The End of Hatred Page 6

  Being a good servant to the royal family, and to Etherya, she had never resented her betrothal. Sathan was a good man and a magnificent ruler. But in the darkness of night, when she lay in her bed, she would be lying if she didn’t admit that it was Latimus’ face she imagined looming over her…his lips kissing her own…his muscled arms holding her as they slept…

  Shaking her head, she forced the images from her mind. She was extremely lucky to be betrothed to Sathan. He had given her freedom for all these years. Centuries ago, he’d sat her down and explained that he didn’t want to bond until they could have the ceremony under the light of the sun, for all their people to see. She had agreed and they had begun living mostly separate lives.

  Sathan visited the pretty women who lived at the edge of the compound from time to time. Perhaps it would have made another woman angry or driven her insane with jealousy, but Lila had never been jealous where Sathan was concerned. He had become like a brother to her and, although she loved him as her king, she doubted she would ever love him passionately, as a woman loves a man.

  Resigned to this fate, she appreciated that he let her have her freedom on the compound. It allowed her to live her life, study her history and collaborate with Heden on important projects.

  She hoped that one day the War of the Species would come to an end and she could follow in her father’s footsteps to become a great diplomat. Both of her parents were now long deceased and she wished to continue their legacy on this earth.

  Finding her way to Sathan’s study, she found him talking into the speaker phone on his large desk. “I’m heading down now.” He punched a button to disconnect.

  “Did you find Arderin?” she asked hopefully.

  “Yes. It’s a long story, but yes. Latimus, Heden and I are going to get her now.”

  “Thank the goddess,” she said, placing her hand over her heart. “I was so worried.”

  “Me too,” he said, coming around to stand in front of her. “I realize that I haven’t seen much of you lately. We have to make time to have lunch soon. I want to hear about the tunnels you’ve been working on with Heden.”

  “Of course,” she said with a nod. “I’m at your disposal as always, my king.”

  He chuckled and placed a kiss on her forehead. “Always so regal. Maybe you can teach my brother some manners. He seems to be grouchier than ever these days.”

  “Yes, I just ran into him in the hallway. Literally. He is, of course, anxious to recover your sister.”

  Sathan nodded. “I have to go. We’ll get together next week.”

  “Go get our girl,” she said, her voice full of hope.

  Excerpt from The Book of the Goddess, King Markdor Edition

  Article 4 – Cross-species Procreation

  Upon creation of her two species, the Goddess Etherya regarded her children.

  The Slayera, so lovely and fair.

  The Vampyres, so strong and magnificent.

  Knowing that the Vampyres would find the Slayera as beautiful as she did, Etherya made it impossible for cross-procreation between the two species.

  Although the two species could mate, their mating would never result in a child.

  Therefore, the species remained separate, choosing to mate and procreate with their own kind.

  And all was peaceful on Etherya’s Earth.

  Thanks be to the Goddess.

  Chapter 6

  Latimus pulled up to the barrier that surrounded the compound. As the three brothers exited the black Hummer, he addressed Sathan. “Be careful. We’re here if you need us.”

  Sathan nodded and walked to the wall. The stones were cool against his palm under the dark sky and silver moonlight. The force-field that Etherya had implemented around the wall vibrated against his hand. Pushing against the rocks, they swung open and he walked through.

  About twenty feet away he saw a black SUV, the headlights bright. He walked slowly toward the car.

  “That’s far enough,” a female voice said.

  “Where’s my sister?”

  “She’s being held in a safe place not far from here.”

  The woman walked forward and he studied her in what little light he had. Silky, raven-black hair fell straight to her shoulders. Camouflage pants were tucked over black army boots and she wore a black tank top. Approaching him, he noticed how small she was. Probably about a foot shorter than his six-foot, eight-inch frame.

  She stopped about two feet in front of him and lifted her chin, training her gaze on his. He felt a sharp clenching sensation in his solar plexus when he saw her irises. Like wet leaves that glistened on the tree after a rainy day, they were the deepest green he had ever seen.

