Lover Mine

1671, SPRINGTIME, THE OLD COUNTRY



Darius materialized in a stretch of thick forest, taking form beside the entrance of a cave. As he scanned the night, he listened for any sounds worthy of notice.... There were deer tiptoeing around down by the quietly running stream, and the breeze whistled through the pine needles, and he could hear his own breathing. But there were no humans or lessers about.



A moment longer... and then he slipped beneath the overhang of rock and walked into a natural room created aeons ago. Deeper and deeper he went, the air thickening with a smell he despised: The musty dirt and cold humidity reminded him of the war camp--and even though he'd been out of that hellish place for twenty-seven years, the memories of his time with the Bloodletter were enough to make him recoil even now.



At the far wall, he ran his hand over the wet, uneven rock until he found the iron pull that released the hidden door's locking mechanism. There was a muffled squeal as hinges turned and then a portion of the cave slid to the right. He didn't wait for the panel to fully retract, but stepped through as soon as he could wedge his thick chest in laterally. On the other side, he hit a second lever and waited until the section was secured back in place.



The long pathway to the Brotherhood's sanctum sanctorum was lit with torches that burned ferociously and cast hard-lined shadows that jerked and spasmed on the rough floor and ceiling. He was about halfway down when the voices of his brothers reached his ears.



Clearly, there were a lot of them at the meeting, given the symphony of bass, male tones that overlapped and competed for airspace.



He was probably the last to arrive.



When he got to the iron-barred gate, he took a heavy key from his breast pocket and pushed it into the lock. Opening the way took strength, even for him, the huge gate swinging free of its anchor only if he who sought to enter could prove himself worthy of forcing it wide.



When he got down into the wide-open space deep in the earth, the Brotherhood was all there and, with his appearance, the meeting commenced.



As he took a stand next to Ahgony, the voices silenced and Wrath the Fair regarded the assembled. The Brothers respected the race's leader, even if he was not a warrior among them, for he was a regal male of worth whose sage council and prudent restraint were of great value in the war against the Lessening Society.



"My warriors," the king said. "I address you this eve with grave news and a request. A doggen emissary came unto my private home during the sunlight and sought a personal audience. After refusing to present his cause unto mine own attendant, he broke down and wept."



As the monarch's clear green eyes circled the faces, Darius wondered where this was leading. Nowhere good, he thought.



"It was then that I interceded." The king's lids lowered briefly. "The doggen 's master had sent him forth unto me with the worst possible news. The unmated daughter of the family is missing. Having taken an early retire, all appeared well with her until her maid brought forth a midday repast in the event she was of a mind for sustenance. Her room was empty."



Ahgony, the lay leader of the Brotherhood, spoke up. "When was she last seen?"



"Prior to Last Meal. She came unto her parents and informed them she had no appetite and would be requiring a lie-down." The king's gaze continued around. "Her father is a righteous male who has rendered unto me personal favors. Of greater weight, however, is the service he has offered unto the race as a whole as leahdyre of the Council."



As curses echoed around the cave, the king nodded. "Verily, it is the daughter of Sampsone."



Darius crossed his arms over his chest. This was very bad news. Daughters of the glymera were like fine jewels to their fathers... until such time as they were passed unto the care of another male of substance, who would treat her thusly. These females were watched over and cloistered.... They did not just disappear out of their families' houses.



They could be taken, however.



Like all things of rarity, well-bred females were of very high value-- and as always when it came to the glymera , the individual was less important than the family: Ransoms were paid not to save her life, but her bloodline's reputation. Indeed, it was not unheard- of for such a virginal female to be abducted and held for money, the sole leverage being social terror.



The Lessening Society was not the only source of evil in the world. Vampires had been known to prey upon their own.



The king's voice resonated around the cave, deep and demanding. "As my private guard, I look to you to provide redress of this situation." Those royal eyes locked on Darius. "And there is one among you whom I shall ask to go forth and right this wrong."



Darius bowed low before the request was put out. As always, he was fully prepared to discharge any duty for his king.



" Thank you, my warrior. Your statesmanship shall be of value under the roof of that now broken home, as shall your sense of protocol. And when you discover the malfeasor, I am confident of your ability to ensure an appropriate... outcome. Avail yourself of those who stand shoulder to your shoulder and, above all, find her. No father should have to bear this empty horror."



Darius couldn't agree more.



