Forged in Flame (22 page)

While 225 walked behind the vampire, she kept track of the bloodsucker’s movements. Over the past few weeks, the shadow and observe thing had become routine. Her prey appeared like just about any other suburban human being, plain, easy to lose in a crowd.

Knight 225 frowned. The Order taught their followers that vampires were under orders from their so-called Council to only create attractive blood children so they’d have a better chance of enticing prey, or others who wished to be turned.

She shook her head.
This just proves that beauty is, in fact, in the eye of the beholder.
As the vampire turned into an alley, 225 allowed a slight smile to show across her lips as she kept a safe distance behind. The turn deviated from the vampire’s usual routine, and she hoped it would give her the opportunity to complete the task the High Lord had set before her.
 

She followed the vampire farther into the darkest area of the alley, watching as he slipped into the shadows too dark for her eyes to penetrate. When he neared the end, the vampire turned to face her with scars the change hadn’t healed and a pair of unremarkable, muddy brown eyes.
 

“Why did you follow me?” He sounded tired. The more 225 watched, the more this bloodsucker seemed to be one of the less violent of his kind. “This is on you.” A note of desperation echoed in his voice and he jabbed a finger at her. “This is on
you, not
me!
”
He looked up as though he were talking to the universe or some other higher power. “Do
you
hear me? This is on
her
not
me!”
The vampire cocked his head to one side, presumably listening to someone or something, before his gaze fell on 225 again. “Who are you?” he asked.

Though it went against her nature to be dramatic, 225 made a show of drawing her weapon. The obsidian daggers she wore at her hips shone in the minimal light, shadows playing over the black stone blades. When 225 brought them up to eye level and examined the fine edges, a smile crossed her face.

The vampire watched her every move. “Who are you?”

She heard the harsh edge of fear emerging through the insistent question, so she continued to wait and check her blades. Magic coursed through the weapons, which told her better than a visual inspection that the spells, and razor-sharp edges were intact.
 

“Who… Are… You?” the male asked again, his voice slipping to a deep, almost guttural growl.

When 225 glanced up and met his eyes, she laughed cold and harsh. “I am your death.” She couldn’t hide the genuine smile shining on her face.

This was the fun part, the part she lived and died for. Her adrenaline kicked into high gear and her muscles tensed with anticipation. She knew the drill, the vampire would either try to run, using his superior speed to slip past her or, he would fight. She hoped he would fight. It had been far too long since she’d had a good battle, and her palms twitched as fingers tightened their grip on the daggers in anticipation.

A sharp pain in her side, where her ribs were still healing from the last punishment for her failure in Los Angeles, reminded her that she had a mission to carry out. Before the night was over she would not only have one hell of a fight, but would also return to the enclave with a vial of heart’s blood from a vampire sired by the so-called Lady of the City.

“My death?” A look of confusion flashed in the vampire’s eyes. He glanced up to the heavens again and a moment later peace replaced confusion. His gaze returned to her, and he smiled, flashing unnatural fangs. The vampire dropped to his knees and leaned forward, offering up his neck to her. “Make it quick and try for one stroke. I don’t know if I can control my rage if you need more than one.”

Knight 225 looked at the daggers in her hands, ready to do what she required, every admonishment she’d ever heard about vampires ran through her mind. Yet, she hesitated.

She approached the kneeling vampire with caution. Bloodsuckers were known to be clever and would use every devious advantage they could find to gain the upper hand. Wary for any sort of trickery she asked, “Why?” The question left her mouth on a whisper before she could stop herself.
 

The vampire stared up at her, scars on his face becoming more defined. Now that 225 could see him up close, they appeared as though pressing red-hot crosses to his flesh had made them. Some tiny part of the person 225 had been before the initiation rites wondered who had burned him and what he’d done to deserve such a cruel fate.

His eyes pleaded with her. She’d never seen such strange eyes. They held variations of brown, to mahogany… so dark it appeared black with flecks of pale tan and a coal black ring around the iris that defined them.
 

“What?” he asked blinking his eyes as though waking from a nightmare.

“Why do you want me to do this?” She gritted her teeth against the stab of pain that lanced through her own side.

Questioning was not tolerated. She was not an inquisitor, skilled in extracting information from the enemy. Yet she felt the need to know more about him before she ended his existence.

The pain in her side grew in intensity as if her body warned her of the price she’d have to pay for such curiosity. She teetered dangerously close to the end of the line. Failure carried a high price.
 

“I did not ask for this… to be what I am and cannot continue this. No way am I a killer.” His voice boomed as a deep, dark chasm that stretched out before him, and a solitary tear slid from his eye and down his cheek.
 

Knight 225 rocked back on her heels as though someone had slapped her hard, maybe even landed a solid punch to her face. The bloodsucker met her gaze, and his pupils contracted down to almost nothing, allowing her to see more of his unique eyes.
 

