The Bonded (25 page)

As we are turning into the one-way street, Percy touches my cheek with her delicate hand and the angry beat of my heart calms to a more serene cadence. Although this gesture has an actual physical effect on me, it acts as a catalyst, giving me reason to stoke the fires of independence, and I recoil from her without thought. I catch it in motion, but can’t stop the reaction as my body and mind callously ignore my feelings for her. Apologetically, I say, “I’m sorry, Percy. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but if I don’t have time for myself, my needs aren’t being met, and if my needs aren’t being met, then I react by lashing out. I’m not proud of this type of behavior, but it is what it is.”

She doesn’t respond defensively and says, “What we have would be challenging for the most extreme extrovert, Adriel. Of course I understand your occasional requirement for solitude. However, this is not a time that can be accommodating to your needs. Would it be enough for you to have ten minutes to wander free?”

Quilici is a fly on the wall and I think for a moment and say, “You better believe it. I’ll see you in ten.” Three minutes crawl by and we stop at the perimeter of the graveyard with headlights off to conceal our arrival. With urgency I unlock the door and swing it open, leaving the SUV as if something pushes me out. My throat tightens with a mild ache and I swallow hard to suppress my body’s protest to physically leave her as I begin my run toward solitude.

The cool air whips around me, lifting my mood, and I close my eyes to concentrate on its soothing caress. My pace increases and a slow jog transforms into a full sprint with the wind responding from behind and underneath, lifting me from the tender grass to the clean air. This is what I have been craving. This is what I need, just me and nature—no thought and no plans of war to inundate me. I jump to the trees, climbing their mired limbs with childlike delight, needling my way through their scratching and snagging until I find the top. It’s peaceful here as the old oak tree sways back and forth, dancing with the wind, and I join them in complete satisfaction. I decide this is the time to sink deep into a dreamlike state and embrace the uncongested night, at least for a few minutes.

Inhaling aromas that filter through the forest, I taste the fresh grass and minty leaves that tickle my senses and move me into a trance. I find myself deep in the caverns of Virginia alone after my partner, Mark, was maimed from a hard fall of twenty feet onto the rocks below. It had been thirty-seven hours since his injury and the flashlight batteries were completely drained as I crawled through a labyrinth of tunnels, carved from ancient rivers, and jagged rocks in complete darkness. It was frightening as hell and I still can’t shake the sound of Mark’s excruciating cries as he painfully phased in and out of consciousness due to a nasty compound fracture off his femur bone. I knew he had only hours left as his blood merged with the underground water in a concerted effort to escape the cave without him. Mixed feelings of hope, resignation, and detachment fought in an emotional battle for control when finally, after hours of anxiety, I found a shard of light squeezing through a crevice. It was in that moment of victory that I heard the last echo of distant whimpering as the cave took the final drop of blood that gave Mark life.

“Adriel. ADRIEL!”

I answer with equal brevity. “What?” She hushes me for my effort, so I say, “You’re the one yelling my name.” It sounds like a child defending an accusation… Damn.

She whispers, “I haven’t said a word.” We give a nonverbal understanding that the connection is thickening. “We have been looking for you for twenty minutes and I’ve been worried. I can feel you are unharmed, but did you see anyone?”

I feel her nervousness and reply seriously, “No. What’s going on?”

“Come down, Adriel.” I realize that I’m still at the top of the oak tree about forty feet above the tree canopy and begin the descent with urgency. I land with a muted thud and watch Percy as her senses are on high alert. With back turned, she says, “They have been here looking for us.”

I say, “I’m sorry. I just lost track of time. It was unintentional.”

“I know.” She turns to meet my gaze. “They are no longer here, but have left us a message.” I see the slight quiver in her upper lip and feel her raw emotions of anger and sorrow. In my experience, those two make a dangerous pair. “Follow me.”

We walk with intention through the sticky snares of thorny bushes and budding trees as the path to the graveyard is becoming overgrown with the life of spring. I say, “What’s going on, Percy?”

