Mark of Betrayal

“Well, how do you know that?”



He smirked. “I know everything.”



I smiled, backhanding him softly. Sometimes, his own self-loving could be charming, and it always made me feel better somehow.



The gentle scent of clay and pine came through the doors at the back of the room, and the absolute silence felt almost peaceful. It was the calm before the storm. I looked up at the fake marble columns and the pale colours, everything tinted with touches of gold, kind of like Lilith was making extra effort to disguise her throne and her Court as the real deal. I wondered if anyone took her seriously—believed in her. For some reason, judging by the fake grandness of this room, I felt like they didn't—like maybe she was just like me.



“Chief?” Blade called down from the balcony outside. “I can see them coming up this way.”



“Great. How’s the prisoner look?”



He walked back inside and leaned over the railing, into the Throne Room. “Looks bad.”



“Is it you know who?”



Blade appeared beside us then. “Couldn’t tell. Looks too big—too built to be him. And his hair was all shaved, like mine.”



I breathed a soft sigh of relief. There’s no way David would ever shave his head.



“Good. Let’s hope it’s just some dumb kid looking for a place to crash,” Mike said.



“Hope not. We’ve only got two or three guest rooms left,” Blade said, hands on his hips, watching the double doors.



“We’ll throw him in the Core then—plenty of rooms at the barracks,” Mike said, standing up, and they both just stood there, watching the back doors.



It felt like time just ticked by, like the knights were taking forever to get here. Mike reached back, pulled me up to stand, then dropped a quick kiss on my head. “It won't be David, baby. He’d never shave his head.”



I laughed. “I know.” It was nice that Mike knew that, too.



“What’re you so worried about then?”



“Um.” I frowned, going back through my last few thoughts. “I…I think I was actually thinking about your room.”



“My room?” he said, looking up for a second. “Why?”



“I was thinking about Lilith, you know, and if we were anything alike, and then I was thinking about the stained glass dome above your bed.”



Mike stiffened. “I tacked a sheet up over it.”



“Did you?” I half laughed.



He nodded. “I couldn’t look at that anymore. It’s sick.”



I smiled to myself. He didn't know it, but Morgaine actually told me what the picture was; a depiction of Lilith’s death—a woman, her legs forced apart by the hips of a man as she cried, reaching out to the nothing, while another slit her throat. Mike had gone to great lengths to keep that from me—even barred me from his room.



“Anyway, why were you thinking about it, baby?”



“I guess I just feel a kind of connection to Lilith. I…I felt sad for her. For the fact that she set this room up to look all grand, and then she had it all taken away.”



Mike opened his mouth to speak just as the knights burst through the doors.



“Got him, Chief,” Ryder called.



As soon as I saw the thick, rounded skull and the wide, broad shoulders of the man they dragged between them, I relaxed. This guy looked like he was of European descent—maybe Italian or something, certainly not the unmistakably Caucasian appearance my David had.



Ryder and Falcon dropped the bloodied vampire to the floor; he landed on his hands, then gave up and flopped down, his face bleeding all over the velvet rug below the steps.



“Why are you here?” Mike asked, squatting beside him.



He groaned, trying to lift his head. “I—”



“Speak louder.” Ryder shoved the man with his foot.



“Hey, ease off!” I walked over and stood with Mike.



“Drake. Has.” The man coughed and rolled over, clutching his stomach.



“Drake has what?” Ryder leaned over him. “What has he done?”



“Give him a break!” I yelled, pushing Ryder aside, then knelt down beside the man, who, up close, was no older than me. He was bloodied badly, his lip split, dirt and small pebbles lodged into his temples and cheekbones, and the whole left side of his body was practically limp. “What’s your name?”



“Nate,” he wheezed, struggling to speak.



“And what happened? Why did you come here?”



“For safety.”



“From Drake?”



He nodded, wincing, his eyes becoming small with pain. “He’s…something about blood oaths.”



“What about them?”



He coughed, and the gash across his chest pulsed blood as he rolled back.



“Oh, God, you’re bleeding bad.” I held my wrist out. “Here. Drink.”



“Wait!” Mike grabbed my arm and looked up at Quaid. “Get him a human. Lilithian blood won't be enough.”



“A human?” I practically barked as Quaid ran off.



“Relax, Ara. I won't allow any biting or killing.”



I reached out and placed my hands on the guy’s chest, forcing pressure down on his wound. It felt like forever before Quaid finally came back, escorting a young girl. She looked so small and so nervous next to him. “Here,” he said, and gave her a soft push in our direction.



“Hi.” I smiled sympathetically at her.



“Hello,” she said, bowing her head as she knelt beside me.



“What’s your name?” I asked.



“Danni.”



“Well, Danni, have you ever had someone drink from you before?”



She shook her head.



“We won't let him bite you, okay?” I said, pushing down harder on the vampire’s chest, feeling the flood of his blood pulse up with each breath he took. “And if you don't want to do this, you don't have to.”



She looked at Quaid; he winked at her, and she gushed, blushing. “I don't mind.”



“Okay.” I slowly pulled my hands back from the bloodied mess and held them out from my body, resisting the urge to lick my fingers, gross as that sounds.



Mike squatted right beside Danni and guided her hand to the vampire’s lips, squeezing her wrist as he made a cut; she looked away, scrunching her eyes tight.



The warm, dead animal smell of her blood wafted up to my nostrils, making the sweet, desirable scent of vampire on my hands seem suddenly so unappealing, like eating a doughnut in a room where someone farted. Quaid held the head of the newcomer so he couldn’t lift it, and Danni’s blood spilled, drop by drop, against his lips.



The bruising along his jaw receded and his eyes changed from black to a bright hazel colour as he sat up and took a deep breath.



