Come the Night

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Come the Night By Angelique Armae

Prologue Palazzo Vecchio, outside Rome 476 A.D. Romulus scowled. “The empire will never regain its strength. Rome as I once knew it is gone for good." Octavia heard the pain in her father's voice, the mental anguish of being torn between the Vampyre and the man. She knew he spoke of himself in those words. She sensed it in her soul. "Perhaps this is not a good time.” She had the sudden need to run, the sudden need to flee her father's palace. Octavia knew the danger of pressing the Vampyre, of pushing such madness to the edge. “I can come back.” She hadn't thought summoning his dark side would be so frightening. “I—I can come back when it's more ... convenient." He didn't answer her. She stared at him and mused at the façade. On the outside, Romulus looked every bit the dignified Roman. He wore a gold seal ring on his right hand and the prized toga draped well about his body. What would Caesar have thought had he ever learned the truth about her father, about the beast that dwelled within him? Now she saw Romulus in an entirely different light. His eyes seemed so dark. So tired. She couldn't remember ever seeing him in such a greatly disheartened state. He sat in a gilded chair, looking much like an aging king seated on an ancient throne. His handsome, ageless face seemed suddenly marred by the winds of time and his restless soul haunted by the wickedness of his tormented existence. Octavia shook the dark thoughts from her head. Perhaps it was just the atmosphere of the chamber with its cold, gray marble lit by far too few candles. She sensed no peace here, no warmth. This must be how he always felt. How the man inside the Vampyre felt. The feeling disturbed her more than ever. Wishing away her father's pain, she closed her eyes. But it didn't work. She felt him stronger than before. The Vampyre that ruled Romulus's soul now dwelled nearer to her own. Octavia felt her father's inner turmoil by merely being in his presence. She sensed in her heart that he wanted her to come closer, to embrace him. The power of the Vampyre reached out to her, calling from beyond the ethereal plane and stirring her to the core. But she knew better. Fate had been cruel to him. It kept Romulus away from his children. The most any of them could hope for were a few brief moments like these—moments stolen in a darkened chamber of his marble palace. She summoned up the courage to speak. “I'm not here to talk about Rome, Father. I came because I bring you your grandson. His name is Lazarus." Octavia held the infant in her outstretched arms. The clanging of gold bracelets sliding down her arm echoed about the room as she propped the baby up for her father's viewing. She prayed to God he would accept the child. Romulus leaned forward and stared at his grandson. He looked uncomfortable being presented with such a situation and took no care to hide such feelings. A stern frown darkened his face even further. He raised an eyebrow and then quickly turned away. "So, you have finally given me an heir. Hmm.” He grunted and dismissed the child with a wave of his hand. “Why did you bring him here?" "Because he needs you,” Octavia said. “Lazarus is not a full-blooded mortal. His father was an angel named Lexliel, a Grigori who fell from grace while living in Eden, as did most of the Grigori, the angels of the tenth choir. But my husband repented, sparing our son's soul." She fidgeted with the folds of the violet palla draping her stola. Her father had been upset when she ran off with a man he had never met. But none of that mattered now. Her husband was dead and Lazarus was all that remained important to her. "If Lexliel were still alive I would not be here.” She sighed. The two men she loved most had both left her in times of need—her husband bound by Hell, her father cursed by Hell. “I have nowhere else to turn."

Romulus rose from his throne. With slow, cautious steps, he approached her and Lazarus, came as close to them as the Vampyre inside allowed him. "They say only demons, the damned souls of the Nephilim, come from the union of a mortal and an angel." "I don't believe that,” said Octavia. “Look at him.” She gently unwrapped the folds of silk that cradled her son. The tiny infant was full of life and far from being anything like that which legend had prophesied. Romulus took the child from Octavia's arms and held him close to his heart. “He is a strong being. I can see it in his eyes. What do you wish me to do with him?" "Bring him over." "But why?" "If legend is true, he will die. If it is false, the Nephilim who know the true nature of his heritage will kill him. Besides...” Octavia paused. She knew her father wouldn't resist the blood of a newborn child. “You already hold him too close to your heart. You've crossed the line of fate and, having done so, you will not release my son until your hunger is fed." Romulus froze. “I hadn't realized I'd taken Lazarus from you,” he said. “Forgive me.” He stared at the child and became lost in his smile. “He reminds me of you as an infant. You had the same eyes, the same mouth. You made me forget about the troubles of Rome. After long hours of debating with Caesar, I'd return home to wake you and your siblings, and hold you. Do you remember my embrace, Octavia?" "Of course,” she said. “In your arms I was secure, safe from the demons a little child imagines exist in the world. Little did I know..." He sighed. “The Vampyre inside rules me. It's the beast that forced me to leave. I had no choice. I couldn't allow you to become what I had been for centuries." "Centuries? But you were my father. How could you have been like this for hundreds of years and still given life to me?" "My demons were exorcized by the Nazarene. He rehabilitated my soul.” Romulus carried his grandson to a table in the corner of his chamber. He lit a group of candles, illuminating a large gold cross previously hidden by the darkness. “His Spirit has been my constant companion. He graced me with the gift of communing with angels and nourished my body with the fruits and berry wines from the gardens of Paradise. Because of the Nazarene, I was once again able to welcome the morning sun and wrap my soul in its warmth. But nothing lasts forever.” Romulus paused. He turned away from the cross. "No one could condemn the soul who saved me from my hell, yet they crucified Him just the same. In the days that followed, I slowly returned to my old ways. And in that chaos I have remained for centuries. Everyday is a battle against the Vampyre, against its gnawing hunger." Octavia reached for her father. She placed her hand on his shoulder and cared nothing for her own safety, nothing for the threat that now lingered in the near shadows. Being physically close to Romulus put her life in danger. The Vampyre inside her father would judge her the same as it would any other vulnerable soul—as a source of warm blood to feed its cravings. "How did you escape such torment?" He turned away, a sigh echoing in the darkness. “I fell in love with your mother. She was a Tracker, a mortal who hunted the Vampyre. There are many families of Trackers, almost as many as there are Vampyric Tribes. Your mother came from a small yet powerful clan. She became my link to the outside world and offered me help. Had I had no conscience, she would've hunted me. I suppose I was fortunate she didn't have a large family, less Trackers to convince to accept me." The news surprised Octavia; she hadn't known her mother's people hunted night creatures. They were Celts, not Romans, and rarely visited.