“Please do not put me through another night of this torture. I hear their screams from the time I rise until oblivion takes me.”

“You’re pathetic,” she said, spitting on the ground beside him. “Why not just kill yourself and get it over with?”

“You think I have not made attempts?” Defiance flashed in his eyes. That split second reminded 225 that though he may seem meek and harmless, he was still vampire. Strong, fast, and full of hatred.
 

“So, now you want me to finish what you can’t?”

“Yes.” The vampire let out the remainder of his breath and the tension in his body followed.
 

Horror filled the small part of 225 that remained human and spilled over, flooding her psyche with thoughts and memories that threatened to overtake her. Without thinking, 225 stepped back, giving herself physical distance from the creature.
 

This confrontation had spiraled out of control since the very beginning. The vampire wanted to die, wanted
her
to do it. Taking his life in a fight was one thing, but doing it as a favor, while he was unarmed, on his knees and begging her…

She stretched her hands out in front, as if to shield herself from a blow and backed away, shaking her head.
 

“No! You can’t.” The vampire’s eyes grew wide, and she witnessed the panic creeping in. He rose and started toward her. “I will not listen to that frantic endless pounding until I give in. If you do not grant me peace, I will take what passes for your life.”
 

The vampire lunged, his superior speed catching 225 off guard. She reacted, working on instinct and training alone. Her hands went to her blades, drawing and bringing them into a defensive stance, ready to meet his attack. His body slammed into hers, and her arms acted like a shock absorber, deflecting the worst of the momentum. Waves of sensation radiated from the impact point. Through the weapon, she felt the moment when flesh gave way, the steel ripping through it doing untold damage.
 

His face twisted in an expression somewhere between pain and relief. He hissed as momentum carried him forward, the finely honed edges sliding deeper into his body with ease. The blade found space between his ribs by sheer dumb luck.

Finally, 225 gasped, and staggered backward, letting go of her weapon. For the first time since she’d become an acolyte of the Order, she felt remorse for what she had done.

Her victim smiled as he sank to his knees, hands wrapped around the hilt of the dagger. She expected him to remove the weapon, but the vampire held on as if it were giving him life, not taking it. On his knees, he swayed, and she knew that the mix of poisons that coated the blade must be taking effect. His brown eyes met hers, and she saw only peace, no fear, no regret…

An acceptance of his fate.
 

A moment later he coughed, a splash of crimson appearing on his lips as if by magic. The vampire reached out his hand toward 225, toward his killer. She knew she shouldn’t go to his side, but even though every muscle in her body resisted, she reached out. Touching his outstretched fingers, her mind screamed in protest as she knelt in front of him.

He winced, breath hissing through his teeth and his body swayed in place, teetering close to falling onto his side. She caught his arm and eased the wounded vampire down to the pavement. His body trembled at her touch while his breathing became labored.

She sat, entranced, watching in fascination as the blood drained from his body. Lack of blood left his skin a chalky white color, a strange bluish cast on his lips.

The vampire took her hand and pressed it to the flesh above the dagger’s blade over his heart, the heart she knew her blade had pierced. Sticky, cool blood soaked his shirt seeping under her hand as she fought to staunch the wound.
 

He coughed again, more blood flecks appearing on his lips. “Thank you,” he whispered before pressing a chaste kiss on the back of her hand.

Baffled, feeling the world spin out of control around her, 225 couldn’t think of anything to say. She just watched as the light in the vampire’s eyes faded to nothing and his labored breathing slowed and stopped.
 

Everything 225 knew… had been taught, had taught others about vampires… was wrong. Feeling rocked to the core, she sat beside him, waiting for his soul to return, waiting for the denizens of Hell to welcome him. Nothing happened. He hadn’t been beautiful, deceitful or calculating or, as far as she could tell, an intentional liar.
 

“I didn’t even know your name,” she told the corpse as though he would return to life for a second time and answer her.
Why didn’t I take a second to ask his name?
At that moment, something within her broke. She stood and staggered away from the body like a drunkard down the alley and out to the street. Well-meaning good Samaritans offered help, but 225 brushed them off with a curt gesture.

The woman pushed past Marcus, seeming to be in a similar daze. He watched her go, his feet frozen to the ground. He wasn’t certain what he’d just witnessed, but a small part of him knew he should have at least tried to intervene.
No, I just stood here like an asshole. Now that guy’s dead though he seemed to want it. Whoever that chick was, she’s in the wind. Fuck. I should have followed her.

Marcus shook himself. Someone screamed. The body had been found and a crowd had begun forming. He knew nothing could to be done to help the vampire, so he whispered an ancient prayer beseeching the death Gods to take his soul into their keeping. He turned away and threaded his way through the humans back to Bourbon Street. About halfway back to the bar, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and without slowing his pace, he dialed the Enforcer’s number and waited as it rang three times before she picked up.