She doesn’t answer with words, but stops and, with her hand, moves some brush aside, shifting her eyes to signal me through. I accept her lead and cautiously sneak through the bushes to find the message. It’s bloody carnage, as severed hands with trails of veins still twitching from unsettled nerves and dim eyes stare vacantly at their dismay. Body parts litter the grass and the remnants of cooling blood with a pungent scent smack my nose. I instinctively start piecing together parts for a body count, assessing the situation, and make an educated guess at five victims when a stifled moan catches my attention. At the tree in the center is a young man bound with coarse rope that has rubbed his wrist and ankles raw from what must have been a feeble attempt at escape. With his head dropped and hands floppy, the only evidence of life is the faint beat of his heart, gasping for blood as a fish gasps for water when caught.

Unlike the lifeless blood splattered throughout the graveyard, his blood is fresh and alive. It sings a licentious melody, luring my demon from his rest, and I feel the pressure growing within me to slit his throat with my sharp nails and lap up what’s left in feral bliss. Percy must have noticed my lust and steps in beside me with a calming presence that is just enough to sedate the demon until my will is strong enough to maintain control. With shut eyes and deep breath, I muster the strength to push down the mounting pressure and give her a thankful nod in return.

When my eyes open, I see his matted hair with recently dried blood and dirt from days without bathing from what was most likely a weeklong binger. So many of them end up in this place, not here specifically, but psychologically, where suicide is the only perceived option. Although he’s been brutally tortured, the real pain comes from within. Thoughts of the young girl from my first visit flood my memories, drowning me in an ocean of sadness. I rip my gaze from his appearance and dive into his state of mind, swimming my way back to the surface.

He’s been beaten with professional precision. It was just enough force causing him to delicately walk the line of consciousness without falling off the edge into the abyss. I reach out and touch his skin to somehow share in his pain. He winces because his flayed skin doesn’t heal like ours. His arms are stained chalky red, carelessly painted with slow trickling blood winding down from deep lacerations.

I say, “Those are the marks of vampire claws, not waers.” Percy doesn’t reply, just imperceptibly agrees so I accept the confirmation and continue. “Who did this to you?”

He gives a light sniff, accompanied by a single tear at first. Then his body convulses with sobs with what must be the last remnant of energy and he whispers a pleading scream. “Help… me. Please… help… me… It hurts.” His begging trails off as tears well up in Percy and she reacts by grabbing the thick rope and pulling it apart as a human would break thread. He collapses without a residue of strength remaining. I hold him firmly, close to my body, letting his blood soak into my shirt and tears drench my neck. I feel a rage building, a righteous anger that pushes my tears out with a scream to accompany it. Through red filters I see Franz smirk at the boy’s pain and Hanz laughing robustly in amusement as they enjoy killing the others in front of him just to take pleasure in his emotional writhing. Vocal chords must have been severed first to prevent any screams, resulting in wet gurgles that were absorbed by the trees. This boy must have been frozen in fear from the anticipation of death as he witnessed the gore fest with a front row seat. I mentally drift away from the slaughter back to the caverns in Virginia and hear the horrific cries of a man begging me to save his life, pleading with me to find help, and all I could do was cover my ears and wish it away.

I awake from the daze, holding the boy’s limp body, and realize that I must have crushed what little spark of life that remained without knowing it. I drop him in a flash of guilt, looking to his empty stare for consolation, but receive no such reward.

Quilici says from the edge of the tree line, “Your strength is maturing, Adriel. You could not have known that would have happened, so please release yourself from unnecessary guilt. The poor boy wanted death and you gave it to him. Although accidental, it was needed.”

Then Percy says with slight chill, “I know who it was that did this. I can smell him!”

I remember the caves in Virginia and say, “Franz!”

Quilici and Percy nod simultaneously in approval. I raise my head, looking into the night sky and letting the resentment run its course, wondering how someone could do such a thing. I’ve killed, killed this boy and countless others, but never have I intentionally mutilated a human
or
animal for that matter. These guys were sadistically sending me a clear message that they are willing to sacrifice whatever I hold close, including my affinity for humans. Yet what terrifies me most is that Percy and Quilici are now merely obstacles to their objective and have no real value other than through my worth. They will be hunted down and utilized as bait if necessary and when I am captured, they will be disposed of like this poor young one slumbering at my feet.