Romulus continued. “Years before I met your mother, I was given an amulet that held the blood of the Nazarene, the one they called Christ. This man had a great following and after his death, one of his apostles gave me the amulet in hopes of curing my Vampyric affliction. I befriended the Nazarene, and in turn, I was given a chance at redemption. The powers contained within gave me back my mortality long enough to father a family. But it was not easy. I never stopped wrestling with my hunger for blood. Eventually, it conquered me and almost sent me back to my old ways. I came very close to breaking my vow made with the Nazarene. That was the day I left you and confined myself to this room. Had I feasted again, my mortal family and my entire Vampyric Tribe would have been put in danger. My near weakness cost me the right to keep the Amulet of Christ. Angels descended to Earth and removed the relic from my care, giving it to the Trackers. The powers granted me to live in the sun and to retain my immortality remained. But I no longer could keep the amulet safe from the Dark Breed, a vile species of vampyres. If ever they were to possess it, the world would be doomed.” Romulus looked away from Octavia. He focused his gaze on his grandson lying on the table in front of the cross. “Is this the life you want for your son? A life of constant torment?" "Like you, he has no choice." "Then so be it.” He removed the remaining silk from the child's body. “But I will bring him across only if you agree to certain conditions." "I'll do whatever is asked of me,” said Octavia. “Anything to save my son." "You must allow me to bring you across as well for I will teach you how to rehabilitate the child's soul so his torment will not be as severe as my own. And when the deed is done, you must promise to take me outside so I may breathe my last breath." Octavia gasped. She hadn't come here to kill her father. “But why?" "I've lived long enough,” said Romulus. “It's time for Lazarus to rule my empire. From this day forward, he will be known as the patriarch of my Tribe.” Romulus removed his seal ring and placed it on a silk cord. He draped the dangling ring over Lazarus's neck. "Your son shall age until he is thirty-and-five as would any other soul. After that, youth will be his eternal companion. "It is your duty to make certain he couples with a Tracker so that from him a savior will be born to destroy the Dark Breed. The woman destined to be his wife is the same woman fate has deemed to one day care for the Amulet of Christ. She will return the relic to my Tribe. This is what the Nazarene prophesied to me years after his mortal death, when he came to me in spirit. The amulet containing Christ's blood will allow Lazarus to retain the ability to procreate. The Dark Breed are demon vampyres born to a line of Grigori who did not repent their sins in Eden. These offspring are beings that are half-mortal, half-fallen angel, similar to your son but with a far darker nature. Instead of facing death, they were brought across by a beast that rules the Nephilim. They are my Tribe's greatest enemy." She gasped, disbelief washing through her mind. “No, you lie. Please, tell me no more. I came here looking for a way to protect my son, not to destroy my father and enter a world of darkness. I've no desire to know these evil beings." "But the legend is true, my sweet Octavia. The tale of a union between the Nephilim and the Dark Breed Vampyres is not a lie. I wish I could tell you otherwise, but I cannot. The Grigori have fathered countless children in man's world. And many of them are living demons. Lazarus is different. He is one of a small minority of half-mortals who still have a chance at eternal peace.” Romulus peered down at his grandson. “I can see it in his eyes, the windows to his soul. Lexliel's repentance spared him." At least her son would have hope, thought Octavia. She thanked the heavens for her father's strong Vampyric abilities to read her son's soul, but the realization of such powers contained in her father's beastly nature frightened her. She sensed, if this essence were to be misused, great harm could come to mankind. Fear for the future, for what might be one day, sent a chill down her spine. "You were right to bring him here,” said Romulus. Octavia crossed the room in silence. She wanted this task to be over with and done. "Do not struggle with your conscience, my sweet child. Even God will not condemn you for your actions today."

"But how can you be so sure? I am allowing you to make my son into a creature of the night, to bring him into darkness. Surely we will all be damned." Romulus turned to his daughter. “No, that is not true.” He pleaded with her. “It can't be. I did not voluntarily become what I am today. My forefathers were suckled by the she-wolf. And as a youth I was mesmerized by this famous tale." He rubbed his neck as if to ease a pain or stiffness. “One day I encountered a she-wolf whom I thought to be the very creature that saved Romulus and Remus, the founders of Rome. My ancestors were mortal twins suckled by a wolf—a powerful, wild creature who raised them as her own. However, the creature I encountered was anything but caring. "The first time I laid eyes on her she was in wolf form, a beautiful animal unlike any I had ever seen. In time, she changed her shape and appeared to me as a mortal woman. She teased me and tempted me in ways I'd never imagined possible. She filled my head with nonsense. I became her slave, sick with an unnatural love for her. I was just a mortal pawn in the wolf's game.” He shook his head in disgust. “I wanted nothing more than to be a king of Rome like my forefathers before me. I wanted to be taken up to the Heavens by Mars and made a god. "The lives of those legends were in my blood.” Romulus fisted his hands. “And the she-wolf preyed on my naiveté. She drugged me with poisoned milk and took me to a being that lived only in darkness. I was her gift to this beast, a fool with a swollen head and warm blood running through my veins.” He paused. A cold, icy chill filtered through the room. “The beast soon brought me across, and from that day forward I have lived in misery. From my own family hailed a tribe of Vampyres, kin whom I cursed with my dark affliction. We were lucky to eventually have found the Nazarene. Yet despite his grace and forgiveness, at times I can still feel the pain of razor-sharp teeth sinking into my neck. The odd sensation never really leaves you." "Why have you never told me of your Tribe?" "Until now, it was best you didn't know." Shock coursed through her veins. She had an entire family of night creature kin and never knew any of them. “How many like you are there?" "Over the years our number has grown. Today my kin are scattered through out the Empire and the rest of the world. My tribe is vast and powerful." She couldn't believe her ears. Vampyres coexisted with man, perhaps even out numbering mortals. And now she was asking for her son to join them. May the gods save her. Romulus reached for Octavia's face. The touch of his cold, dead hands felt like ice against her skin and made her shiver. “Turn your eyes away, sweet daughter. I do not want you to see the evil that violates my soul." Octavia did her father's bidding. She faced the darkness of the marble chamber and wept silently. Hell had shown her no mercy in the past. And today would prove no different. She held her breath as Lazarus screamed in the background. His strained cry filled every inch of the room as life was first drained from him and then replenished. She hated herself. She hated everything right now. "A pitcher of wine sits on the stand in the other corner,” her father said. “Bring it to me along with some fruit from the bowl. But do not set your eyes upon me." Octavia fumbled through the dimly lit chamber. She didn't know what to take first but then filled one hand with a peach and a small plum. In her other hand she carried the pitcher of wine. Small droplets of the burgundy-colored liquid fell to the floor and soaked through her soft leather shoes as she hurried back to her father. With Lazarus in his arms, Romulus reached out from the shadows and grabbed first for the pitcher. "Come,” he said. “The deed is now done. You must see to it that he drinks this daily.” He placed a finger in the wine and then gently brushed it against Lazarus's lips. “As for the fruit, give him small pieces at first. In time his hunger will grow."

