes again, he took her gently and she submitted. She could fight no more.

  “Death is nothing, but to live defeated

  and inglorious is to die daily.”

  –Napoleon Bonaparte

  Forty Five

  In the morning, Devendra, still standing by the window, wept.

  She wept for the failure to her race; she wept for the failure to her fledglings; and, most of all, she wept for the failure to the Goddess, Lillith, who entrusted this one task to her—this ever important mission to save their world.

  Could Devendra provide? No, of course not. As strong as she was, her flaws overpowered her like a ton of bricks when she needed that strength the most. It was, sadly, the story of her life.

  Roman made soft rustling sounds in the next room as he rose and mechanically dressed for the day. They would continue their dead-end search for Lokee’s hiding place. Her clever son had covered up his tracks ingeniously, and even the almighty Devendra was unable to blow his cover.

  Roman entered the room silently, sitting at the foot of Devendra’s bed, and placed his head in his hands. The search for Alethea was beginning to take its toll on both of them.

  Eventually, they knew they would find her, but they also knew full well that every moment that passed would destroy Alethea’s mind more than the last. Lokee held the power to brainwash her completely, which could take them years to reverse, if it proved to be reversible.

  There was no telling, according to Roman and Devendra, if she was even breathing anymore; neither of them could tap into her mind. All channels seemed to be clogged or closed off, they weren’t even sure which. But in Alethea’s seclusion with Lokee, they could not deny that death would be a welcomed, blessed thing, compared to what she had undoubtedly undergone in her captivity.

  Devendra moved her hands from her temples, after rubbing them to release tension. Taking in a full breath of air, she turned to face Roman. “I found this letter attached to my door this morning,” she said, quietly.

  Roman, looked up at her with a start, as if she had woken him from a bad dream. “What does it say?” he asked
impatiently.

  She walked over to the bed with the letter in her hand and sat down beside him. Clearing her throat softly, she raised the letter into view.

  “Mother, you cannot deny who you are, nor can you deny the fact that you are and always will be responsible for me and my actions. All that has happened, and all that is yet to come, becomes your burden. Taking Alethea was only a preview of the pain I plan to inflict on you for disowning your only son. I have much more in store for all of you. Once I can restrain her enough to take her, I will plant my seed and she will belong to me. As long as I have her, you cannot hurt me; isn’t that the case? I hold the key, mother; I hold a key within the key. When you decide the time is right to fight me, I will call on the Kriestos for assistance against you, just as I am sure you will call on some higher beings. But, please remember, this is your decision. My heart knows no love and my soul will never find peace. Face you are part of me; face your immortal mistake and come for me. We are waiting . . .” -L

  She dropped the letter to the floor and covered her face as it crunched against new tears. Roman lifted his arm and placed it gently across her shoulders, pulling her into him. “I had hoped there would have been some sort of clue as to her whereabouts,” she managed between sobs. “It was only full of threats; if he plants his seed, I don’t know what we’ll do. He may already have done so. She may be ruined—he may have already won,” she finished, staring down at the note.

  Roman pulled her closer and she rested her head on his chest, grounding her anger more as she squeezed him. “I can only hope that was a threat,” Roman said through clenched teeth.

  Devendra pulled away and looked into Roman’s face sadly.

  Ignoring her knowing look, he continued: “We are not completely powerless, Devendra. What about Lillith?”