“A vampire,” the fanged giant answered wickedly, emphasizing the “V” and rolling the “R’s” with a foreign accent for effect.
Vampire? Whatever the hell he was, Gabe knew instinctively that the dude was a sadist. He tugged harder at his ropes, even though he knew they weren’t going to budge. He raised his head as far as he could and glanced around the rest of the room to see if there was any kind of—
“Sweet mother of God!”
He arched his back and bucked like a wild animal, fighting so hard to come off the table that his muscles tore and his wrists and ankles began to bleed as the rope cut into them. He rocked the table so hard it almost tipped over. Standing—no, hanging—to his right was another male just like the one bending over him: a tower of a man with black-and-red hair, only this guy’s was cut short, and he was hanging by a short length of chain, both of his wrists shackled and stretched high above his head. The chain, in turn, was anchored to the ceiling by a large iron peg, and the guy was bare-chested and drenched in blood.
His throat, wrists, and inner thighs had been slit open, and the blood was running in pools from his major arteries into a large steel bucket positioned directly beneath his bare feet. The sadist was collecting his freakin’ blood, and all around the base of the bucket, that strange, eerie fog continued to swirl, dip, and hiss as it spun around in a cyclone enveloping the offering.
Gabe shook his head to clear his vision. Holy…shit. There were strange objects surrounding the bucket, barely masked behind the smoke: engraved images of what appeared to be dark angels, various cut plants and herbs soaked in blood, and more black candles of every variety with mystic symbols carved into the hardened wax. In the center of the bucket of blood, there was an otherworldly fire blazing red, purple, and blue—burning not on the fuel of wood or coal—but from the very essence of the blood itself.
“Oh, hell no!” Gabe bellowed.
The vampire reached down and pinned both of Gabe’s arms, holding him still against the table. “Do not waste your energy, human,” he snarled. “You are going to need every ounce of your strength to complete the task you are about to be given.” The vampire’s strength was indefinable. In fact, he felt more like an iron tank than a man, holding Gabe to the table with effortless ease.
Gabe sucked in his breath and willed his heart rate to slow down—to maintain a steady, manageable rhythm—before he had a heart attack. What had the vampire said? He was going to be given a task?
This was good.
Very good.
If they needed him—if they planned to use him even temporarily—then that meant they weren’t going to kill him…just yet. And if the task had anything to do with using his special combat or marksman skills, then he needed to make sure his arms, legs, and mental faculties remained functioning and intact. He needed to buy some time.
Gabe swallowed hard, pushing through the fear. “What kind of task?”
His question was met with a stunning blow to the jaw.
The impact rattled his bones and broke several of his back teeth.
“You do not speak to me unless I ask you to, human!” The guy literally growled like an animal. “Ever!”
Gabe turned his head to the side, choked on the coppery taste of blood, and spit out the loose fragments of his back teeth. Still coughing, he refocused his eyes on the thing in front of him…remaining deathly quiet all the while.
Lesson learned.
He was no idiot.
The vampire gestured toward the hanging male, and then walked over to stand next to him. “This,” he practically sang in a lyrical voice that played over Gabe’s body as much as it vibrated in his eardrums, “is Victor Dirga, the firstborn son of Octavio. He is honored among our kind, yet he will soon be sacrificed to our Dark Lord Ademordna. Do not overestimate your value, human.”
When he spoke the name of the dark lord, the room went momentarily black.
A harsh, icy wind swept over Gabe’s body, and his windpipe sealed shut, making it impossible to breathe, even as he felt the overwhelming urge to retch. He was filled with a sense of foreboding like nothing he had ever felt before; it was like being mired in a dark, emotional sludge, sinking in a malevolent quicksand made of mankind’s most base emotions. Death, Murder, Addiction, and Insanity all took residence in his body at once. Guilt, Fear, Shame, and Hatred pooled in his gut like a living, breathing entity. And he felt the full force of each emotion as if he were living the experience right then and there—on the table—a sensation beyond illness, a pain beyond torture…his mind, body, and soul in an advanced stage of spiritual cancer.
