Troubled (The Binding Chronicles #4)

18. A Death and a Celebration

A Death and a Celebration

S everal thousand years ago

A storm was coming. Grey, almost black clouds crept along the midnight sky, and a brisk wind tasting of ice brushed Therese Calin’s cheeks. Somewhere in the distance, a woman screamed.

“Help!” the woman wailed, her voice thready and weak. “Someone, please help!”

Therese tilted her head in the direction of the woman’s distress. The wind whipped sable locks around her face, and she tucked one behind her ear.

Her lips tugged up as another plea for mercy rose through the night air, and she licked her fangs. Was there any sound more beautiful than a mortal in pain?

When a third cry rose, followed by a bone-chilling scream, Therese turned and raced towards the sound.

She moved with vampiric speed and grace through the forest. Branches slashed at her cheeks, the cuts healing as soon as they appeared. She sailed over fallen trees and darted around clusters of evergreens without breaking her stride.

A white hare raced in front of Therese, and a wolf howled in the distance.

Even now, nearly twenty centuries after her Making, she found delight in the night. Therese was a daughter of Ithiar through and through. Some other vampires mourned their mortal families who had long since passed, but not her. She didn’t mind that she’d forgotten small details like the color of her mother’s hair or the shape of her father’s nose.

That life was long gone.

What were mortal relationships and memories of the past when faced with forever?

When the god of blood had offered Therese immortality, she’d accepted it without a second thought. Her family members had started dying a few years after she’d been Made, but she’d been hard-pressed to care. She’d offered to Make them, but they had refused her gift.

She was an abomination, her mother said. A dark demon, was her father’s response.

Well, Therese showed them.

She was still here, and their bodies had long since returned to the dirt.

Another scream cut through the air, and Therese picked up speed. She inhaled deeply, a coppery scent filling her lungs. The enticing aroma propelled her forward, her fangs burning in eager anticipation.

She ran until she located the source of blood.

Finally .

Hiding behind a tree, she drank in the sight before her.

Crouched in the snow, with his back to her, was a too-beautiful-to-be-real man. Raven hair curled around his ears, his cheekbones were sharp, and his olive skin shone in the moonlight.

Lying beneath him, arms feebly knocking at his chest, was the screaming woman. Her faint cries were like mewls as the man feasted from her throat.

Leaves rustled as Therese stepped forward.

Brown eyes lined in silver rose and met hers.

“Please, please, please,” the woman begged, raising a hand in Therese’s direction. “Help me. He’s killing me.”

The man was still drinking from her throat.

Therese cocked her head and slowly approached the pair.

“Please,” the dying human whimpered.

Therese kneeled on the other side, running a hand down the woman’s tear-soaked cheek.

“Oh, you sweet little mortal,” the vampire chuckled softly. “Don’t you understand? This is our world, and you’re nothing but food.”

Understanding dawned, and horror flickered in those brown eyes. “No!”

“Yes.” Moving with the speed of her kind, Therese slammed her fangs into the other side of the human’s throat.

At the first taste of warm blood, she groaned. She’d never get enough of this. Therese drank, pulling long draws of blood into her mouth.

More, more, more.

Strength flooded her body as she consumed the woman’s lifeblood. The human eventually fell silent, but Therese continued to drink until every last drop was gone. Only then did she withdraw her fangs, wipe the back of her hand against her mouth, and fall back on her heels.

The other vampire was watching her. Black eyes glimmered, crimson tipped his fangs, red dripped from his lips, and his mouth twisted into a smile.

“Therese,” he purred her name with the familiarity of a lover. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight. ”

She licked her lips, catching a stray crimson drop that threatened to fall on the snow. “Hello, Preston. It’s been a long time.”

He caught her hand, pressing a kiss to the center of her wrist. “Nearly two centuries, right?”

He’d always been such a flirt. That was how they’d ended up sharing a bed for several hundred years.

She shrugged, slipping her hand out of his grasp. “Give or take.”

Time had little meaning these days. What was a single year in the face of eternity?

Preston rose to his feet, his movements fluid, and held out his hand in offering.

“What brings you out this way?” In true Preston fashion, he didn’t let her answer before asking more questions. He’d always been the most curious of the bunch. “Did Isvana not provide you with enough land? Have you run out of food?”

When the gods first Made the Twelve, they granted each of them a vast plot of land. It contained more than enough humans for the vampires to live comfortably.

Therese slid her fingers into Preston’s, ignoring the bloody corpse between them. “No, my land is more than adequate, and my humans are plentiful enough.”

They bred like rabbits, and she fed whenever she pleased. Unlike some of her brethren, she didn’t keep a dedicated Source but instead enjoyed a variety of blood donors.

“Then what?”