And it was a wise assignment made by a wise king. Darius was a statesman, true. But he had a particular commitment to females after having lost his mother. Not that the other Brothers wouldn't have given themselves over with similar dedication--except for Hharm, perhaps, who had a rather dim view of female worth. But Darius was the one who would feel this responsibility most and the king was nothing if not calculating.



That being said, he was going to need help and he glanced around his brothers to determine who he would pick, sifting through the grim, now familiar faces. He stopped looking when he saw a stranger's visage among them.



Across the altar, the Brother Hharm was standing beside a younger, thinner version of himself. His boy was dark haired and blue eyed in the manner of the sire, and shared the potential of the broad shoulders and wide chest that was characteristic of Hharm. But there the similarity ended. Hharm was lounging with an insolent lean against the wall of the cave-- which was not a sur prise. The male preferred combat to conversation, having little time or attention span to spare for the latter. The boy, however, was engaged to the point of transfixion, his intelligent eyes locked on the king in awe.



His hands were behind his back.



In spite of his outward appearance of calm, he was twisting those hands where no one could see, the movement in the tops of his forearms belying his nervous churning.



Darius could understand how the boy felt. After this address, they were one and all going out into the field and Hharm's son would be tested for the first time against the enemy.



He was not properly armed.



Fresh from the war camp, his weapons were no better than Darius's had been... just more of the Bloodletter's castoffs. Which was deplorable. Darius had had no sire to provide for him, but Hharm should have taken care of his boy, giving him well-balanced, well-made instruments that were as good as his own.



The king raised his arms and looked up unto the ceiling. "May the Scribe Virgin look upon those herein assembled with all grace and blessing as these soldiers of worth go out unto the fields of conflict."



The war cry exploded from the Brothers, and Darius joined in with all his breath, the roar echoing and rebounding and continuing as a chant started up. As the thundering sound rose higher and higher, the king held his palm out to the side. From the shadows, the young heir to the throne came forward, his expression far older than his seven years. Wrath, son of Wrath, was, like Tohrment, the spitting image of his sire, but there the comparison between the two pairs ended. The regent king was sacred, not just to his parents, but to the race.



This small male was the future, the leader to come... evidence that in spite of the affronts committed by the Lessening Society, the vampires would survive.



And he was fearless. Whereas many a wee one had shrunk back behind a parent when facing a single Brother, the young Wrath stood his own, staring up at the males before him as if he knew, regardless of his tender age, that he would command the strong backs and fighting arms of those before him.



"Go forth, my warriors," the king said. "Go forth and wield thy daggers with lethal intent."



Bloodythirsty things to say in front of tender ears, but in the midst of the war, there was no advantage to shielding the next generation of royalty. Wrath, son of Wrath, would never be out in the field--he was too important to the race--but he would be trained so he could appreciate what the males under his authority were facing.



As the king stared down upon his begotten issue, the elder's eyes misted with pride and joy and hope and love.



How different Hharm and his son were. That young was beside his blooded sire, but for all the attention that was paid to him, he might have stood next to a stranger.



Ahgony leaned into Darius. "Someone needs to watch o'er that boy."



Darius nodded. "Aye."



"I fetched him from the war camp this night."



Darius glanced over at his brother. "Indeed? Where was his sire?"



"Betwixt the legs of a maiden."



Darius cursed under his breath. Verily, the Brother was of brutish constitution in spite of his breeding and courtesy of his base instincts, he had sons aplenty, which may have explained though certainly not excused his thoughtlessness. Of course, his other sons were not eligible for the Brotherhood because their mothers were not of Chosen blood.



However, Hharm appeared to be unconcerned.



As the poor boy stood so separate, Darius remembered well his own first night in the field: how he'd been tied to no one... how he'd feared facing the enemy with nothing but his wits and what little training he'd had to fortify his courage. It wasn't that the Brothers had cared naught how he fared. But they had had to watch after themselves and he'd had to prove he could hold his own.



This young male clearly was in the same predicament--it was just that he had a father who should have eased his way.



"Be well, Darius," Ahgony said as the royals went in among the Brothers, clasping palms and preparing to take their leave. "I am escorting the king and the prince."



"Be well, my brother." The two embraced quickly and then Ahgony joined the Wraths and went with them out of the cave.



As Tohrture stepped up and began apportioning territories for the night, pairs started to form and Darius looked through the heads at Hharm's son. The boy had faded back against the wall and was standing stiffly, still with those hands behind his back. Hharm seemed uninterested in anything other than trading hyperbole with the others.