The vampire fell to one knee, bowed his head, and the suffocating energy lifted…although it didn’t leave. Rather, it just seemed to hover, both along the ceiling and at the base of the bucket of blood.
Gabe sucked in the air that had returned to him as the vampire stood back up and ran a sharp fingernail—no, a claw—along the hanging male’s chest. “Our lord will require one such sacrifice every day in order to answer our summons, so time is of the essence, is it not, Gabe?”
Gabe didn’t dare answer. His stomach turned over in waves of nausea, and he felt like he might just black out, but he struggled to focus…and listen.
And then, the earth spun upside down on its axis, and all that was ever right in the world ceased to exist: The vampire drew back a powerful arm and plunged it through the hanging man’s chest; he gripped the guy’s heart in an iron fist and retracted it while it was still beating. The dying man’s eyes fluttered open, and his mouth hung agape in a silent shout of terror.
Gabe screamed so loud his eardrums hurt as the vampire dropped the heart into the bucket, tenderly cupped the male by the face—almost as if he were going to kiss him—and then twisted his head off his body like it was nothing more than a dandelion on the end of a stem. “Forgive me, Victor,” the vampire muttered, dropping the head into the basin. “Your sacrifice will not be in vain.” He held both arms up to the sky, his head rolled back on his shoulders, and he began to chant over and over in a strange, primordial language.
And then, the vampire’s hair began to flap behind him as if he were standing in a great gust of wind, and his words played like an orchestra, echoing from every direction at once in a macabre chorus of entreaty. The vampire cried out—he moaned like he was in horrific pain—and then just as quickly, he turned and headed toward Gabe and the table.
Gabe prayed for death.
The thing that approached him now was beyond not-human—beyond just a vampire—he was evil incarnate. His skin glowed from a deep, crimson halo, and a terrible fire danced about his hands and fingers. His face was contorted in an ecstasy so divinely evil that it almost appeared…beautiful…hypnotic. His eyes met Gabe’s, and he seemed to pull Gabe’s very soul from his chest, effortlessly dominating his will. “You will go to the address you are given. You will seek out the dark-haired lady who stands with Napolean Mondragon, and you will try to kill her.” He swept his hand slowly over Gabe’s belly—first, the back of his fingers, and then the front. Gabe’s body convulsed, and the vampire moaned. “When Napolean Mondragon kills you for threatening his woman—and kill you, he will—you will release your soul…into his.”
Gabe frowned, as confused as he was terrified…
Release his soul?
How could he release his soul?
When a look of abject terror swept over the vampire’s face—even as he hovered above Gabe in a threatening manner—Gabe knew his goose was truly and permanently cooked: If this evil being feared something—anything—then whatever it was had to be unspeakable.
Gabe held his breath as the vampire slowly backed away from the table, retreated to the back of the room, and stood, terrified, his body flushed as flat as possible against the cold, stone wall.
Gabe clenched his eyes shut.
He couldn’t take any more.
He wished the vampire would just kill him and get it over with.
“Come forth, my lord,”
the vampire shouted, his voice as thick with fear as reverence. “Accept this offering of blood…and come forth to do my bidding.”
There was a great explosion, like a bomb going off, and Gabe’s eyes flew back open. Not seeing was even worse than seeing…
Or so he thought.
“Blessed Mother, help me…” he whispered.
The bucket was suddenly engulfed in intensely hot flames that flickered wildly before merging with the dark fog, consuming each of the elements that had been offered to it—and then the conglomeration began to take form.
“Hail Mary full of grace…” Gabe began to pray.
The form of a snake?
“The Lord is with thee…”
A reptile—no, a worm—began to emerge.
“Blessed art thou amongst women; and blessed is the fruit of thy womb—”
A hideous creature with horns and claws and hooves for feet shimmered slowly into view.
Gabe struggled to remember the prayer but forgot his place. “Pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death.”
