Blood Life Page 24

  “NO!” Alethea yelled. “Stop it!” she screamed as Lokee took control of Roman and they tumbled to the floor. Feeling instilled with incredible energy, Alethea looked into Roman’s wild face as Lokee prepared to finish him. In one hand, Lokee held the Tool that could destroy a vampire. A tiny golden pentacle, one of the witch’s sacred symbols, but instead of being encircled, it was surrounded by a box, five points of the star overlapping the box shape.

  It glistened in Lokee’s hand as he held it threateningly above Roman. One prick from the Tool to any part of a vampire’s body caused the body to be drained of all blood life and power, leaving only a withered shell behind. The spirit would be sent to Nothingness, never allowed a chance to live again or to die, only to wander for eternity alone.

  Devendra covered her mouth in terror, knowing that star’s purpose. The Tool was developed by Lillith and given to Devendra years before she ever created Lokee. Lillith had known the outcome of bringing him over to their world and the golden pentacle was given to Devendra with the sole purpose of destroying him before he was so much as a notion in Devendra’s mind. Instead, Lokee stole it from her when he left to begin his life, banished from Devendra and his home. Devendra had forgotten about it until that moment.

  With all her mind, Alethea concentrated on the Tool. She surrounded it with her energy and light, begging it to free itself of Lokee’s hold. She pictured it floating above him, hovering and waiting for her next command. She grounded herself and then the Tool. Finally, to her surprise, the moments passing in slow motion as the Tool was forced out of Lokee’s hand and up into the air. They all watched in awe, ducking as it flew by them and around the room to land gently in Alethea’s right hand. She stared down at it, glistening in her hold, shocked at the strength of her will.

  Lokee growled with rage as he vanished from the room. The three of them held their breath, waiting for his next move. The window behind Devendra crashed open as the wind pushed its way into the room. It howled and swirled things around them. The lights went out and Alethea crawled along the floor searching for shelter. Blinded by the darkness, her eyes refusing to focus on the path in front of her, she was kicked in the ribs. She grunted from the strike, landing on her back, and looked up to find a pair of eyes burning down into hers. Lokee stood 15-feet-tall in the shape of a fiery dragon above her. Laughter boomed throughout the room, that fierce, thundering laughter that only came from the depths of a madman’s soul.

  Roman picked Alethea up, her hand clasped around the Tool, and fled from the room. Knowing it was finally the right time, Devendra assumed her hastiest form of a giant, two-headed wolfbeast. Her fangs extended from both of her mouths and the drool dripped acid that ate through the floor instantly. A drop of her poisonous fluid landed on Lokee’s claw, burning a hole through it. He roared in pain and swatted at her, throwing her against the back wall.

  “Are you ready to play?” he growled, his voice bouncing off the walls, shaking the entire house.

  Instead of answering, Devendra shook her heads and lunged at him again. This time she crashed into his stomach, knocking him heavily to the floor. Speaking into his mind, Devendra declared, “You have no rights, Lokee. All of our people would love to see nothing less than your heart in my hands and your lifeless body on the ground at my feet, convulsing from the efforts of trying to heal itself when it no longer holds the ability!” She drew closer to him. “You are already dead,” her voice hissed.

  He let go of the dragon form, shifting back to his own shell. Smiling proudly, he picked himself up and moved cautiously over to the corner of the massive room by the broken window. “You are wrong, mother,” he said as he moved. “I am not dead yet. In fact,” he turned to face her again, “I honestly think you under-estimate me sometimes.” He chuckled, almost sweetly. Then his expression regressed to one of resentment. “I loved you once. I loved you more than anything. But that was never good enough for you, was it? You always needed something more from me. Always something more.” He shook his head as he recalled his fondest memories of her.

  She read from him these memories and they stabbed at her heart. But she also remembered the story of Lorien and Seth. How his love for her ended in Seth’s destruction as well as Lorien’s. All because of Lokee’s selfishness and dishonor. She remembered Roman and Alexandria—the turmoil and the never-ending pain caused by his hand. And for what?