  “You have dragged me here,” he said, regaining his composure. “What do I have to do to get her back?”

  “Do you know who I am?” she asked. Her voice was clear and firm without a trace of fear.

  “The Slayer Princess Miranda,” he said.

  She nodded and looked down at the grass for a moment. He wondered if she was more nervous than she appeared. Looking back up at him she said, “I have no wish to hurt your sister. I wish to use her to ask you to help me.”

  “Force me to help you,” he said, bitterness lacing his tone.

  “If you like,” she said with a deferent shrug of her shoulders. “Our people have been at war for a thousand years. We are locked in a stalemate that neither side seems to be able to win. I have come to the conclusion that we need to change our tactics.”

  “I’m listening.”

  She inhaled a deep breath before continuing. “I’ve grown weary of fighting your people. I wish to form a temporary truce with you so that I can accomplish something of great importance.”

  “Right,” he said, his tone suggesting that he trusted her about as far as he could throw her. “And what is it you need from me?”

  “As the first-born descents of Valktor and Markdor, our shared blood stream could release the Blade of Pestilence. Once I have it, I will use it to kill Crimeous and I will return your sister to you.”

  Sathan blinked a few times, unsure he’d heard her correctly, and then he laughed incredulously. “Wait, are you serious?”

  She stood still and mute, her chin thrust up in the air, waiting for his response.

  “You want me to travel to the Cave of the Sacred Prophecy with you, release the Blade of Pestilence and then just let you go on your merry way after you’ve kidnapped my sister?”

  “Yes,” she said, as if his statement hadn’t been dripping with sarcasm. “Except that I didn’t kidnap your sister. She washed up on the shore of our riverbank. I actually employed our doctor in nursing her back to health. You’re welcome, by the way.”

  What a patronizing, cocky little bitch, Sathan thought. Although he had to admire how she stood her ground against him. His physical dominance over her alone should’ve had her cowering. He tested her will by taking a step forward, closing the distance between them. She stood firm, tilting her chin up even more to hold his gaze, and reluctant admiration for her courage coursed through him.

  “You want me to thank you for keeping alive a hostage that you’re now using to negotiate with me?”

  “It would be nice,” she said flippantly, “but I won’t hold my breath. So, what’s it going to be?

  She stared up at him expectantly, as if she hadn’t just asked him to trek over four-hundred miles with her to rescue a weapon from an ancient prophecy.

  “No. Now give me my sister. I don’t know what game you’re trying to play but you’re obviously physically outmatched here. I’ll give you five seconds to hand her over or—”

  A sharp pain stabbed in his chest and he gasped. Lowering his gaze to the left side of his chest, he realized that the woman had stabbed him with some sort of contraption.

  “It’s a mini-blade-loaded-eight-shooter, your fucking bastard,” she said, spittle flying from between her clenched teeth as she pushed the contraption further into his chest. “The blade on the t
op of the barrel will only hurt, since you fuckers seem to heal like some goddamn miracle. But if I pull the trigger it will deploy eight tiny bullets right into your black fucking heart. Don’t make me do it.”

  Pain coursed through him, as well as a healthy dose of anger. And yet, as he looked down on this tiny she-devil of a woman, he felt a jolt of respect. She had gotten the upper hand on him. Bracing himself, he pushed his chest further into the blade. An intense pleasure ran through him when her eyes widened in surprise.

  “Go ahead,” he said, daring her. “Shoot me, princess. Let’s see if you have the courage.”

  Tiny nostrils flared as she struggled to compose herself. Moments stretched by in silence as they stood locked in a dance of wills. “Well?” he jibed. “Haven’t you the bravery to kill me?”

  Stepping back, she pulled the blade from his chest but kept the weapon aimed at his heart; her finger on the trigger. “Just like a stupid man,” she said, disgust lacing her voice. “Killing someone does not indicate courage or bravery. It’s the will to find a peaceful solution that shows one’s true strength.”