The face morphed in and out, taking on the visage of several other people—women, then children; boys, then young men—it was like the worm was consuming the blood of a dozen souls and becoming each as it absorbed their essence…growing more and more powerful with each offering.
And then the thing threw back its morphing head and roared like an angry lion, shaking the room in its wake.
Gabe heard a wretched, pitiable scream—a repetitious wail like that of a rotating police siren—sounding again and again in the room like nothing he had ever heard before.
And then he realized that it was his own voice.
Terror had fully consumed him.
As the worm made its way through the air—half slithering, half flying—only to halt and hover above his body, he felt as if his heart would simply explode in his chest from the shock, and relief would come at last. The horrible siren wailed on as the dark entity narrowed, dove down, and entered his mouth, burrowing all the way into the core of his body.
Gabe hacked and convulsed, and then he simply lay there motionless, deathly still, staring up at the ceiling.
Ademordna ripped the ropes from his hands and feet as if they were mere threads. He stood and sauntered over to his servant, who was still hovering in fear by the wall. When the male looked up at him, it was with such reverence…such uninhibited worship…that it felt like a wave of pure, unadulterated power washing over him, drenching him in self-adornment. Pleased, he snatched Salvatore by the hair, wrenched back his head, and bent to place a violent kiss on his mouth—exchanging a precious gift of his essence with his loyal servant. Such a talented sorcerer.
Black blood poured from Ademordna’s mouth, filling the open orifice as Salvatore swallowed what was forced upon him. And then Salvatore began to choke. He fell to the ground and thrashed around on the floor in front of Ademordna, his body racked with mindless pain. Ademordna cocked his head to the side and licked his lips, watching as Salvatore clawed at his own skin in madness, tearing off large strips one at a time. He smiled in delight as the essence he had given the sorcerer regenerated the wounds as quickly as he could inflict them.
Such exquisite torture.
Such beautiful supplication.
Laughing wildly, Ademordna stepped away, and then he bent down to hover over the vampire. “You will be able to collect yourself well enough to provide the daily sacrifice, will you not?”
An oozing green trail of drool dripped from Ademordna’s mouth and landed on Salvatore’s face, burning a hole through his skin like acid. It regenerated, and Ademordna purred. He released a long, hideous claw, and slowly carved out Salvatore’s left eye, watching with enormous pride as a new one grew back.
Salvatore trembled from the pain.
“Be still,” Ademordna hissed. “I asked you a question.” He bent to lick the inside of Salvatore’s wrist, and the skin melted off to the bone, leaving fourth-degree burns. He gave the cells a command to heal much more slowly, gifting his faithful servant with hours more of excruciating pain before he would be released. “It is good, no?” he crooned. “You enjoy?”
Clutching his wrist and turning away in order to vomit more black blood, Salvatore forced himself to mumble the words, “Yes, my lord. Thank you.”
The syllables came out distorted, garbled amongst all the black goo that oozed from Salvatore’s mouth, but Ademordna found them acceptable, nonetheless.
“Does the purity of my essence taste as you thought it would?” Ademordna asked, intrigued.
Salvatore choked and gagged, still moaning in pain. “Forgive me, Lord”—he bit out the words—“but I think I’m going to have an orgasm.”
Ademordna stood up, threw back his head, and laughed, the wicked sound ricocheting through the room like thunder clapping in a bottle. He watched as Salvatore writhed in pain…and pleasure…and the suffering was a balm to his dark soul. Even as the faithful sorcerer grew increasingly insane from his desperate need to escape his anguish, Salvatore embraced the darkness with every cell in his being. “Yes, my servant,” Ademordna hissed. “You have truly pleased me this day.” He groaned with approval. “Your sorcery grows stronger every hour; and if you survive this, it will only make you stronger still.”
A fresh wave of pain struck the writhing vampire, and he vomited near Gabe’s feet. Gabe spun around then, pleased, and closed his eyes. He ran his hands from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, reveling in what it felt like to dwell for the first time in a human body. Oh, that he only had the time to indulge himself in the simple pleasures of the flesh before completing his summons, but he knew he did not.