  Anger coursed through her veins as she steadied herself, ready to make the final blow. “No, Lokee. Your trickery has no affect on me.”

  “This is not trickery. I only want to have one last memory of you, before one of us dies over your love.” He looked up toward the ceiling, as if in deep thought. His air became eerily calm and reflective. “I might be the one who dies,” he watched her closely, moving his gaze from her to the view out the window, “or . . . it could be you.” He closed his eyes to draw in a deep breath, then held it as he focused on her again.

  With short, powerful thrusts, he pushed out his breath, sending her tumbling against the brick fireplace on the far wall. The painting Alethea had admired earlier in the evening crashed down on top of her. She stayed down, weary and bemused. He saw this as a chance to gain control over her. He raced in her direction, arms out-stretched, unleashing a battle cry all his own.

  Unidentified movements under his feet startled him. He stopped dead in his tracks and listened. Not a sound followed his abrupt halt. Devendra picked herself up and moved from his path. She glimpsed into his eyes that were full of tears as a radiant beam of light invaded the center of the room.

  Shifting back to her human form, Devendra held her hands up to shield her eyes from the blinding white light. Suddenly the chaos around them ceased. Lokee begged for mercy as the illumination penetrated his body, with stinging, prickling pains. “No, please!” he cried in agony as his flesh burned.

  As soon as Devendra was over the brightness of the light, she understood its nature. Lillith hovered above them, with a crunched face of spite. She looked to Devendra and motioned for her to leave the room. Devendra obeyed without hesitation and found Roman and Alethea peering through the doorway, hidden against the wall.

  “It’s over, Lokee.” Her voice sang in an angelic tone. Warm, yet hard and firm. Lokee trembled uncontrollably, throwing his head side to side in agony of Her luminescence. “Lie down, my son. Lie down and receive your sentence.”

  She stared down at him for a response. All they could see then, in Her white brilliance, were Her eyes. Two almond-shaped garnets, bleeding with tears. Lokee slowly settled his knees enough to bend down and make his way to the floor, giving in to the torture. His form shrank as She started to drain him of his vampire energy. He wept and begged. His pleading and will to live was stronger than Devendra had ever realized, but she knew he would never, that he could never make up for what he had planned against his own people. For what he had done to Fate. He deserved whatever punishment he was faced with, and even that did not seem to justify all he had done in his extended lifetime.

  They all watched as he continued his wails. Lillith raised Her hands above Her head, gathering energy from Her protective shield. She created a ball of negative light from the positive and concentrated on Her plans of punishment.

  “Lokee,” She sang, thundering Her voice down at him. As She spoke words of judgment, other voices spoke with Her. In a chorus of crushed voices, She continued: “I shall grant you no trial. I shall give you no second chance. Your punishment is death in the most inhumane of forms. I will fill you with all your own negative force, all the power you have benefited from in all the years of torment you rode upon. The light I hold above me contains the hell-fire of your actions. With this, you shall feel everlasting pain!”

  With those final words, she cast the smokey ball of light onto his dwindling, terrified form. There was a loud, high-pitched screech. Then complete and utter silence.

  “Death, like birth, is a secret of Nature.”

  –Marcus Aurelius

  Fifty<
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  Roman paced Devendra’s circular ritual room nervously. Alethea was bound atop the altar, quietly awaiting the ceremony. She had fought in defense of the seed that lay unsafe inside of her womb. “Who was to be certain your child would not be Lokee himself reborn?” Devendra had argued, begging for Alethea to give in to its destruction willingly.

  But Alethea already knew the answer to Devendra’s reasoning. She knew it not to be Lokee; those dreaded feelings had ceased to exist on her conscience—there was a reason for waiting to destroy Lokee until after Alethea conceived. There was a reason she suffered the ordeal she had by his hand. Alethea knew in her heart that the child was special, that it would be born of a good nature and for an important purpose. The fear and warnings removed themselves from the unborn baby’s existence.

  Devendra, however, would not accept it. Her argument being that Alethea had not known enough experience or displayed the psychic abilities to be certain of her assumptions. And those assumptions could prove another terrible threat among The Combined.