  Huh. He didn’t expect that one. Not from the princess of the people who were his sworn enemy. He lifted his hand to put pressure on his bleeding wound. “Releasing the Blade of Pestilence will not find you peace. It will lead to more war if you wish to use it to kill Crimeous.”

  “Perhaps,” she said. “But like I said, our tactics have to change. If you help me release the Blade I promise I will return your sister to Astaria unharmed.”

  He realized he believed her. Although she was a Slayer and had just stabbed him in the chest, she betrayed a firm genuineness. “And what about your father? The raids we hold against your people? Surely you cannot ask me to journey with you to the Cave knowing my army will attack your people in another fortnight.”

  Her face contorted into a withering scowl. “Yes, of course. How terrible of me to deny you the sport of hunting and killing my people.”

  Remembering his earlier visit to the dungeon, he shook his head. “And now look who’s stupid.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked.

  Choosing not to answer her, he continued. “We’re almost out of rations from our last raid. If we don’t obtain more Slayer blood over the next fortnight my people will begin to starve. Ruler to ruler, what would you have me do?”

  “My cousin, our army commander, has agreed to supply your compound with blood from the injured soldiers we currently have in our infirmary. He will bank it for you daily and deliver it to this spot while we travel to the Cave.”

  “Well, you’ve just got it all figured out, don’t you?” he asked sarcastically.

  “It’s better than continuing this madness that’s been going on for centuries, isn’t it?” she asked, her tone just as biting. “Surely you can agree that it can’t hurt to employ new tactics in this age-old war. I mean, ruler to ruler, right?” She placed her free hand on her hip and her eyebrows jutted up as she waited for him to answer. Snarky little minx, this one was.

  “Even if I agreed to your plan, how could I guarantee that my sister would be safe? For all I know you could have your guards murder her as soon as we leave on our journey.”

  “You’ll just have to trust me, I guess.”

  “Says the woman holding the eight-shooter to my chest.”

  Ever so slowly she lowered the weapon to her side. “I don’t want to hurt her. I’m sure you understand that if you hurt me she will be immediately killed. I am trusting you not to harm me until I have the Blade in my possession. After that, once you return to your compound and I return to mine, we can assess how…cooperative we’ve been toward each other and chart a course forward.”

  And just like that, Sathan thought, the world had gone insane. The Slayer princess was standing in front of him asking for a truce so that they could work together to rescue the centuries-old blade that her grandfather used to kill his parents. Fucking insane.

  But what was even more insane was that he was considering it. After all, he had become frustrated with the current state of events as well. This cycle of endless war and destruction had them on a constant loop with no end in sight. What if he could actually work with the princess to change the course of history?

  “Your father is on board with this plan?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  Studying her, he narrowed his eyes. “I am intrigued by your proposal but I need to discuss it with my brothers. If we are going to move forward with this I would ask that you turn my sister over to me and trust that I will keep my word. How am I supposed to trust you if you do not trust me in return?”

  “Good try but no fucking way,” she said, shaking her head. “This trust thing is going to go one way and one way only. You’ll trust me to keep her alive and you’ll earn my trust by helping me.”

  “She is an inexperienced female not used to the world outside our walls. I worry for her health—”

  “She’s doing just fine. All you men think that we women just sit around waiting for you to let us live our lives. Your sister is strong and has already threatened to kill me about a hundred times. She’s got more spirit than I’ve seen in half our soldiers. I don’t wish to hurt her and I won’t as long as you help me.”

  His heart warmed at the thought of Arderin putting up such a brave fight against her captor. “I need twenty-four hours to discuss with my brothers. I will meet you back here then.”

  “I want an answer now—”

  “No,” he said, lowering his hand from his now-mended chest. Self-healing abilities really were amazing. “The fact that I’m even considering your plan is making me doubt my sanity. I need to discuss with my brothers, who are my closest advisors. If you can’t grant me that then we are at an impasse.”

  “Fine. I’ll give you until sunset tomorrow. I’ll be here. Don’t be late.”

