Crimson Reign (26 page)

Roman shoved him then, anger burning away the fear. “I loved Mendeeto. You’ve no right to say I don’t understand.”

One minute he stood facing the bastard, the next he hung from Arial’s double fisted grip. “Have you ever truly loved, Roman? Have you ever cared for another so much that you would lay down your life to protect them, loved so hard that you could not see yourself living in a world that did not include them, loved so fiercely you would suffer the curse of drinking demon’s blood for all eternity to ensure their safety?” He grunted as Arial flung him to the floor and stalked out without another word.

Demon’s blood? What the hell? Roman scrambled to his feet, snagged the bag from the bed and jogged after the other male following him into the either. Roman materialized back at his home enclave and lifted his head to scent the wind. A tainted mixture of spilled blood, burnt flesh and smoldering feathers clogged his nose. Bowing his head, he murmured a prayer for the souls lost and the survivors waiting for him to find sanity in the chaos.

The enormity of the duties resting on his shoulders threatened to crush him. His spine stiffened, and he lifted his eyes to rest on the massive doors hiding the death and desecration that waited. A brush of air across his cheek drew his attention. The immense form of Arial Nathanial, materialized to his right. Roman took a deep breath and reached for the intricate handle. Slowly, he worked through the pattern of twists and turns required to open the door. His heart ached and his gut roiled.

“Malachi would not have sent you if he did not believe you capable.”

Looking up into Arial's grave face, an odd mixture of pride and awe squeezed his chest. It didn't escape his notice that the male had just called the King by his given name without batting an eyelash.

“The King seemed more intent on punishing me. I know this is a test. One I intend to pass.” Roman took a fortifying breath and stepped forward to push the doors open. Arial's large hand dropped on his shoulder.

“You are right. The way you handle this situation will tell the King a lot about the male you are. But, know this. Malachi Denali is a true King. These enclaves, his people, he's devoted his life to the protection and prosperity of the race. So as I said, if he did not think you could give his people the closure they need, you would not be here. Do not make the mistake of disappointing him.”

Roman barely stopped the shudder as those hard eyes turned away from him. “You are one scary ass angel, Arial.” Beside him, the male stiffened and slowly his dreadlocked head swiveled back around.

“I am no angel, kid. I am the fodder of vampire children's nightmares. I am a true Fallen.” With what amounted to a warning ringing in the air, Arial shoved open the door and stepped across the threshold. Taking a deep breath, Roman entered the enclave behind him.

The pictures on the King’s computer in no way prepared Roman for the desolation of his once proud home. The photographer had focused solely on Mendeeto cutting out the utter destruction of the enclave. Embers glowed the deep rich red of hell beneath mounds of rubble. Outer walls lay in ruin, revealing the inner confusion of destroyed homes and lives. Vampires with vacant eyes wandered through the destruction stopping occasionally to retrieve some memento from the wreckage.

The smell of grief seared his nose, almost, but not quiet obliterating the coppery prickle of blood. Unclaimed dead lay where they had fallen, their families either dead or too crazed with grief to retrieve them. Roman shoved aside the anguish and fear threatening to overwhelm him. He met every blind, unseeing gaze, carefully committing to memory the names of friends, acquaintances and warriors that would join Mendeeto in the funeral pyres. Arial stood silently at his back, waiting for his next step.

“I need to find my mother. Let her know I’m here.” When the Fallen offered no protest, Roman picked his way carefully across what had been the common foyer. As he passed the body of a small female child, he paused and dropped to one knee. Tears clouded his eyes as he remembered her, days before he left, dancing through the hallways, blond ringlets flying around her head.

“Arianna.” He glanced up at Arial. “Her name’s Arianna. Her mother and father doted on her.” Reaching forward, he closed her eyes and smoothed her hair away from her face. The gaping hole in her chest drew his angry gaze. “She wanted to be a princess, wanted to live in Malachi’s court, and wear pretty dresses. She’d never met a human, never even been out of the enclave.” He shoved to his feet and dashed a hand against his eyes. “Why does your kind hate us? What kind of monsters kill children?”

Although he knew Arial was not responsible for the massacre, he couldn’t quell the anger in his voice. Slowly, the Fallen met his gaze, his strange yellow eyes somber.