"Is this wine and fruit of Paradise plentiful in the markets?" "No. You must never speak of these things in such a place. The nourishing substance that keeps my body alive comes from the heavens, a gift from the Nazarene. Only an angel can supply you with the fruits and wines of Paradise. The archangel Raphael is known as Heaven's healer. He will see to it both you and Lazarus are supplied with all the nourishments necessary to sustain your souls. Simply call his name when you have need of him." She took a deep breath. Angels, demons—it seemed so much to learn in such a short time. Octavia knew of the Trackers from myth, of the Grigori from her husband, but only a little of the Vampyre. Now that would change. “But what about the blood? What if—?" Romulus cut her off. “Never allow your son to drink mortal blood; only that of the wolf. I shall provide him with a pack of wolves raised for the sake of feeding the Vampyre. And even this blood should be taken in moderation. An exchange of small amounts of blood is permitted between man and wife, but only in the slightest amounts. Lazarus must remain in a rehabilitated state. If the need ever arises for him to bring a family member across, then and only then, should he drink fully from a mortal's veins. When the task is completed he must undergo a severe healing treatment. If not, he will die a slow and painful death, poisoned by the sin of drinking human blood. When the Nazarene redeemed my soul, I was forbidden to drink from a mortal's veins. If I did, I would pay a heavy price for transgressing. Christ demanded it be this way. I left you for fear the Vampyre inside me would feast again. I refused to take that chance with my own family. Sealing myself in this room was the only way I could make certain no other being would be involved in my battle with darkness. I've been taunted by torment and temptation, but I never once broke my vow to the Nazarene. At all cost, you must prevent Lazarus from drinking mortal blood with the exceptions I've told you. Do I make myself clear?" "Yes." "Very well then. I must finish my work here. Turn your head away, Octavia." Her father's cold hands brushed her neck as he pushed the soft silk palla from her skin. He removed the ornately carved fibula that held it in place. "Forgive me, my sweet,” he said. “But destiny cannot be denied, neither mine nor yours." Octavia nodded. Tears flowed from her eyes like a river flooding its banks. She thought of Lexliel, of Lazarus, of her childhood. She filled her head with pleasant scenes, anything to take her mind off the present, anything to escape the fear. But such thoughts had little effect on the moment at hand. In an instant the agonizing pain of her flesh being torn apart by the razorsharp daggers of the Vampyre's piercing fangs ripped through her skin. The drumming of her blood pumping fiercely through fragile veins sent her head spinning. She felt as if she were on the verge of exploding inside and imagined all her veins bursting one by one from the immense pressure contained within them. Her knees grew weak. Life faded from her at an alarming pace. A bright light engulfed her body, tugging her into an endless tunnel. No. She tried to fight it. She saw herself running from the light. I don't want this. It's not supposed to be like this. Please ... God ... Father ... Lexliel ... someone, anyone... Darkness rose up like a beast from the depths of Hell. It took her soul, her life. Drained of everything but a single breath, she fell to the floor. **** Hours passed. Octavia was certain of that. A sweet taste filled her mouth—something she had never savored before. "The wine of Paradise.” She heard her father's voice. “Nothing on Earth can compare to it." "I can taste. I-I am still alive." "Of course, you're still alive. I would never have allowed you to die, my sweet Octavia. But life will be different for you now."

She rose from the soft bed her father had obviously placed her on and glanced around the room, reacquainting her senses with the darkened chamber. “Where is Lazarus?" "He is safe in the cradle next to your bed. I had a slave girl bring a cradle, wash him and wrap him in new swaddling. I had a clean stola brought for you as well. There is blood on the one you wear. When I am gone, burn your old clothes—and journey into your new life without any traces of the past.” He paused and a shadow of concern crossed his face. “The act of bringing you and Lazarus across has been a bloody one. It troubles me to leave you like this. I know destiny cannot be denied, but still I must ask your forgiveness for what I have done." Her soul ached with grief as she stared at Romulus. She now sensed her father's time coming to an end and wished it wasn't so. “I will never hold you responsible for what must be, Father. Our fate is in the hands of the gods. It always has been. First with Mars, then the she-wolf, even with the Nazarene. We might make small changes in our lives, but destiny has never been ours to fully dictate." The veil of concern lifted from Romulus's face. “Are you up to taking me outside? I thought a view of Rome from the hillside would be a nice memory. I feel it is appropriate for my life to end exactly where it began." "But, must you?" "Octavia, I can no longer live. Even should I desire to, I cannot. When I brought Lazarus across I gave him all my knowledge, all my power, all my secrets. There is no longer a need for my soul in this world. I exchanged Lazarus's blood with my own so I could give him everything I had to offer this Earth, this lifetime. I knew taking me outside would be difficult for you. If you wish to remain inside, I will understand. "But nothing, not even my own will, can keep me here now. The sun will call me home and I will not be able to resist. It is the way of the Vampyre. We exist in this world only as long as our life serves a purpose. Be it good or be it evil, it matters not. And now my time must come to an end. I am no longer patriarch of my Tribe because Lazarus is the new leader of my Vampyre kin. Since he is yet a child, you will rule my Tribe until Lazarus comes of age, until he understands the Vampyre that dwells inside." Romulus headed for the heavy gilded doors that guarded his chamber. He struggled to pry them open and his face flushed from exertion. In an instant, sunlight filtered into the room and entered like an army laying siege to a defeated city. His skin began to smoke. Romulus reached for the folds of fabric draped over his shoulder and wrapped them about his body, covering his flesh from the sun's rays. “Have no fear, daughter. The preternatural powers I had are now shared between you and Lazarus, increasing your sensitivity to the world around you. But despite this new gift of heightened awareness, the sun will not harm you. The ability to continue to walk in daylight was a gift from my ancestor, the god Mars, and later strengthened by the Nazarene." Squinting in the bright light, Octavia followed her father. She raised a hand in front of her face to shield her eyes from the sun. She had never imagined it could be like this, like a fiery illumination almost blinding her vision. In the outer corridor, slaves stood in horror as they watched their master emerge from his darkened chamber. Some froze; others fell to the floor, even fearful of laying eyes upon him. Octavia knew the slaves were well aware of her father's Vampyric essence but until now she never knew how much they feared him. Their mumbled prayers echoed through the palace's central hall. Octavia paid them no heed. She clutched Lazarus to her breast to keep him from any harm that might be lingering nearby. Through the open doors at the end of the hall, she eyed the sight of Rome in the distance. Holding her son and remaining near her father, she cautiously stepped onto the balcony. "The Paradisian fruits and wines will rehabilitate your soul while allowing you to remain in an immortal Vampyric state. You will have all the powers of the Vampyre but will not need to feed on blood,” her father said. “Remember this." She nodded. “You said Lazarus would rule your Tribe and bring forth an heir." Romulus reached out for his grandson. For the last time, he took the child from Octavia and placed a tender kiss upon the infant's

forehead. "In time he shall encounter the one person capable of bringing him out of the darkness, a Tracker who will realize Lazarus's true destiny. This, too, was part of the Nazarene's prophecy. Tracker blood runs in your veins, my sweet Octavia. If you ever have need of them, go to your mother's people. They will help protect Lazarus.” He held the infant near to him and whispered to the child. “My spirit will be with you always.” He sighed and returned Lazarus back to Octavia. “Go inside now. My life's purpose has been fulfilled." Octavia wept as she turned away from her father. Romulus placed his hand gently on her shoulder. “Know that I always loved you and always will, despite my leaving you." She turned around. “And I—" "Go. Please.” Romulus unwrapped the cloth shielding his body and exposed his skin to the sun's full effects. Octavia left the balcony in tears. As she stepped onto the marble floor of the inside corridor she heard her father cry out in pain. He moaned and gasped for air and then called out to the Heavens. "Lazarus, rise from my death. Rise, Lazarus, let the Vampyre wake your soul and take you beyond a mere mortal existence. Rise, for my death brings you renewed life." His voice filled her ears like an unending echo. Octavia froze. She wanted to turn around, to reach out and bring her father back into the palace, into the safety of his former tomb. But the Vampyre that now ruled her soul kept her from acting on the impulse. She was bound to the way of the Vampyre, to Lazarus, and to the Tribe. To keep her father from dying would be to interfere with destiny and Octavia knew better than to turn her back on fortune's plan. She could not interfere with Romulus's fate. Lazarus let out a scream like that of a man's. Octavia sensed the child felt Romulus's pain now that he had his grandfather's old powers. She prayed to the gods to ease her son's agony. Heat radiated from the balcony. Behind Octavia, Romulus must have burst into flames. His burning body would soon turn to dust. The sound of blowing wind coming down from the hills of Rome filled her ears and made her turn around. A pile of dust remained on the balcony. The desire to gather her father's ashes and scatter them over Rome consumed her thoughts. To Octavia, Romulus was Rome. Her father had lived for the empire and now it seemed appropriate that his remains be returned to the city. A chill coursed through her body and caused the hair at the nape of her neck to stand on end. She sensed the gods nearby, Mars and others of her bloodline, coming nearer the Earth. The sensation overcame her as if the gods who ruled the old empire's beliefs had heard her silent plea. Upon her back, Octavia felt the breeze of a warm wind kiss the balcony. She twisted around. Her father's ashes gently gathered in a twirling breeze and then blew away, scattered across the city below. She wondered if Rome's gods would always hear her. "No. And yes." The voice startled her. She scanned the balcony, but to her surprise, it remained empty. "Forgive me for my abruptness. I am Montigrael. Lexliel's brother." From out of nowhere an angel wearing a suit of leather armor fitted over a red tunic appeared on the balcony. He looked much like a soldier of old Rome. "I owe my brother Lexliel a debt and I have come to repay him,” he said. Octavia clutched her son even more tightly than before. “What do you mean the gods will not always hear me?"