  With one last look at the impertinent little princess, he turned and exited through the wall. His brothers were going to think he’d gone mad for even considering this. Of that, he was sure.

  * * * *

  Miranda let out a huge sigh and lifted her hand to rest against her beating heart. Good god, that had been the most intense moment of her life. She hadn’t been prepared for the hulking man who had appeared from the stone wall under the moonlight.

  She had expected someone old and ugly, as she imagined most Vampyres to be. Instead, the Vampyre king had looked young and full of strength. He must have gone through the change in his late-twenties, she guessed. That would have frozen his features at that age for all time. He had dwarfed her by over a foot and his arms had bulged out of the sleeves of his black t-shirt. Black pants had encased burly legs the size of small tree-trunks. Angular features, similar to his sister’s, had lined his face and his irises were pitch-black. She wondered if that made it easier for him to hunt in the dark. Blood-sucking bastard.

  The deep timbre of his voice had vibrated through her as they spoke. White fangs had distended below his full, red upper lip. Had he ever plunged them into a Slayer? Shivering, she tried to erase the mental image, wondering why she was imagining him scraping them over her neck. Dark, thick hair had rounded out his features. Overall, he was quite attractive. Not that she gave a fig. The game she was playing here was far from a spin on Match.com, she thought wryly. His appearance was no concern of hers.

  Well, that was nerve-wracking, she thought to herself as she headed toward the Hummer. She had tried her hardest to keep any waver out of her voice and to not show any fear. Hopefully she had accomplished her task.

  “You did well, princess,” came a low-toned voice from behind.

  She whirled around, lifting the eight-shooter, searching for the man who had addressed her.

  “Relax, Miranda,” the unseen man said calmly. “If I wanted you dead you would be already. Trust me.”

  “Where are you?” she asked, rotating back and forth as she held the weapon. “I’m armed with an eight-shooter and I’m prepared to shoot you on
sight.”

  “Yes, yes, we all know how agile you are with an eight-shooter, my dear. In fact, bravo for stabbing the king in his heart. Well done.”

  Slow claps came from behind her and she whirled around again to see an image form in front of her. Slowly, a man came into sight. “Who are you?” she asked, puzzled as to how a person could materialize in front of her out of thin air.

  “C’mon, Miranda. You can do better than that. Don’t make me do all the work. Use the brain in that tiny little head. I know you can do it.” He tapped on her forehead as he spoke in a condescending tone.

  Smacking his hand away, she lifted the eight-shooter. “You’ve got about five seconds before I blow your head off, buddy.”

  Rolling his eyes, the man faked a yawn and lifted his hand to pat his open mouth. “Borrrring,” he said, the word stretched out as he mocked her. “Let’s try again. I have all night. I’m guessing you have, oh…” he looked down at the non-existent watch on his wrist, “until sunset tomorrow.”

  Furious, Miranda studied the man. In the dimness of the moon she could see his short, buzz-cut hair, small features and greenish-looking eyes. It was his ears, however, that gave it away. Their tips came to small points at the top, reminding her of the elves she had read about in her fantasy books as a child. “You’re a Deamon.”

  “Very good,” he said with a nod. “Although I would say that I am the Deamon. I guess it’s all about perspective. But most would say that I am the most powerful Deamon of all. Even more powerful than my father.”

  She sucked in a breath. “You are Darkrip, son of the Dark Lord.”

  “Finally,” he said, rolling his eyes as he smirked. “Let’s hope you can keep up, princess, because I don’t have all night.”

  “What do you want?” she asked, still pointing the weapon at him.

  “A piece of the action, of course,” he said, looking down at her. She figured him to be a bit taller than six feet. “I see you sizing me up and let me save you the trouble. I am the son of the Dark Lord Crimeous. His blood runs through me and makes me more powerful than anyone on this godforsaken planet. I can transport myself with a thought, kill someone with my mind and fight with the strength of a hundred soldiers. I like your spunk but you’d be dead in a second if you tried to fight me.”