She laughed. “Would you believe me if I said it was because I missed you?”

Preston leaned over the dead woman, rested his free hand on Therese’s hip, and brushed his lips against hers. She welcomed his kiss, and for a moment, she lost herself in the depth of the embrace .

“Mhmm,” he whispered against her mouth. “Perhaps once, I would’ve believed you.”

A sharp fang pierced her bottom lip, and she gasped.

His hand tightened, and he murmured against her mouth, “But I know you, Therese. You don’t miss anyone. Your heart is as black as they come.”

He released her, licking a drop of blood as he pulled back.

“You know me so well.” She chuckled, the raspy sound tinged with shadows and the night itself. “I came for the Solstice. I heard Amalthea is throwing a party, and I didn’t want to miss it.”

Of the twelve Firsts, Amalthea was the most social. Her territory bordered the Black Sea, and she loved throwing elaborate get-togethers that often stretched for days.

It had been over a century since Therese’s last visit, but when she heard all the other Firsts would be present at the Winter Solstice celebration, she decided to journey north. After all, it wasn’t often one celebrated their two-thousandth year of immortality.

Before leaving, Therese had left her progenies in charge of her land. Titus and Jethro were twins she’d Made over a millennia ago, and they were more than capable of handling any problems that might arise during her absence.

It hadn’t happened often since Therese’s Making, but every once in a while, the humans decided to fight back against the ruling vampires.

There had been an attempted uprising three centuries ago, but she’d quickly squashed it by killing every mortal involved. There hadn’t been any signs of unrest since then, but one could never be too careful.

“Wonderful.” Preston flashed Therese a grin that would’ve had any number of women and men lining up to spend time in his bedchamber. “I look forward to celebrating the Solstice together.”

She grinned, shadows slipping from her palms. “As do I.”

“To immortality!” Amalthea raised a goblet of sparkling Faerie Wine in one hand, the other petting the naked Source kneeling on her right. The vampire reclined on a crimson settee, her gown little more than white strips of fabric hanging off her shoulders and falling between her legs.

Therese smiled and raised her glass, echoing the cheer with the other Firsts. They were scattered throughout the palatial room, Amalthea’s home the perfect location for such an extravagant celebration.

Black tapestries were pulled back from the floor-to-ceiling windows, letting the moon illuminate their party. During the day, the curtains hid the sun from view, allowing the vampires to celebrate for days. Crimson rugs covered the expansive tile floor, columns supported the roof, and human Sources and servants stood at attention against the walls, waiting to be called on.

The Twelve were scattered around the room. Some, like their host, were lounging, their perfect bodies on display as mere strips of cloth stood between them and nudity.

A few sat at tables, drinking Faerie Wine and gambling. Preston and Daphne were sharing a naked Source between them on the massive bed built into the middle of the floor, taking their pleasure while they drank. A human servant was brushing Therese’s hair while another massaged her calves and ankles.

Therese’s head was light as she sipped her Faerie Wine. They’d been celebrating for many nights, the Winter Solstice having come and gone several days ago. She’d long since lost count of how many Sources she’d enjoyed, the Faerie Wine mixing with blood and coating her reality in a haze.

She lifted her goblet only to find the cup empty.

That wouldn’t do.

Raising her hand to summon a servant, she stilled as she noticed the moonlight glistening off her fingers.

Had the light of the moon always made her fingers look so ethereal? Intrigued, she moved her hand to the left, then the right.

Fascinating.

Therese wiggled her fingers and marveled at the beauty of her long, manicured nails. How many necks had she held down with these gorgeous hands, drinking freely from their throats?

Stunning.

Therese wasn’t sure if seconds or minutes passed before she stopped staring at her lovely hand and summoned a server. The human girl filled her goblet and backed away quickly, keeping her gaze trained on the ground.

Good. Mortals didn’t deserve to make eye contact with vampires. They should be grateful to be in their presence.

After all, serving the Firsts was one of the greatest honors humans could ever aspire to. The Twelve had been blessed by Ithiar and Isvana themselves. They’d been given free reign over the land because they were the strongest and most beautiful beings ever to exist.

Therese waved off the servants doing her hair and massaging her.

“Can we get you anything else, My Lady?” the one with the hairbrush asked.

“More wine,” Therese replied, tossing back the glass of Faerie Wine.

“Of course.” The human bowed and hurried off to do her bidding.

Therese drank and drank and drank.

The party passed in a blur.

Humans were used, Sources gave their blood, and bodies piled up in the corners.

Still, the celebration raged .

Days became weeks.

Blood was spilled.

Wine was enjoyed.

Life was good.

One night, nearly two months after the Winter Solstice, a messenger strode through the doors. His beauty marked him as a child of the moon, and after studying the male for several minutes, Therese finally remembered his name.