  Roman, confused and hurt, could not, would not, stand up against Devendra. She had displayed true love and wisdom through all they had witnessed. To turn against her for Alethea’s sake would only complicate things far worse. It wasn’t the fact that he did not believe Alethea’s words, it was that he trusted Devendra’s judgments and Alethea had, in their opinions, reached the fine line between sanity and complete delirium since her captivity. He worried of Alethea’s Fate, her life, and her love.

  “Your state of mind is not stable enough to make a decision like this,” Devendra tried to explain.

  It wasn’t that Alethea doubted Devendra’s wisdom; it was that something in her wilted soul cried out to save that baby. It sang the most methodical tunes; it communicated with her through subtle vibrations. None of this satisfied Devendra. She was stuck on her decision of death.

  “It is inevitable, Alethea. The threat must not be ignored.”

  With every reason Alethea offered, Devendra seemed to have ten reasons against her. Alethea held fast to her hopes, but Devendra kept on ripping them from her.

  Inside Alethea’s womb lay magic she could never imagine, magic that was only heard of through stories and dreams. This was no ordinary feeling, and Alethea’s instincts were so strong they overwhelmed her last bit of logic. The new life carried no evil, nor did this unimaginable magic.

  This had been Alethea’s battle, to convince Devendra of the situation she was so terribly lost in. To make her realize the importance of birthing that baby with love and support. Then, perhaps, Devendra would see with her own eyes what Alethea had felt since the night of the battle over a month ago. If only she could surround Devendra with the essence of the baby’s life force, she would know that it would be blasphemous to destroy her without a chance.

  Her?

  That was the first time Alethea referred to the child as being of either sex. Her. A baby girl to raise and call her own. Part of her.

  Her other self.

  NO! Alethea shouted inside the barriers of her mind. I will not allow death to claim her!

  If only Alethea could find her voice. Instead, she started to buck and twist in agony under her binds. Fighting for what was hers, fighting for both of them. If her baby was killed, then she would follow. Bound to the altar by Devendra’s hand for not submitting crazed her all the more. She understood that she had not done this out of spite, but rather, “for her own good.”

  It was safe, in Devendra’s opinion, to keep Alethea under her watchful eye at all times. To prevent her from doing harm to herself, because she knew Alethea would rather die with her baby then witness her unjust death. Without a chance, without a glimpse of life in Alethea’s nurturing arms. She would flee if given the chance, from both of them; she would run and save their souls.

  The whole scene reminded Alethea of the fatal mistake Devendra had made herself. The mistake that doomed them all until Lokee’s death. Devendra may be worthy of Lillith’s love and power, but she still hadn’t the right to judge Alethea’s Fate.

  What had Lillith thought about all of it? Did She approve of the baby’s murder? Didn’t She allow Lokee to live as long as he did, and cause as much damage, for this purpose—to create this life?

  Alethea recognized Lillith as the Great Mother of The Combined, and she understood that Her decisions had a purpose. Why was She going to allow this to happen? It made no sense.

  Devendra may be worthy of the Mother’s magic, but neither of them had the right to judge Alethea’s Fate. She knew what waited inside of her; the feeling had turned from evil to light.

  She had no right!

  Alethea struggled to free herself from the constraints. She was stripped naked and tied down, being purified and cleansed in preparation of the ritual. Roman watched in terror, with arms folded, from across the room. His tear-streaked face marked the pain he felt in being powerless in Alethea’s defense. He was afraid.

  Coward! she thought bitterly and immediately regretted it. He read her like a book. The look in her eyes as she stared at him softened. She gave in to tears, no longer having a grip on her outward emotions.

  In her head, she continued to scream in defiance. Her throat burned too much to actually make any sounds audible to the room. Flames were forced down her throat earlier by Devendra. It was a witch’s belief that fire chased away evil. Fire was used often to cleanse the possessed without their destruction, like a wall of fire around the unfortunate one. Devendra was a most dominant sorceress before giving herself to Lillith, made all the more powerful afterward. Her energy drew the Mother to her without restrictions, and Devendra accepted without regret.