"You are the gods, Octavia. We all are. I could never figure out why mortals fail to see how great their souls are, how much of the gods are within them. In truth, there is only one God, the Soul of Paradise. But man lives in a world with many cultures and many belief systems. Greek gods, Roman gods, names matter not. God as the all-consuming force dwells within us, around us.” He stretched and his massive wings expanded over the entire width of the balcony. “But enough of that. Such talk bores me and I do bore easily. Have you no other questions for me? Do you not wish to know the reason why I have come?" She wasn't sure she wanted to know. “You said you came to repay a debt owed to Lexliel." "Yes. But aren't you curious as to what that debt is?" Octavia shook her head. “My former life is over. I have only my son to think about now. Go away. Leave us be.” A sudden fear filled her soul. She had lost the man she loved because of God and his war with Hell. The thought of Lazarus ending up trapped in the same world his father had been bound to frightened her. She wanted nothing to do with her husband's brother. "Unfortunately, fate doesn't work that way. You see, my brother died because of me. My body should have fallen on the Devil's sword and not Lexliel's. But there is nothing I can do about that now,” he said, staring at her. The depth of Montigrael's blue eyes made her feel uneasy and a bit frightened. She'd never seen eyes as vibrant or as glaring. Octavia was certain the angel had the ability to see through to her soul. What would he do to a creature like herself, like Lazarus, a creature now neither dead nor alive? A look of annoyance crossed his brow. “I'm here for one reason and one reason only." "Very well. What is that reason?" "I'm searching for the soul who was born to destroy your son." "Well, search for him elsewhere, for I have neither want nor need of your help. Your presence will only lure my son's destroyer to him" He shook his head. “I can't leave you. In a twist of irony, I've been appointed as Lazarus's guardian. So get used to me, for the road ahead shall be a long one.” He closed his wings. “As for your thoughts on what I would do to a creature such as yourself, I can say only this...” A slice of sarcasm cut through his voice. “I loathe vampyres. If I had my way, you wouldn't exist." The fear of having made a mistake pricked at Octavia's nerves. Maybe bringing Lazarus to the Vampyre angered Fate and made matters worse. Maybe it angered other gods as well. Had she interfered with Destiny's desires? How could a guardian be sent to protect a beast it detested? And what of this debt to her dead husband? An unending stream of questions swarmed her mind. She wondered what role her son would now play in the war between Heaven and Hell. The Dark Breed and the Nephilim were ruled by darkness. Needing a guardian to protect oneself from these creatures was not a good thing. Not a good thing in the least.

Chapter One Connacht, Ireland 1095 It was back again. The terror that had stalked Lazarus in Rome had finally crept its way north to Connacht and invaded his home. The enemy that had terrorized him in the past had allowed him one escape, but only because he was a boy then. Now he had to face this unseen, unknown force, this evil that lurked in the shadows. Agitation settled in his soul. He sensed his enemy everywhere, an icy-cold chill that taunted him at every passing. In truth, he had sensed it for a while now, a little uneasiness here, an odd feeling there. It came and went in such subtle ways the average being would never have noticed. But Lazarus Conlon wasn't your average soul and neither were his kin. He wondered if the others in the Tribe felt it, too. They're denial last night of sensing something wrong disturbed him. As Celts, he knew his kin had great respect for the spoken word and didn't believe in bringing up talk of evil unless vitally necessary. But perhaps now such words needed to be spoken and the Tribe needed to be pressed for their true thoughts. Uneasiness plagued his mind. He thanked God last night had finally come to an end. The sinister entity lingering over Sanctum Hall made him fear for his kin. Lazarus shuddered at the thought. He had hoped that by taking his grandmother's name and moving the Tribe to her native land, he could keep them safe. Apparently, he'd misjudged his foe. Picking up a crooked stick, he toyed with the embers remaining in the hearth from last night's fire. The evening had ended without incident and all tribal business had been settled by dawn, sending all his relatives except his mother, to their crypts in the abbey beneath Sanctum Hall. Now he stood alone in the great hall. Daylight provided him a bit of privacy, safe from the prying eyes of his nocturnal clan. While his grandfather's powers allowed him to walk in the sun they didn't extend to his kin and for once he was glad of it. The dawn to dusk solitude of his life often seemed lonely but at troubled times he welcomed the peace. His kin were a jovial bunch, always ready for good fun and an abundant feast, always consuming more Paradisian wine and fruits than he ever thought possible. But Lazarus never denied his kin such pleasures. He had heard tales of horror, of whole tribes feasting on mortal blood, but no such tale could be told of his family and for that he thanked the Heavens above. A cool draft blew down from the chimney and scattered the still warm ash in the hearth. Thoughts of his unseen enemy returned. He had been with the tribe for almost every passing phase of the moon for centuries. They were supposed to gather to celebrate their unity, their kinship. But their too eager denial of sensing something wrong disturbed him. For the first time in years he felt uneasy being among his own blood—so much so it had pricked at his nerves all evening. They seemed to have watched him like hawks watching their prey. He shook his head and tried to dispel the notion. He didn't want to stir panic among his people until he was certain the uneasiness he felt truly was the terror that had stalked him in Rome. The Tribe consisted of his grandfather's people, his own flesh and blood. They meant well—always watching him, waiting on him, and hanging on his every word. But the constant companionship of the Vampyre was not what Lazarus Conlon craved. He preferred a life of peace, a life separate from that of the night. A life shared with the woman who had stolen his heart. And all that he longed for awaited him in the daylight hours. He welcomed the morning with its bright, life-giving sun, tossed the crooked stick into the embers and ventured out from Sanctum Hall. **** The woods surrounding Lazarus's home came alive in the sun's warm rays and freed his soul from the dark bondage he endured during the night. Leaving his home, he mounted his favorite black stallion and rode out into the woods, into the peaceful morning. A dense forest of mighty oaks, thick pines, and choking shrubbery stretched for miles in the distance. Lazarus felt a sense of serenity here. He took in a deep breath, savoring the fresh smell of spring and the distinct fragrance of roses mixed with fruit. It was her scent, the sweet smell of Neomina Delacroix. She was here in the woods waiting for him and he couldn't have been happier. He remembered the day they first met, the day he agreed to marry her. An ancient pact between the Trackers—the Vampyre hunters—and Romulus had sealed Lazarus's fate. He was destined to marry Neomina, the heir to the Tracker legacy—the woman who would one day take possession of the Amulet of Christ, the ancient relic that had belonged to his grandfather. The union would strengthen the ties between the Trackers and his Tribe, and for that Lazarus would have agreed to anything. Never did he expect to