“The Nephilim did this, yes, but they had help. Don’t you find it odd that an Elder shows up to claim you, and whisks you away hours before this tragedy occurs? Even odder, he immediately petitions Malachi to make you an Elder and conveniently a seat opens up.”

With his bombshell dropped, Arial whirled away and strode deeper into the carnage. Roman could only stare after him. Surely, he wasn’t implying Darklon had a hand in this atrocity.

“Arial, wait!” The Fallen didn’t slow, forcing Roman to chase after him. Arial stopped before one of the few remaining doors and raised a fist to knock. “Damn it, you can’t say something like that and walk off.” Roman grabbed the big male’s arm and froze when menace filled eyes locked on him. “Explain.” Arial cocked a brow and Roman dropped his hand. “Please.”

One broad shoulder lifted and fell. “You’ve been snatched into a world you know nothing about. Consider what I said a warning. Everyone is not what they seem, including me. Of all the evil you will meet, your father is the worst. I’m Fallen, cursed, and I don’t try to hide it beneath a veneer of civility.” A massive arm swept out encompassing the slaughtered vampires. “All around you is evidence of Darklon’s quest for power, his determination to remove Malachi from the throne by whatever means necessary.”

“But you work for him. You’re his second in command.” Arial’s eyes dimmed, the dusty gold color darkening to black. His lips firmed and Roman winced. He’d pushed too far.

“We aren’t talking about me. I’m Fallen, my soul cursed.” His shoulder lifted in a careless shrug. “Besides, he pays well and promised me a place in his Court.” Roman took a step back distaste clearly written on his face.

“But, what about the King and the other angel? They trust you.” The great male went still only the tattered feathers stirring in the breeze. A battle seemed to rage in the Fallen’s eyes. Finally, he met Roman’s gaze again.

“Malachi is no fool. He knows and understands the ways of the world. My actions will not disappoint him. It’s you he’s trusting right now.” The door behind Arial swung open and a soft gasp interrupted their conversation.

“Roman?”

“Mother.” Stepping around Arial, he pulled the sobbing female into his arms. “Let’s get you back inside. Is Carmelishia here with you?” She nodded against his chest as the door closed behind them, and then pulled away to lead him down the hallway. Their footsteps echoed around them. Dust motes danced in the flashes of light from holes in the walls. At another set of closed doors, his mother paused.

“She’s sedated. Every time she comes to, she starts screaming. All of the servants have left. They can’t bear her pain.”

Roman covered his mother’s hand where it rested on the latch. “We’ll take care of her. You’ve been a loyal friend. I’m sure when the grief is not so intense; she will remember what you’ve done.”

She nodded then her eyes drifted over his shoulder and widened. Fear bloomed in their depths.

“This is Arial. The King sent him with me. He’s not one of the Nephilim. He’s here to keep me safe.” Though he was the topic of discussion, the large angel paid them no attention. Instead, he studied the walls and standing structures around them.

“Roman, he can’t go in there with her. She’s too fragile. He’ll terrify her.” The hushed whisper brought the male’s head around.

“It is my duty to protect the Elder; therefore, I must be in the room. Out of respect for her loss, I will remain out of Carmelishia’s sight. I do not wish to cause her any further grief.”

“Elder? Oh, my, Roman, tell me you haven’t.” Real fear shone on his mother’s face.

“Malachi appointed me Elder of the region at the Elder’s Ball.”

When Arial snorted, he cast the male a quelling look. One the Fallen ignored. “The King had little choice in the matter. Darklon is a proud papa. He wasted no time in gathering the needed signatures to promote the boy to Elder.”

“He’s not Roman’s father.” The immediate denial singed the air.

“Mother, the blood tests confirmed his claim.” Roman frowned. The automatic defense of the man sprang to his lips. His mother’s eyes clouded, the words deflating her. She seemed to sag before squaring her shoulders. “Mother, I’m sorry. I…”

“Carmelishia. You’re here for her.” Turning away, she swung the final door open. They entered the darkened room, Roman’s eyes easily adjusting to the gloom. Centered in the middle of the space, a large four poster squatted. A barely there bump huddled under the duvet. True to his word, Arial stayed near the door while Roman approached. At the bedside, he stopped and stared down at the still form. What did he do now? While he debated, a soft whimper rose. The petite female curled tighter into a ball, emitting another moan. Suddenly, her eyes flew open, and she heaved in a breath. An ear splitting scream ripped through the room. He reached out, intending to soothe her. She shrunk from him, her eyes wildly darting from spot to spot around the room.