Percy breaks the silence. “Do not worry, Adriel. I am not a victim nor have I taught ‘Hanz and Franz’ everything I know.”

I reply, “What do you mean taught?”

Quilici interjects. “Percy was a Team Leader for a… special group that took care of special problems.” He pauses so I have time to absorb the indirect meaning. “This, of course, was before your birth and her eventual demise because of it. Her team consisted of four members that were all specifically trained to track, capture, and extrapolate relevant information from potential threats to the tribe. Percy had been the lead for a century or so with Hanz and Franz appointed as her new trainees. Cassius himself chose those two without the consultation of the Council of War, which was a departure from the system of selection and approval. There were many rumors that floated around, but I suspect he chose them for the greater purpose of his own personal scheme.”

Percy says, “In order to be selected, one must be tested physically, intellectually, and psychologically. Their psych reports were disturbing, even for a team with missions like ours. They lacked empathy, were immune to guilt, and possessed a will to succeed no matter the cost. This was most likely due to their insatiable need to please an authority figure and Cassius capitalized on this weakness, exploiting them in every way at every opportunity. I was charged with their training, but he deliberately manipulated them into unconditional loyalty.”

I respond. “So, there are two psychopaths who are trained to hunt us down and torture us because their father figure gives them positive encouragement?”

She replies with resignation, “Basically, but we will have our opportunity with them before that happens.” Then it turns serious. “No one kills Franz… He is mine.” Her words are frozen with a total absence of heat and a shiver runs quickly up my spine in response. She must perceive my expression of ignorance and proceeds to further explain. “They were the ones designated to extract information concerning your birth and abrupt disappearance. Cassius interviewed everyone—our team being the last. He was vague in the questioning, being exceedingly careful not to reveal more than what was needed to detect a glimpse of a lie. If his scheme were to leak or if he were to become suspected of treachery, all would be at risk. I recall him frustrated and ready to accept that the fae had somehow located your mother and taken back what they felt was rightfully theirs.

“After the entire tribe, including the council had been asked questions, it was my turn. No one suspected that one of the team would betray the tribe. It was unheard of, and Cassius scheduled our interrogation merely to please his constituents. I was justifiably nervous as Cassius is a vampire of rare talent that can detect untruths and lies with implausible accuracy.” She shifts her attention to me and says, “Riley is unique to the Avvelenato in that he has learned to deceive our internal sensitivities to abnormal patterns that signal a lack of truth or a blatant lie. I have only heard of several other vampires that have achieved that ability as well.”

Quilici asks, “Who amongst the vampires, and why would the waers lack that ability?”

She cranes her neck sideways, startled at his question, and answers, “Waers are too emotional to control something so delicate. You are more predisposed to rage and excess than the subtle manipulations required for true deception. I’m not dismissing your kind, Quilici, but let us have honesty when it is needed.” She lets her words hold for a moment, anticipating his acceptance and is satisfied as he grunts the equivalent of an okay. She goes on. “The vampires that possess that ability are sporadically found in the descendants of Cassius. His father allegedly had the ability and used it to his advantage, creating a web of deceit so intricate that no one in his lifetime was able to unravel it to remove him from his position. There were others in that line through the millennia, but most were just whispers of rumors, or tall tales as the humans call them. So, Adriel”—she stares through me—“you can imagine Cassius’s surprise when you lied to him about your abilities the day that he revealed our history to you. He was well aware of your power spikes, but wanted to place you in an awkward position of subordination by forcing you to answer his questions. If you would have been honest, then he had you
and
if you would have lied, then he would have shown you how superior he was and that he could not be fooled.” I recall that evening when he knew I was deliberately misleading him, but dismissed it, as a chess master never reveals his true intent until necessary. I’ll also never forget the beating he gave me… asshole. She continues, “You are alone in your gift, Adriel, at least as much as I am aware of, excluding Riley, who may be even more of a mystery. That being said, we mustn’t be distracted with this. Let’s return to the story.