lose his heart to her. The memory of their first meeting came back to him in vivid recollection. She had stood in her father's apothecary where she mixed fragrant oils and teased him with her potent charm. Neomina had that natural ability to make a man go weak in the knees merely by looking at him, and Lazarus hadn't been immune. He'd fallen in love with her immediately. In an instant, she bewitched him with her spell. And still she bewitched him, even now, standing in the near distance, her fragrant scent of rose and sweet herbs teasing his nose. "Good morning, lord husband. You're late." Lazarus noted the cool tone with which she greeted him. "There was a full moon last night,” he said. “As usual, the Tribe gathered until dawn, and I could not get away." She glared at him. Framing Neomina in its wispy fabric, her thin ivory gown ruffled around her in the morning breeze. With her looking so much like an image in a dream, Lazarus had to pinch himself to make sure his eyes didn't fool him. "And I suppose you took them each by the hand and helped them one by one into their coffins. Vampyres, apparently, need more care than mere mortals such as myself.” A touch of ice capped her words. She had disappointment in her voice. "Neomina, you know I had no choice.” He dismounted from the black stallion and approached her with a swagger. He knew his tight-fitting leather breeches and white tunic did little to conceal his muscular body, and his mock arrogance was his only defense. He was never one to match Neomina's fiery tongue. He was the husband her father had chosen for her, and as such, he always felt the need to try to win Neomina's heart. He watched with pleasure as she eyed him from head to foot and the color of rising passion touched her cheeks. In her present snit, Neomina appeared every bit the flaming temptress. Her long golden hair gleamed with sparks of red and her slender swan-like neck appeared warm for the taking. He drew her into his arms with one swift move. “I missed you, my sweet.” He gave her no chance to respond. His lips ravaged hers with a savage intensity. She tasted of warm, sweet honey and he wondered how he had survived all those years without her. Neomina was full of life, full of the sun's fiery rays. The night afforded him no such satisfaction. This was where his heart belonged. She pulled back but remained within his grasp. Her hands fisted against his chest. A slight twist of pain churned in the depths of his heart. “Is something wrong?" "I want you to bed me in a proper bed, Lazarus. I want you to take me to Sanctum Hall." "I can't,” he said. “The Tribe would never allow such an arrangement.” He lied, solely for her sake. He wanted nothing more than to take her to his home, to present her to his kin and properly make her his wife in the Vampyric tradition. But that could never be. Gerard Delacroix, together with his Tracker allies, had forbidden him to take Neomina to live among the Vampyre. And Lazarus couldn't tell her that or the truth behind Gerard's reasons. He wouldn't tell her that her father wasn't the man she thought him to be. "You accepted the terms of our arranged marriage, Neomina. You knew from the beginning I could not offer you a life among my people." "I accepted only because our union had been prophesied by both Tracker and Vampyric oracles. But in time, I'd hoped you'd grow to love me more than what was asked of you in a decree of words made with my father." He chided himself for being such a righteous fool. Neomina meant the world to him and here he was holding her tight and watching the tears fall from her eyes because he refused to tell her of her father's past, of the Dark Breeder that had once dwelled in the man's body. Gerard betrayed his own kind, and while they wouldn't come hunting him due to their perverse laws, they had the right, according to ancient Vampyric ways, to direct their retribution toward Neomina if ever she'd fall out from under her father's guard while the man still lived.

You don't love me, Lazarus. You don't love me at all. His heart broke. Her thoughts were so far from the truth it pained him to sense them. He reached up and cradled her tear-stained face in his hands. “I do love you, Neomina. I love you more than you'll ever know." "I don't believe you. And I won't until you prove it to me.” She pulled away from him. He let her go. Gerard Delacroix had accepted his word and he wouldn't betray the man. Lazarus knew all about the strengths and weaknesses of the Trackers and the Dark Breeder they'd rehabilitated. For now, Neomina's safety fell to Gerard. She wasn't safe in the world of the Vampyre. At least, not until those whom Gerard betrayed ceased to exist. "I won't come back, Lazarus Conlon. I won't come back until you're ready to make a proper husband of yourself." "Neomina!” he shouted after her, as she spun away from him, mounted her mare and rode off into the woods, but it did him no good. He refused to lose his wife like this, Neomina meant the world to him. He prayed to the ancient gods he'd find a way to defeat his enemy and keep his beloved safe at the same time. If he failed, the consequences would be dire. Death was never a good outcome.

Chapter Two His mind plagued by tormenting thoughts, Lazarus returned to Sanctum Hall. He worried about Neomina, the Tribe, and the terror that stalked them all. If the uneasy feelings that had haunted him last night were to remain—and he had a sense they weren't going to fade anytime soon—he needed to find out what caused them. He entered the great hall and made his way down the length of the chamber. Wooden tables and long benches used last night now rested against the room's far wall. They had been wiped clean and pushed to the side until the next time he would have need of them. A damp chill settled over the area. Lazarus didn't like the cold, empty feeling tugging at his soul. He strolled over to the fireplace and rested his elbow against the mantle. "Perhaps some sleep would do you good, nephew,” a strong voice called out from under the low, rounded archway at the room's entrance. It was Montigrael, his late father's brother. “You cannot stay awake forever." "Not now, Monty. Besides, I couldn't sleep if I wanted to. I have too many things circling about in my head." "I sensed it, too, last night—that odd, chilling sensation. It was almost as if dead spirits watched our every move.” Montigrael straightened his posture after passing through the low doorway and into the dining hall. A pair of tan breeches and a cream tunic accentuated the fine sculptured lines of his angelic body. Of all the Tribe, only Lazarus himself matched Monty's strength. This was a soul to be reckoned with and certainly not a soul to anger. With Montigrael, Lazarus never really knew where he stood and the uncertainty of the matter made him cautious. Lazarus glared at his uncle. “I don't need you telling me about last night. In fact, that's the last thing I need right now.” Just go away. Resentment filled his soul. The fact Montigrael survived instead of his father pained Lazarus. You don't trust me, do you? "I didn't say that." "You didn't have to.” Monty ambled across the room toward the tables. The sound of his footsteps echoed though the great hall in steady thumps. He leaned against one of the tables, faced Lazarus and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I would have thought that after all these years you'd know I was your ally and not your enemy. I guess I was wrong." You killed my father, bastard. He died by the Devil's hand when it should have been you. How can I welcome you into my life? Lazarus looked away from his uncle. He hated the man with every fiber of his being and blamed him for his father's death. "Why do you blame me for your cursed existence? I had nothing to do with bringing you across. I loathe the Vampyre more than I loathe the Devil himself." "I told you, not now, Monty. Not now.” With Neomina's and the Tribe's safety at stake, Lazarus did not have the time to deal with his and Montigrael's strained relationship. "In a situation like this, you have to trust someone. And if you can't trust the Tribe, then you have only me to count on." Lazarus paid his uncle no heed. Neomina and the terror that stalked him were all he could think about. He needed time to himself to reflect. The Tribal vampyres, with the exception of his mother, Octavia, and a few other vigorous souls, slept for the better part of the day in crypts. With most of his people weaker than he, Lazarus welcomed the notion of his kin, tucked away inside ornately carved tombs, lost to the world of dreams. In such a state, none would bother him. Not a single soul to worry about reading his mind, invading his thoughts. Except, of course, for Montigrael. His uncle's angelic powers had to be far greater than any of the

