Calling for a Miracle [The Order of Vampyres 2] (Siren Publishing Classic) (4 page)

He stood and she hurled a pillow at him. “Evil.”

“Yes, yes, it is the story of my existence. Lock the door behind me, sister. Sleep well.”

He left and the door shut with a whisper and a click. The nerve of him! To think she would ever allow someone into
her
bed, someone other than Silus. No, thank you! She had had more than enough intimate encounters to last her the rest of her very long existence. She wanted no male’s touch. It was as if that part of her was broken. Even that evening, she had known Vito was becoming aroused, yet the only lust she felt was bloodlust. Besides, other than Vito and Cain, there was no other male she trusted. And Cain was her brother and Vito was her friend and why was she even thinking about this?

She rolled her eyes and laughed at her brother and his rakish ways. He did make her laugh and for that she was grateful.

Chapter 2

Jonas pressed his forehead into the cool plaster wall of the safe house, palms trembling against the chipped surface, body quaking with pain, as he tried to collect himself. The agony that was radiating through his body seemed to seize his intestines, tie them into knots, stab every nerve ending along his spine, and vibrate even his skull until he could barely hold a single rational thought. His breath hissed through his clenched teeth as his eyes pinched shut, trapping his tears. Not now. He could not suffer another spell at this moment.

He could hear the voices of the elders and other males gathering in the council room. There were only a few more minutes until the meeting would begin. He needed to get a hold of himself. It wasn’t as if he would be able to slip in unnoticed. He was being questioned today on his knowledge of his daughter Larissa’s whereabouts. He knew not where his eldest daughter was, only that she had fled the farm the evening of his son Adam’s wedding, the same evening the dreams had started.

Another excruciating hunger pain knifed through his gut. He grunted against the twinge and flinched as it reverberated up his body, causing even his shoulders to throb. He could not let the others see him like this. Dear God, his poor Abilene. How much longer would he be able to pretend that everything was all right, that everything was how it had always been? He was fighting a losing battle.

It had been two months, two months since those godforsaken dreams had begun. He knew the first night he saw her in his dreams that he would not be able to outwit God’s will, yet he had yet to surrender to the Lord. He was being
called.
One hundred and forty-one years on this earth without even a whisper from the Almighty and now his God was screaming in his mind.

Her name was Clara. He had been suffering the dreams long enough to gather her identity. She appeared to be in her late fifties with hair the color of snow and as fine as spun silk. Her eyes were a soft shade of green and, although her mortality had placed its mark along her skin, her vitality had blessed her with some unnamable youthful quality. She was a remarkable woman to behold, yet there was a sadness hidden beneath her surface. Her biggest flaw was that she was not his Abilene.

In the past few weeks, it seemed he could not stop remembering moments he had long forgotten. It was as if his mind was clinging to his memories, terrified he would soon lose them forever. His darling Abilene, sixty years ago when she was only a young girl of eighteen, she had been still a baby in the eyes of immortals. He could still recall the sweet scent of her hair that first day he picnicked with her. He remembered how charming he thought her smile when he slipped a daisy behind her small ear just so he could see if her golden-brown hair felt as soft as it appeared. He had not been disappointed. As his fingers brushed a wisp that had escaped her bonnet, he realized it was as soft as the wheat it resembled. She had giggled as he pulled his hand away, his fingers tickling the soft skin along her neck. He still could recall the jolt of excitement her laugh had caused in him. He knew in that moment that he wanted her.

Jonas approached the council that month after speaking to his father, Ezekiel, and her father, Thaddeus, about his wishes. Many advised against marrying a female that was not one’s true mate, but Jonas could not let her go. She was his and he needed to claim her in every sense of the word. While called mates grew together and found love along the journey, Jonas had loved Abilene from the start. After sixty years of marriage, his love had only evolved and become stronger. What he felt for his beautiful wife was too all-encompassing to be labeled by such a small word. What he felt for Abilene was bigger than love.

She had given him four beautiful children. Their family had not been an easy achievement. He had suffered through five miscarriages with his gentle wife, watched her suffer and cry for the children she had lost. He knew what the others suspected. He had heard the whispers at service during those times that Abilene was recovering. Many suspected his wife would never experience the blessing of holding a baby in her womb again because it had not been God’s will. They believed it was the cost of marrying a male whom she had not been called to. Perhaps they were right.

He would die for Abilene. Always a religious male, Jonas could not fathom why the Lord would be testing him now. Perhaps he had earned His smiting, but not Abilene. She would suffer most from this. He knew he could fight the calling with every bit of strength he possessed, but he would never win. There was nothing more powerful than the will of God.

Abilene was getting closer to discovering his secret. Beyond the pain was the ever-present hunger that left him thirsting for the blood of his mate. In the past few weeks, he had moved from needing to feed in small doses every few days to being steadily ravenous. He had actually drunk a calf to near death. Never, never in his long existence, had he ever killed a creature of God. With each day he was becoming less in control of his actions and more frightened of what he was becoming.

He could no longer tolerate exposure to the sun. The simplest jaunt across the farm resulted in a headache so severe it was if a thousand ice picks were being repeatedly lodged into his eyes. His skin suffered a steady prickling sting that never eased. Even after the sun had set, the damage of exposure remained. All of his life he had only suffered minor bruises and breaks. Never had he imagined the agony of existing in complete pain encompassing every inch of flesh, every organ, every nerve, limb, and motion for every moment of the day. Yes, he was an immortal of substantial strength and impeccable health. But with each circle of the moon, his strength weakened and his health faltered. He was dying.