“Better?” I said.



He nodded and looked right into Danni’s eyes. “You okay?”



She nodded.



“Thank you for that,” he said, touching her arm.



“You’re welcome.” She blushed again, and Blade helped her to stand, leading her away; she turned back to wave at Quaid, but he was too focused on the man to notice.



“Now. What's going on?” Mike said.



“Drake turned volatile, started slashing people apart.”



“Why?”



“I heard it was something to do with oaths. Apparently he wiped out every member of the Blood Army—went to each Set, killed everyone who’d ever sworn an oath, then came back here and finished them off.”



“He killed the army?” I felt weak, dizzy. “Why would he do that?”



“Because,” Mike said, standing up. “When you take your oath tomorrow night, any man whose allegiance is sworn to the throne will switch to you.”



“Really?” I said.



“Yep, and that would have included Drake’s army.”



I looked back at the young vampire. “So, you haven’t sworn an oath?”



“No.” He sat up properly, his chest completely healed; he looked down at it, parting his shirt to give the skin a little poke. “I don't really care for politics. I just heard screaming, looked out my bedroom door and saw Drake slice a man’s throat open.”



“Did he…did the guy die?”



“Yeah. I kid you not, yo. Guy just dropped dead, right there on the floor in front of me.”



“Wait! How is he killing vampires?”



“Don't you know?” the kid said, his eyes wide. “There’s some new drug called Venom. Wipes ‘em out in seconds.”



“Drug?” I said, looking at Mike.



“What do you mean by drug?” Mike said.



“Dunno. I just heard some High Council dude say something a few weeks ago.”



“What did he say?” Mike asked.



“Something about vials—said we had four but Drake took it to his lab in Sussex and had it expanded into...I don't know.” He swallowed, as if his mouth had made too much saliva to keep talking. “I can't remember, but he made enough of it to walk ‘round the castle with a sword and just start cuttin’ guys up. Their eyes were open, ma’am—he just left ‘em there. Just…dead!”



I covered my mouth. “So, then you left?”



“Yeah, but I was lucky. I followed some guys out this tunnel and came out to a road.”



“How many escaped?” Mike asked. “Are you the only one that came here?”



“There were twenty who ran. But they all went in different directions. I only came here ‘cause of Eric.”



“Eric de la Rose?”



“Yeah. He—a few months ago he said he was fleeing the Set—asked me to come. I didn't wanna risk capture, and he wouldn’t tell me why he was leaving, so I told him I’d stay. He just handed me a map and said if I changed my mind to come here.” He looked up at Falcon. “I'm sorry, man, I didn't know this was some royal château or nothin’. I just thought Eric had really rich parents or something.”



Falcon laughed and helped the vampire to his feet. “No harm done.”



“What did you say your name was, kid?” Mike asked.



“Nate.” He folded over a little, obviously still in pain.



“Well, Nate, welcome to Loslilian. This here—” Mike presented me, “—is our princess, soon to be the new ruler of the Three Worlds.”



Nate looked at me then, flipping his chin. “’Sup.”



Everyone in the room laughed.



“Blade, go get Morgaine. Tell her to prepare a guest room for our new friend.”



Blade saluted with two fingers and turned on his heel, disappearing. He’d learned to use that speedy vamp run really well for a vampire who was only a few hours old. Smart bugger.



“So, you guys are all Lilithians?” Nate asked.



“Yep.” Mike bristled with pride.



“I heard of your kind.”



“What have you heard?” I said.



“You drink vampire blood. Some say Drake’s building a new army to come get some kid you guys stole or something.”



“New army?”



Nate nodded. “He ships humans in—thirty a day. At first I thought he was just really hungry, but then a mate of mine in decomp said he was only burning about half that.”



“Decomp?” I looked at Mike.



Mike winced and without looking at me said, “Decomposition. It’s the guys who get rid of bodies.”



I felt queasy. “So, he’s creating a new army?”



Mike sunk back a little, exhaling through his nose as realisation seared through him at the same time it did Falcon and Quaid.



“Because of the allegiance shift?” I said.



“Yep. But he can't make them swear an oath because, not only does he not have access to the Stone, but the oath would be invalid as soon as you swear yours. He’ll have to brainwash them.”



“Mike—” I grabbed his sleeve, my eyes tearing. “We have to save those people.”



He wrapped me up in his arms, grimacing at the blood on my hands, dirtying his shirt. “Baby, there’s nothing we can do to help them. We’re not ready to go after Drake, yet.”



“But this is good news,” Falcon said. “Not that humans are dying, but that his army won't be ready for some time. He needs to change them, train them and make sure they’re reliable enough to carry out whatever task he asks of them.”



Quaid looked at Nate then at Falcon. “Right. This at least means Ara’ll be safe while she does the Walk of Faith. I doubt he’s gonna come onto Lilithian grounds without some protection.”



Falcon nodded and clapped Nate affectionately on the shoulder. “Nate, my man, welcome to Loslilian.”



“A toast.” Mike, chirpier than usual, stood and tapped his glass. “To the knights, for their exceptionally quick reaction time, the successful capture of an alleged bad guy, and also to our new comrade, Nate.”



We raised our glasses, one by one, all thirty-something people down the table. More chairs had been added since our little family grew; first, my Private Guard being invited to dine with us each night, then a half dozen new vampires, and now Nate. But the head of the table still remained empty—another reminder we had no king and, for me, another reminder that David would miss my coronation ceremony tomorrow.



“Well, I'm glad to be on this side of the fence.” Nate held his glass up to Falcon. “Your knights pack a pretty wicked punch.”



Falcon sipped his wine, smiling into his glass; it was the same kind of smile he gave when he knew he was right about something.