preternatural Vampyric ones found among the Tribe. He eyed Monty with growing suspicion and wondered if, perhaps, after all these years, the angel had reconsidered his role in Lazarus's life. Perhaps he wanted to be free of God's command, free of guarding a vampyre. He couldn't help feeling that the terror that stalked him was somehow connected to his uncle. He shuddered at the thought. "You should try to be more understanding of Neomina,” Monty said. “She thinks you don't love her, and you really have done nothing to show her differently." Lazarus fumed. He really needed to remember to keep his thoughts about Neomina separate from those easily read by his uncle. He absolutely hated Monty giving him advice, especially on this subject. "And what do you know about love and marriage? You're an angel, not a man." Montigrael approached the fireplace. Lazarus could tell by the dark, angry look in Monty's eyes that he was irked beyond all restraints of patience. "I know more about love and loss than you may think,” Monty said, his tone of voice cold and full of rage. “I had a wife and child several years before the notion of your conception even existed. And I fought to keep them with me and to keep them safe. I've made sacrifices you could never make, sacrifices no man can ever make. So don't you dare ever speak to me like that about such a subject again. Or, God or no God, I'll be out of here faster than you can blink an eye and you'll have no one to defend your sorry soul when the time arises." Lazarus stood there, shock reeling through his bones. Montigrael had never spoken to him like this. And the angel definitely had never said a word about having a wife and child. Lazarus held his tongue instead of questioning his uncle. He simply didn't know what to say, or where to begin. The pressure of this unseen enemy hovering about his head was getting the best of him. He really needed to be less cynical. "Forgive me. It's just that—" Monty raised a hand in front of him. “There's no need for apologies,” he said. “The tension is getting to both of us. All I'm saying is that we should work together on this. Two heads are always better than one." Lazarus agreed. He paced back and forth over the gray stone tiles. "I can't tell Neomina the truth. The day we were married her father made me promise to keep his secret. So, for now, she is safe by his side. The Dark Breed would never dare strike out at one of their own even if he did turn on them and now leads the life of a Tracker. He might have betrayed his kind, but Gerard's powers never diminished. If a Dark Breed attacks an equal, one warrior will definitely die and the other will suffer unspeakable agony. They're brutal fighters. But if Gerard dies or ever leaves the Trackers, the Dark Breed will avenge his betrayal by taking Neomina's life. They have their own set of distorted rules.” Lazarus clasped his hands behind his back and continued pacing. “Gerard's wife was a born Tracker. She rehabilitated him, something that had never been done before with a Dark Breeder—and never has it been done since." He stopped in mid-stride. “Neomina thinks she's a full-blooded Tracker. I have no right to tell her otherwise. At least not while her father is alive. I vowed to myself that, should the man ever die, I would tell her the truth. Then she'd have to know, for the Dark Breeder who made Gerard will come for her. I'll have no choice in the matter." "And the entity that stalks you. How do you plan on defeating it?" "Until I know who or what it is, there's little I can do. So, for now, I just have to—" A high-pitched scream descended from the second story of Sanctum Hall, cutting off Lazarus’ words. A knot of fear twisted in the pit of his gut. “That's my mother!" Monty looked up. “Octavia—"

Lazarus ran from the great hall and followed the sound of his mother's scream. Montigrael followed a close step behind.

Chapter Three Lazarus cursed. The set of circular stone steps did little to aid him in his rush upstairs. They were designed to benefit the descending man defending his keep, not the invading soldier ascending them. The sound of his hurried footsteps thundered through the hall and rose up the stairs like the sound of a charging army. Montigrael followed his every step, even closer than his own shadow. At the top landing Lazarus surveyed the long narrow hall, but he saw nothing out of place. Octavia screamed again. Lazarus ran down the corridor and into his mother's private rooms. She stood by the window, her hands clasped to her pale face. He ran past her and leaned out through the opening. Not a trace of anything stirring in the area, not even in the distance. Lazarus leaned back into the room and shut the window. He turned the bolt on the wooden frame, hoping to lock out whatever had frightened his mother. "What was it, Mother?" "I don't know. Something horrible. Its hair was blacker than night and all long and stringy. It had fangs, of that I am sure. But never have I seen such a face. Its eyes were literally burning, spewing flames of fire.” She stood frozen, apparently too scared to move. The deep plum color of her French-styled tunic gown accentuated her alabaster-pale face. Long, pointed sleeves trailed down from her hands, which still clasped her face, to the floor. Her ebony hair fell in long braids to her waist. Montigrael stared at her. “Are you all right, Octavia?" "Yes. I just need to catch my breath." With Lazarus's help, she sat down on her bed. He took her arm and steadied her as she lowered her shaking body to the mattress. "What was it that came to the window?” she asked. "If it flew and was out in the daylight, I'd have to guess it was one of the Dark Breed's more powerful Vampyres,” Lazarus said. "If it flew? Of course, it flew. How else do you think it appeared outside my window?” Octavia said impatiently. “Why should a member of the Dark Breed be hovering around Sanctum Hall?” She eyed her son curiously. “Is there something you are not telling me, Lazarus?" "Why would I keep something from you?" She didn't answer him. Lazarus watched in silence as she shifted her gaze to Montigrael. He was well aware the angel was now under his mother's scrutiny. "I know nothing of the situation, madam,” Montigrael said. Lazarus breathed a sigh of relief and thanked the Heavens for his uncle's diplomatic approach. The thought of Monty's lying, even for the sake of good, unsettled Lazarus's soul. Just the same, he welcomed such a sin for he knew it to be best. Worrying his mother was the last thing Lazarus wanted to do. Byron and Althea, two members of the Tribe, appeared in the bedroom doorway. Dressed in matching black velvet outfits, the two could easily be mistaken for death walking among the living. The sight of them nauseated Lazarus. "We heard a scream,” said Althea. “Has anyone been harmed?" Lazarus glared at them while wondering if they were the souls behind the recent terror stalking him. Of all the Tribe, these two cousins caused him the most grief. Twin brother and sister, they stuck closer to each other than if they'd been joined at the hip at