He had stopped sleeping at night. Because their kind never dreamed unless they were being called, Jonas could not risk sleeping next to his wife lest she hear him in his sleep. Lethargy had taken over. Only risking shutting his eyes a few moments here and there throughout the quiet hours of the day, he had depleted most of his strength. He could barely hold on to a complete thought anymore. It was coming. He could sense the end approaching.

The first signs of being called were the dreams. Then came the dizzy spells and the sensitivity to the sun. Once the relentless hunger set in, it was only a matter of time. The hunger was the body’s way of demanding one locate his mate. No longer would mere animal blood sustain a male. It would soon have to be that of a female, but not just any female, it would have to be the blood of one’s true mate. If the hunger was not satisfied, the host became
feeish.

Feeish
was what became of the called
if they went too long unanswered. Once a male or female experiences the
calling,
there was only a short amount of time before they turn feral. An animalistic need for their mate eventually takes over the senses, removing the layers of their acquired humanity with each passing moment, until there is nothing human left, only a rabid beast, needing to be put down.

Of the nine families, dating back four generations, occupying the farm, only about twenty percent of them were blessed with a true called mate. Jonas wished this blessing were bestowed upon someone else. For it was no blessing to him, only a burden that was slowly killing him. Never in his life had he felt such fear, such uncertainty. He was at the mercy of God and His plan. And for as powerful as Jonas was as an immortal, at the end of the day he was just a man, no match for God.

Taking a steadying breath, Jonas slowly shook his head and brushed away the tear that had slipped past his entwined lashes. He would love and he would hope. And when he could bear no more, he would draw his last breath, knowing that he held on to Abilene’s love stronger than he did the love of his God. If he could not grant her
eawichkeit,
eternity, he could at least grant her that.

The door behind him clicked open. “Father?”

Jonas pulled away from the wall and turned to face his son. “Adam. I was just coming to join the others. Has the meeting begun?”

“The elders are settling in now. Are you ill? Would you like me to see if we could postpone?”

Jonas placed his hat atop his head, shading his eyes. “No, that won’t be necessary. I shall not put off my duty for another day. I was merely taking a moment to pray.”

Adam looked as though he wanted to argue with his father’s desire to proceed as scheduled, but Jonas did not give him the opportunity. Walking toward the door, he said, “Come. Let us get this done with. No doubt Silus has already paced away the tread of the bishop’s clean carpets.”

They traveled in silence through the old house that was also the bishop’s home. Avoiding the section that was Bishop King’s living quarters, they proceeded toward the council room. Adriel Schrock, the oldest female on the farm, waited on a wooden bench outside the council hall as always. While she was almost five hundred years old, two hundred years older than some of the elders on the council, she was a female and therefore not issued an invitation to attend council meetings. However she never missed a meeting, even if she could only attend on the other side of the door. Jonas knew it was her way of staying abreast to The Order’s political business. Although she was on the other side of the door, she was an extremely powerful immortal. Jonas had no doubt she heard every whispered word from within the hall.

“Good evening, Adriel.” He nodded as he passed.

“Jonas.”

Holding the door for his son, Jonas stepped inside and let the heavy oak door creak closed with an echoing thud. His eyes immediately found his father along the elders’ bench. The bishop’s empty seat did not go unnoticed.

“Welcome, Brother Jonas, Brother Adam,” Abraham Gerig, the eldest male member of the council, greeted. He would be presiding over the meeting in the bishop’s stead.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Jonas replied taking a seat on one of the many pews that faced the council.

“We ask that you join us up here, Jonas. We would like to get started straight away. There is much to address this evening,” Abraham informed. The male was nearing four hundred years and while their kind did not appear older than perhaps thirty, there was a tiredness to Abraham’s eyes that marked his time on this earth. The Gerig family was not a long lineage. After losing his mate on the ship over from Europe three centuries back, the Gerig clan had ceased to grow. It was only Abraham and his daughter, Abigail.

Abigail was two hundred and seventy-some years old, yet had the autonomy of a child. It was common knowledge among The Order that Abraham rarely let his daughter out of his sight. He was old, alone, and eternally set in his ways. Jonas briefly regretted that the bishop would not be questioning him this night.

Taking a seat at the front end of the room, Jonas removed his hat and faced the others.

“Let the record state that, on this second Tuesday of November, the council is questioning Jonas Hartzler, son of Council Elder Ezekiel Hartzler, on the whereabouts of his daughter Larissa Hartzler Hostetler, wife of Silus Hostetler,” Abraham stated. “Questioning will begin with Council Elder Damascus Hostetler, father of Silus Hostetler. Do you object, Brother Jonas?”

 
“No, sir.” There was no doubt in Jonas’s mind that Silus had instructed his father on exactly what to ask.

“Very well. You may begin, Brother Damascus.”

Damascus faced Jonas, his chair creaking in the quiet room. “Jonas, when was the last time you saw your daughter, Larissa?”

“The evening of my son Adam’s wedding.”

“And when was that exactly?”

“The last Tuesday of this past August,” Jonas provided.