Othello, the first son of Amalthea’s blood.

He strode up to his Maker, his black hair knotted at the base of his neck. Unlike the Firsts, who were all in varying stages of undress, Othello was fully clothed in a black tunic, trousers, and leather boots that reached his thighs.

Therese narrowed her eyes. Was it a trick of her wine-and-blood-addled mind, or was Othello disheveled? His tunic was ripped over his right shoulder, and she could’ve sworn crimson was spattered across his dark, almost black, skin.

Strange.

She’d never known the man to waste even a drop of blood.

Therese leaned closer, intrigued.

Amalthea pulled her fangs from the throat of the human woman draped across her lap. “Yes, my son?”

Othello bent one knee and whispered in his Maker’s ear. His words were hushed, too low even for Therese to hear, but that could have been because she was having trouble hearing much of anything.

It was like she was swimming underwater. Nothing seemed… right.

How much Faerie Wine had she imbibed?

She peered into her goblet with narrow eyes, wondering if perhaps she might have had a bit too much to drink .

Just as quickly as the thought appeared, she dismissed it. Too much? What was too much when one was an eternal being?

Faerie Wine was made to be enjoyed, and that’s what she was doing.

She threw her head back and drained the goblet in one swallow. The wine slid down her throat, and her head buzzed.

There.

That was better.

Too much.

She scoffed. There was no such thing.

Liquid tinkled as a servant refilled her wine, and Therese returned her attention to Amalthea and Othello.

The First was sitting straight up, staring at her progeny with wide eyes.

“Are you certain?” Amalthea’s voice rang through the space.

Othello straightened. “I am, Mother.”

Certain about what?

Amalthea’s beautiful lips twisted into a sneer, and she abruptly stood, tossing her Source to the ground. The woman cried out as she slammed into the marble tile, but the First didn’t glance at the mortal.

“Everyone but the Firsts and my son, get out now!” Amalthea’s order was as cold as ice.

Servants raced to obey her commands even as murmurs of confusion rose among the Twelve. The room was empty in a minute.

Their host’s black eyes narrowed, and obsidian wings burst from her back. Shadows curled around her, and she snarled. The low, vicious sound echoed through the room. With a wave of her hand, she erected a massive privacy ward made of darkness, ensuring no one could hear their discussion.

“Something awful has happened.” Amalthea’s voice deepened as shadows poured out of her .

“What’s going on?” Therese asked, putting down her goblet.

“It’s the humans .” Amalthea spat the word as though it had poisoned her and looked to Othello. “Tell them, my son.”

The vampire turned, his eyes as hard as diamonds. “They’ve taken vampires hostage and restrained them with silver and prohiberis. And then…” He swallowed, and his face paled. “Then they’re torturing them.”

Snarls ripped around the room, each more vicious than the last.

“They dare touch the children of our blood?” This came from Bartholomew, who stood so abruptly that the low table he’d been sitting at toppled over.

“Not just touching. They’re killing them, my lord.” Othello’s hand trembled at his side. “Brutally.”

“How many?” Preston asked.

“All the ones they can find,” Othello rasped. “I think some went into hiding. I escaped and came straight here.”

A heartbeat passed as the meaning of his words set in, and then, chaos erupted.

Screams filled the room.

Someone yelled that they wouldn’t let this go unpunished.

Preston bellowed, the anguished sound echoing through the palatial room before it transformed into a snarl. Fury radiated from every one of his pores until it was indistinguishable from where it ended and her former lover began.

“I will kill them all,” Preston vowed, coming to his feet and clenching his fists. “Every single human in this kingdom will die for daring to lay a finger on our kind. Who do they think they are?”

“They’re less than dirt,” Amalthea responded. She’d changed into a vampiric blur and now wore black fighting leathers. “I agree with Preston. We destroy them all for this and avenge our children. Who’s with us? ”

The Firsts roared.

“Good.” Darkness shimmered around their host. “No mortal is left alive. Understood?”

The Twelve were in agreement. This was the highest form of insult, and the only appropriate payment was death.

Therese stood, inhaled deeply, and flexed her fingers. Her fangs ached, and she smiled grimly.

She would feast on blood tonight.

The Firsts exited the room. The servants stood in two lines, their backs pressed against the walls. They stared at the vampires, confusion flickering through their eyes. A few of them trembled, perhaps sensing their impending deaths.

None of them dared run.

Therese licked her lips as the air thickened. Each heartbeat seemed to echo through the hallway.

A vampire growled.

“Now,” Amalthea snarled.

As one, they pounced.

As one, they fed.

At the first taste of blood, Therese grinned. This would be a fitting end to their celebration.

And so, the Twelve hunted, killing every single human who crossed their path. They were death, and no mortal could stand in their way.