birth. Inseparable, the two always agreed with each other and always opposed anything and everything the Tribe ever proposed. Bridled anger filled Lazarus's voice. “Why aren't you downstairs in the abbey with the rest of the Tribe?" "We weren't tired.” Althea answered, not giving Byron a second to respond. "I find that a bit odd for nocturnal vampyres,” Lazarus said. “Don't you?" Althea shook her head. “Not really, not when something is amiss. Last night had us all fired up with fear and uneasiness. Who could sleep knowing something sinister lurks nearby?" Lazarus shot her a glare he knew could kill a mere mortal. “Yet when I asked, you denied such troubles. Why?" "We fear speaking whatever it is, into being,” Byron blurted out. “But still, it's quite the rush tapping into such dark, strong energy." "Lazarus?” Octavia turned to her son and a look of confusion settled in her gaze. “What do they mean something sinister? I thought you said there was nothing to keep from me." "It's really quite unnerving, Aunt Octavia,” Althea chimed in. “A rush, just like Byron says. There's been a presence lingering about Sanctum Hall for at least a fortnight now and last night it was very strong, very strong, indeed. We all felt it at the feast." She accentuated the scenario by staring at Octavia. A stark, vivid look of fear glittered in Althea's large brown eyes. “What a pity you couldn't make it. Perhaps next time it will be back and then you'll know exactly what I mean about the rush.” Gesturing to add drama to her words, she fanned her long, skinny fingers in the air. Lazarus cringed at his cousin's reaction. He wanted to kill Althea then and there for blurting out the details of last night's terror. His opinion of Byron didn't fare any better. The dumb sot just stood there, hanging on his sister's every word. Last night his mother had gone to visit Gerard Delacroix. The two had always been on amicable terms and, for once, Lazarus didn't mind their friendship. In the presence of Trackers, she hadn't felt the entity that stalked Sanctum Hall. The thought of now having the additional burden of his mother worrying about him only added to his stress. "Everything will be fine, Mother. You'll see, I promise.” He took her hand, gently placed it between his, and offered Octavia a reassuring smile. "If something stirs, Lazarus, I need to know.” She stared at him. “Why not go to Gerard? The Trackers are as opposed to the Dark Breed as are we. I'm sure he can help you." "No,” he said emphatically. “I can take care of my own people. He has nothing to do with us other than the fact he is my father-inlaw. The relationship ends there. I'd never entertain the notion of asking Delacroix for help. He's not one of us and never will he be." Montigrael raised an eyebrow at him. Lazarus took a deep breath and sighed. Then, realizing his words attested to his own anxiety, he cursed to himself, wishing he could take back everything he'd just said. Highly irritated by the twins’ comments to his mother and now by their apparent unwillingness to leave, Lazarus shot them a cold, hard stare. "Come,” Althea said. “I think it's time we go to our crypts. I suddenly feel a strong urge to sleep.” She pulled Byron by the hand as if he were a child and not a four-hundred-year-old vampyre. Elated to be rid of them, Lazarus let out a deep breath. But his suspicions about the twins didn't die. At present Byron and Althea were his rightful heirs, his mother's brother's children. Should he die, the powers of the Tribe would pass to the twins. With all that had transpired of late, he didn't know whom he could trust and whom he could not. Monty turned the corner of the bed and grabbed the thick wood post draped with heavy fabric. He stood staring down at Octavia

sitting on the edge, a hint of compassion in his piercing blue eyes. “I think I'll spend the day with you, madam. If, of course, you don't mind my company." "No, that would be fine." Lazarus didn't like Monty spending time with his mother, he didn't trust the angel and as of late the two were spending far more time together than he'd prefer. But he had little rule over his mother, especially on issues that concerned her private life. He kept his feelings to himself, and released Octavia's hand. “I have business to attend to. Will I see you at dinner this evening?" "Yes. Tonight I think I shall dine with the Tribe. But before you go, see to it arrangements are made concerning Althea's place at the table. I want her sitting next to me." "Mother...” He paused. Althea sitting next to Octavia at dinner would disrupt his appetite. “I really don't wish to sit anywhere near my dear cousin." "Then you may sit at one of the other tables. You are old enough to dine away from your mother." He pinched the bridge of his nose. Why did everything always have to be so darn complicated? "You do realize that if Althea sits next to you, then so will Byron. Where one goes, so does the other." Octavia took a moment before commenting, “Perhaps you're right. Leave them be. I mean, it is not as if I don't care for them. They are, after all, descended from my dear, departed brother, Cassius." "A wise decision, madam,” said Montigrael. “Even irritable, Lazarus is a far better choice than the twins for companionship at dinner. Now, I shall return in no more than a moment." Lazarus ignored his uncle's comment about his irritated state and headed toward the door. Monty followed him a close step behind. “What do you make of this stalker?" "I'm not sure.” He spoke in a whisper so not to worry his mother. “If the Dark Breed is responsible for the uneasiness stirring Sanctum Hall, perhaps I will seek Gerard's help on the matter. He would know more about these creatures than anyone else with whom I am familiar." "When will you see him? It may not be safe to travel outside just yet. If a member of the Dark Breed walks in the daylight, then he is a very powerful creature. There must be more to his being than just the Vampyre. Perhaps this Dark Breeder was not mortal to begin with." Lazarus pondered his uncle's words, not sure what to make of them. He sensed Monty knew something he didn't, but the angel was a master at keeping his thoughts private. “I will wait until nightfall and then go in search of Delacroix. The woods should be full of Trackers at night since that's when they hunt. I'll be safe then." "And now? Where are you off to?" "My chambers, for some much-needed sleep." Monty eyed him in confusion. “But I thought you said you had business to attend to?" "I do. Private business." Lazarus's thoughts of himself and Neomina locked in an embrace somewhere on the astral plane must have flooded Montigrael's head. He smiled a devil's grin. "Ah, I see. But tell me, how did you master out-of-body projection?"

"Oddly enough, Neomina taught me. Now, before you start reading my other thoughts, I think I should leave. Some things between my wife and me I'd like to keep private." Lazarus left the room and closed the door behind him. As he pulled his hand away from the wrought iron handle, a wave of darkness mixed with the essence of despair touched his mind. His body went cold. No being except for Monty had ever invaded his thoughts without permission. No other creature he'd known had the ability to do what his angelic guardian, and that meant only one of two things. Either his enemy grew stronger or it had the know how to tap in to an angel's powers. And to do so, that entity had to be one with the angel. The ridiculous notion of his foe being linked to Montigrael came flooding back to him. He swore a violent oath and headed down the stairs. He didn't like playing with an unfair enemy.