The spell was powerful, but it would not hold him.
The blood of so many women, children, and men had drawn him from his throne in the Valley of Death and Shadows, and the hideous sacrifice of the firstborn Dark One had purchased but one day on the earth. His twin energy, Andromeda, Napolean Mondragon’s goddess and keeper, would not lie still for long.
Time was of the essence.
He would go to the ancient leader of the house of Jadon, possess his body, and kill his woman—as his servants had requested. And paid for in blood.
Yes, he would do all of these things.
He—the dark lord Ademordna, shadow god to Andromeda—would grant the supplication of his people. He would answer Salvatore’s prayer, and the Curse would destroy the ancient king shortly thereafter.
As he familiarized himself with his body and dematerialized out of the sacrificial chamber, a faint voice echoed from deep within the walking corpse he now inhabited—
Ah yes, it was the remaining essence of the human male whose body he had taken. The eternal soul of the man named Gabe was gathering itself back to its original essence in order to enter the spiritual realm, to find freedom in death from this unholy union with Ademordna.
Ademordna laughed and casually relinquished the soul.
It wasn’t like he needed it.
Gabe Lorenz was no more.
fifteen
Napolean shut and latched the door to the barn, leaving the stately horses safely behind them. He took several confident steps forward, then turned slowly and stretched out his hand, waiting for Brooke to catch up, hoping she would continue to walk at his side.
“The Dark Moon Stables account for about ten percent of our annual revenue,” he said, enjoying the fact that he could talk business and Dark Moon Vale economy with Brooke as easily as any of his Vampyr proprietors. She had an amazing mind for figures and commercial concepts, and he found himself listening very carefully to her observations and off-handed advice. She wasn’t completely comfortable with him yet—far from it, actually—but ever since that horrifying confrontation three days ago on the back veranda, there had been a sort of truce between them: Napolean knew that something deep in Brooke’s soul had connected with him in that fateful moment. Although he was mortified to think of what she had seen, and beyond angry at whatever m
isuse of Magick had taken control of his mind, he was grateful that she had stepped in to save him. And more than that, he knew now that they were truly destined to be together. That the gods had created her for him, even if she didn’t completely understand the depth of the connection…yet.
The whole incident had given him the confidence to pursue her more assertively, to push forward in an effort to get to know her better, to open his heart—allowing vulnerability—in order to move their relationship forward. While she still wasn’t thrilled with her predicament, her heart was much more pliant, she no longer tried to escape, and with every hour that passed, she opened up to him just a little bit more.
“Surely not the trail rides alone,” she said, staring off in the direction of the time-worn trails that led up into the steeper mountain ranges.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Ten percent,” she answered. “With the jewelry factory and the casino, there’s just no way horseback…recreation…accounts for ten percent of the annual revenue.”
“No,” Napolean agreed, shaking his head. “The stables are used for boarding, breeding, and private riding lessons as well as trail rides.” He motioned toward a group of small log cabins that were evenly spread out along the bank of a winding creek about five hundred yards from the stables. “There’s also a guest ranch associated with the horses. Families stay for up to two weeks at the ranch, taking advantage of custom vacation packages.”
Brooke nodded her understanding. “And you incorporate white-water rafting, rappelling, rock climbing…that sort of recreation in the packages?”
“Yes, cel intelept,” he answered.
She raised an eyebrow, looking as endearing as she was beautiful.
“Wise one,” he answered, smiling.
She stared ahead at the cabins.
“Would you like to see one?” he asked, instantly turning in that direction. He had learned that her curiosity usually got the best of her.
Brooke took in absolutely everything.
She would want to know how the cabins were decorated; who was in charge of maintenance and grounds upkeep; whether or not the guest ranch was being publicized to the best advantage; and all the while, the inner wheels of her mind would be calculating revenues against expenses, doing an inner capacity-building audit—not because she had already invested her heart in Dark Moon Vale, but because her talent was just that raw and instinctive. She couldn’t help herself.