“Carmelishia, it’s Roman.” The second scream set his stomach to churning. His fingers closed over one shoulder, and he grunted when sharp fangs latched onto his wrist. She let go when he did and scooted back across the mattress intent on escape. When her mouth opened for the next scream, a shadow encroached and loomed over them both. The female’s wild eyes tracked up and she went statue still. The breath in her lungs froze. The terror he expected never materialized.

“The angel of death.” Anguished words fell into the silence. “He’s gone, isn’t he, and our son with him.” Roman remained silent as Arial nodded, his face stony. “I want to be with them.” The female slunk across the mattress and practically crawled up the Fallen’s chest. “Take me to them. Please, just take me to them.” Roman’s heart broke right along with her voice.

“I need you here, Carmelishia. The King has…he’s given me Mendeeto’s seat. I have no idea what I’m doing. I know it’s asking a lot, but I need your guidance. The vampires still here need to see you. You will give them hope,” Roman spoke earnestly, desperate to reach the grief stricken female. For several minutes, she didn’t move from where she lay curled tightly against the Fallen’s chest.

“Madalina, please get my robe.” Behind him, Roman’s mother hurried to the makeshift closet. Arial eased the female to her feet and took the robe. He swept it around her and offered her his arm. Wrapped snugly in the warm material, Carmelishia rested a hand on the Fallen’s forearm. “When the time comes, you will take me to them.”

The finality of her statement sent a chill of premonition down Roman’s spine.

“Now, young Roman. We have business to attend.”

~  *  ~  *  ~  *  ~

A day later, Roman stood in the cleared common area. The robes sewn by a young Carmelishia draped around him from head to foot. At his side, she stood proudly, her hair glistening in the moonlight. Barefoot, dressed in the gown she’d worn for her mating, she murmured the quiet prayer of passage for the dead. As one, the gathered vampires raised their heads.

“Tonight, we gather to mourn the loss of our loved ones and friends. Our enemies have brought us to our knees, weakened our will, and broken our hearts. But, they did not kill us all. We will honor our dead this night, and tomorrow, we will start to rebuild. Vengeance will be ours, and in gaining same, we will honor the ones we have lost. Our King, Malachi Denali, sends his deepest condolences and a promise that he will not rest until the ones responsible for this atrocity are brought to justice. As your new Elder, I will ensure our loved ones are never far from his thoughts.”

Stepping back from the microphone, Roman took Carmelishia’s hand and led her down from the small stage. Together, they selected a burning torch and walked slowly through the throng to the tallest of the funeral pyres. Built of tightly woven limbs from a multitude of felled trees, the funeral pyre was filled with the remnants of Mendeeto’s life, his clothing, his favorite sword and works of art, his desk. And, amidst his father’s things, their young son’s favorite toys and stuffed animals lay awaiting the kiss of the flame.

Atop the structure that stood taller than Roman’s head and pursuant to Carmelishia’s request, Mendeeto lay in state his arms wrapped tightly around his son who lay curled against his chest. A sob broke Carmelishia’s control. The other vampires each selected a torch and approached the last resting place of their loved ones.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” Roman intoned the words loud enough for all to hear, the signal to light the pyres.

The lit torch swayed closer catching the bottom tier of wood aflame. Designed perfectly, the pyre caught quickly and erupted before them. The heat from the fire pushed Roman back and he tugged at Carmelishia’s arm. She stumbled and then shook free. Slowly, her head turned and he saw her decision in her eyes.

“No!” He lunged but strong arms caught him around the waist. Struggling, kicking and cursing, Roman fought against Arial, desperate to stop the female.

“It’s what she wants, and it is her right.” Arial’s deep baritone growled against Roman’s ear as the Fallen grasped his chin in one hand and snatched his head back. “Calm the fuck down, or I’m going to knock your ass out.” Even before the male finished speaking, it was too late. Porting directly into the flame and landing prone against her mate, Carmelishia wrapped her arms around Mendeeto and her young. If she felt the kiss of the flame, her face never betrayed it.