Tohrture put two fingers up to his mouth and whistled. "My brothers! Attention!" The cave went stone silent. " Thank you. Are we clear on territories?"



There was a collective affirmation and the Brothers started to leave-- and Hharm didn't even look back at his son. He just went for the exit.



In the wake, the boy brought his hands forward and rubbed them one into the other. Stepping forward, he said his father's name once... twice.



The Brother turned back, his expression like that of one confronted by an unwelcome obligation. "Well, come on, then--"



"If I may," Darius said, stepping between them. "It would be my pleasure to have him aid me in my duty. If it would not offend."



Truth was, he cared naught if it offended. The boy needed more than his father would give him and Darius was not the kind to sit aside while a wrong unfolded.



"You think I cannae take care of my blood?" Hharm snapped.



Darius turned to the male and went nose-to-nose with him. He preferred peaceful negotiation when it came to conflict, but with Hharm, there was no reasoning. And Darius was well endowed to meet force with force.



As the Brotherhood froze around them, Darius dropped his voice even though all assembled would hear every word. "Give me the boy and I will deliver him whole unto the dawn."



Hharm growled, the sound like that of a wolf amid fresh blood. "As shall I, brother."



Darius leaned in closer. "If you take him out to fight, and he dies, you shall carry that shame upon your lineage fore'ermore." Although for truth it was hard to know whether the male's conscience would be affected. "Give him to me and I will save you that burden."



"I never liked you, Darius."



"And yet back in camp you were more than willing to service those I bested." Darius flashed his fangs. "Given how much you enjoyed that, I should think you'd hold me in kinder regard. And know this--if you do not allow me to o'ersee the boy, I shall take you down to this floor at our feet and beat you until you relent unto me."



Hharm broke eye contact, lifting his gaze above Darius's shoulder as the past sucked the Brother down. Darius knew the moment that he had been drawn into. It was the night when Darius had won against him back at the camp--and as Darius had refused to redress the deficiency, the Bloodletter had. Brutal was a pale word to describe that session, and though Darius was loath to bring it up, the boy's safety was a worthy end for the unworthy means.



Hharm knew who would win in a contest of fists.



"Take him," the male said flatly. "And do what you will with him. I hereby renounce him as my son."



The Brother pivoted, strode out....



And took all the air from the cave with him.



The warriors watched him go, their silence louder than the war cry had been. To disavow offspring was antithetical to the race, as much as daylight would be to a family meal: it was ruination.



Darius went over to the young male. That face... Dearest Virgin Scribe. The boy's frozen gray face wasn't sad. Wasn't heartbroken. Wasn't even ashamed.



His features were a veritable death mask.



Putting out his palm, Darius said, "Greetings, son. I am Darius, and I shall function as your fighting whard ."



The young's eyes blinked once.



"Son? We shall go anon to the cliffs."



Abruptly, Darius was subjected to a sharp regard; the boy was clearly searching for signs of obligation and pity. He would find none, however. Darius knew with precision the dry, hard earth upon which the boy's boots stood, and therefore he was well aware that any kind of softness offered would only result in further disgrace.



"Why," came a hoarse question.



"We go anon to the cliffs to find that female," Darius said with calm. "That is why."



The boy's eyes bored into Darius's. Then the young placed his hand upon his breast. With a bow, he said, "I shall endeavor to be of service rather than weight."



It was so hard to be unwanted. Harder still to hold one's head up after such an affront.



"What is your name," Darius asked.



"Tohrment. I am Tohrment, son of..." The throat was cleared. "I am Tohrment."



Darius stepped in beside the young male and put his palm on a shoulder that had yet to fill out to its fullest potential.



"Come with me."



The boy followed with pur pose... out of the audience of the Brotherhood... out of the sanctuary... out of the cave... into the night.



The shift within Darius's chest happened sometime between that initial footstep forward and the moment they dematerialized together.



Verily he felt for the first time as if he had a family of his own... because even though the boy wasn't his by blood, he had assumed care of him.



Accordingly, he would go before a blade intended for the younger if it came down to that, sacrificing himself. Such was the code of the Brotherhood--but only toward one's brothers. Tohrment was not yet among that number; he was but an initiate by virtue of his bloodline, which gained him access into the Tomb, and nothing further. If he failed to prove himself, he would be barred forever therein.



Indeed, for all the code required, the boy could well be slain on the field and left for dead.



But Darius would not permit that.



He'd always wanted a son of his own.