  Being a witch beforehand taught Devendra the courage and belief needed to attain fulfillment. She knew of all the tales and warnings. She was aware of those who did not take kindly to women with herbs that could heal the sick or soothe the poor. The fact that they did not fall ill themselves caused much disparagement. These women were usually burned at the stake or hung by the neck. This was, in the Christian eye, a way for them to repent.

  Fire chases away evil. Water purifies the soul.

  They were forced to admit, against their will, that they were “the devil’s whores.” Sinners! That is how witches were thanked for curing the unprivileged.

  Even then, Devendra was mighty. With Lillith’s assistance and protection always surrounding her, a non-believer was never able to destroy her. Devendra was worshipped by them all: Atheists, Christians, Roman Catholics, Jews, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Muslims, whoever crossed her path. She was always the one who could not be hunted; rather, she hunted those who preyed upon the innocents, even when she was captured and thrown in jail, tortured and beaten, and finally “executed.” Instead of being destroyed; rather than giving up her name, she was willing to die for her family name, but it was her family that saved her in the end.

  Alethea struggled not to believe Devendra was conspiring to destroy her now, that she was her family. It seemed impossible that Devendra could be capable of such a thing. But through it all, even in the bound state she held her, Alethea trusted Devendra with all her being.

  Still, the baby could not die. Alethea was willing to do anything to prevent it. If turning against Devendra was the only way, then so be it. She would turn against Devendra and Roman.

  Alethea closed her eyes as Devendra entered the candlelit room and moved gracefully toward the table. Alethea’s ivory skin sparkled as the flickering lights seduced her. A flush of desire washed over her as she opened her eyes and turned away from Devendra’s approach. Devendra was Beauty, and true Beauty had the power to soothe Alethea’s pain if only she would give in to it. The torment threatened to swallow her whole.

  Alethea looked up at Roman who, in obvious distress, watched Devendra watching Alethea. Her hair hung loosely about her shoulders, tumbling down her back. A silky, black veil of hair fell down in front of her, covering one breast as she climbed onto the table and over Alethea. She felt hands gently p
ress into her abdomen, tenderly searching for the baby. Alethea moaned, writhing against her touch, knowing exactly what she intended to do. Devendra caressed her provocatively wanting to give her pleasure in place of pain. Her fingers ran smoothly along Alethea’s waist as her eyes filled with tears. Alethea looked up onto her sapphire eyes. Devendra smiled, her cat eyes twinkling in the candlelight.

  She rubbed the soft, warm spot between Alethea’s legs and she arched her back in response. The ties only let her lift up so far. Alethea looked at her, troubled, begging for mercy. Devendra crawled up to Alethea’s face and kissed her eyelids sweetly. She felt the air rush through the room. Roman paced, confused and bewildered.

  Sensing her inhibitions collapsing, Alethea struggled to fight the sweetness of Devendra’s touches. She smelled of roses, and her hair tickled Alethea’s chest as she swished it back and forth across it. She stared into Devendra’s hungry face, for a moment, studying the contours of her magnificent jaw line. She was such a strong woman, even in this sensual state; she displayed strength not worth challenging. Alethea was going to give in to her seduction, no matter how she pretended not to want it. Devendra was pure Beauty—her touch, an innocence not yet defined in their time. She dominated Alethea, making her a slave who would enjoy the affection and tenderness whether she wanted to or not.

  Devendra kissed Alethea’s half-open mouth, gingerly, hesitating for the chance to steal her breath. They shared air for the next three breaths, and then Devendra withdrew, looking straight into Alethea’s eyes. She hovered over her for an instant as her expression turned from utter desire to complete horror. It took only an instant before she jumped off of her and landed clumsily on the floor beside the table. Feeling rejected, Alethea searched her for an explanation.

  “I don’t believe it.” Devendra scratched her hair away from her clammy face. “No! No, it can’t be,” she raved, starting to join Roman’s pacing. She shook her head firmly, closing her eyes to reflect on what she had just witnessed in Alethea’s breath.