Chapter Four Heavy velvet drapes covered the windows of Lazarus's bedroom and sealed out every ray of light. The dark, shadowless environment mimicked his mood. Under normal circumstances he'd welcome the sun, but now Lazarus wanted some sleep. His bulky, oversized bed had never seemed more inviting. He strolled across the room and turned down the heavy blankets. Pushing aside thoughts of the day's events, he concentrated on a vision of his lovely wife. On a small table next to his bed sat a jar of flying ointment made especially for him by Neomina. Exhausted, he dropped onto the comfort of his massive four-poster bed. The soft mattress hugged his body and molded to every muscle. He hated to move. Forcing himself to a sitting position, he tugged off his boots, then removed his shirt and breeches. His clothes ended up haphazardly on the floor. It felt good to be free of the confines of his clothing. If he could remove stress in the same manner, he'd be free of all problems. He reached for the flying ointment—the magical, spicy balm that helped induce astral travel—and lathered a thin layer over his entire body. The smell of jasmine, rosemary and sandalwood drifted quickly up to his nostrils and filled him with a sense of the exotic. The fragrance immediately reminded Lazarus of Neomina and her apothecary and how she was always making potions from herbs and oils. The anticipation of going to his wife was almost more than he could bear. He needed to see Neomina even if she did not desire to see him. Leaning back, he placed his head on the pillow and started to drift in and out of a dreamlike state. He focused his attention on a vision of Neomina he always carried in his head—the sight of her in the apothecary on the very first day they met. As he drifted into a semiconscious state, he felt his soul separate from his body's sleeping flesh, with only a long, silver chord keeping the two connected. Soon he was traveling out of the darkened bedroom and into the astral plane. His body hovered over the rolling hills and glided through the dense forest surrounding Sanctum Hall. The crisp, cool air caressed his form and made him feel much like a carefree bird. He floated effortlessly over the grounds of his keep and entered Tracker territory. Delacroix's cottage appeared in the near distance, amid a colorful landscape of herbs and flowers. Lazarus sensed Neomina's presence nearby. In distant fields beyond the tiny home, a group of Trackers gathered for what looked like a general meeting. Lazarus tuned into their conversation with his preternatural hearing and listened closely. The men and women spoke of usual concerns such as who would patrol what parts of Tracker territory. The conversation was of little interest to Lazarus. He tuned them out and concentrated on the cottage, hoping that the meeting would keep Gerard away from his home for at least a short while. After swooping down into the house, Lazarus floated through the small rooms and entered Neomina's bedchamber. She slept, apparently taking a midday rest. Lazarus sensed her agitation even in sleep. A flood of guilt overwhelmed his soul. He hated having aggravated his wife earlier in the day and wanted desperately to calm her nerves and reassure her that she meant everything to him. Without Neomina, life wouldn't be worth living. Lazarus hovered over the bed and stared down at her. His body ached with a sense of urgency. Reaching out his hand, he gently caressed the soft, smooth skin of her cheek. She had the face of an angel and was even more beautiful than Venus. To Lazarus, Neomina was his one and only goddess. He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and make love to her right then and there. But he didn't. He wouldn't disturb her rest. Instead, he slipped into bed and wrapped his arms around her slim waist. The warmth of her slumbering body further ignited his passion and filled him with a burning fire that spread deep within his soul and throughout his entire being. It felt good to be close to her. Secure in his arms, Neomina shifted nearer to him and snuggled against the pulsing energy radiating from his body. She offered the slightest of sighs. The soft moan sent Lazarus reeling into a complete state of heated desire where he lost all sense of composure. His heart raced and his body tensed. He pulled away for a moment and fought to restrain himself for Neomina's sake because he didn't want to wake her suddenly. He delved deep into her mind. Even as she slept, her thoughts were only of him. The realization excited him.

He gently turned her so that, locked in his arms, they embraced face-to-face. Neomina's marble-hard nipples protruded through her shift like tantalizing berries ripe for the taking. He glided a hand over her breast and cupped it gently, lifting its peak to his lips. A slight shock of electric energy passed between them. She moaned a second time and arched her body closer to his. He devoured everything she offered him, as if he had never tasted her sweet, addictive essence. Outside, in one of the other rooms, Lazarus heard voices. He pulled away from Neomina with the greatest of care and allowed her to fall gently back upon her pillow. She continued to sleep. Lazarus rose from the bed, ever so careful to leave his wife undisturbed, and floated to the door, listening intently to two men engaged in conversation. The first voice he recognized as Gerard's, the second as Roderick's, Neomina's uncle and Tracker High Council leader. "I don't know what should be done about this matter, Roderick. I have never had to deal with such a situation on my own before. Percival knows I am well aware of his secret, as is Montigrael, but I believe the angel truly thinks Percival is dead. Besides the two of us, no soul other than Percy himself is familiar with the matter. I've kept my word all these years, never speaking of his survival and now this is how I am repaid. It doesn't seem right, I tell you, not right at all." "Can't Monty help you?" "No,” Gerard said. “His hands are as tied as mine. He knows Percival was brought across centuries ago. If I am not mistaken, the angel never learned of Percy's survival. He believes the Tribe is hunted by the same entity that came for his own family near the end of the Empire—a blood-feasting beast who now lives among the Nephilim." "And what about members of the Tribe? Surely someone among that bunch can help in the matter." Delacroix let out a sigh, and his frustration was evident in his voice as he said, “Monty's tried that already. He'd like nothing better than to get to the bottom of this. He has many close allies among Lazarus's kind, the New Breed, but his nephew is the only one who can help and Montigrael refuses to bring him into the situation for fear he'll meet the same fate as Percy suffered. My son-inlaw knows nothing of the matter and it has to stay that way. Lazarus must never learn Monty's connection to that vile Dark Breeder." "The way I see it then, Brother, you have only two choices. First, you can make a deal with Percival and give him something to sate the hunter's temperament that rages within. I'm sure he's the type of soul that can be bought." Gerard didn't answer, and Lazarus heard the men walking closer to Neomina's room as they traveled down the tiny corridor. He remained behind the door and prayed his presence would go undetected. An onslaught of emotions wracked his senses. His uncle was indeed connected to the dark entity that now stalked the Tribe. The notion upset him beyond belief. "I can't do barter with Percival,” said Gerard finally. “In the past, the vile beast made it very clear the only thing he would ever take from me in exchange for leaving Lazarus's Tribe alone is the Amulet of Christ. And there is no way I can turn over the Nazarene's blood to a leader of the Dark Breed. It is simply impossible. Besides, without the amulet, I will revert to being a Dark Breeder, and as such a creature, the first thing I would instinctively destroy would be Neomina. I'd have no choice but to take her life because my soul would rule my mind, my actions." Roderick let out a deep breath. “Then you have to allow Percival to do it. You must let him hunt the Tribe. You have no other choice in the matter. If I were you, I'd wash my hands of the situation and let what will be, be." "But that, too, would be murder! And what about Neomina?" "As a widow she could easily remarry. It's no secret she is admired by almost every man who walks among the Trackers, she'd find a new suitor immediately. I know we must abide by the sacred prophecies, but having Neomina married to a Vampyric tribal leader would not have been my first choice of husband for my niece. Lazarus I tolerate, but should he perish I'd shed no tears." Lazarus held his breath. The thought of another man holding Neomina caused his heart to jump and a sick feeling to settle in the pit

of his stomach. He'd always known Roderick never cared much for him, but hearing the man's harsh words outright, stung. "It is your daughter or the Tribe, Gerard. I really don't see that as a difficult choice." "I have until midnight to make a decision,” Delacroix said. “The last time we talked, Percival made it clear he will not wait any longer than tonight. And this late hour does not leave me much time to come up with a plan. However, I must think of something. I simply must." Lazarus leaned back against the wall. His energy faded fast as his mind focused on the threat of death and not heated desire. He had to get back to Sanctum Hall. He approached Neomina's bed one last time and peered down at her lovingly. Fear consumed his soul at the realization she wasn't safe anywhere. If Gerard didn't give in to Percival, then Lazarus's enemy would hunt Neomina since, as heir to the Trackers, she would be the next in line as keeper of the Amulet of Christ. And if Gerard did give in, he would revert to being a Dark Breeder and kill his own daughter. He cursed. What should he do? Leave Neomina with Gerard or take her to the Hall? Either way, she'd be in danger. He rubbed his temples and tried to ease his confusion. If he sacrificed the Tribe, it would see to her safety but put an end to his kin. And the Tribe would turn on him in an instant if they sensed he was about to betray them. He was convinced of this. On the other hand, Neomina deserved his every effort. He knew she would give up her life for him even if she wouldn't admit it to his face. He knew her heart, her soul, her thoughts. He decided for the time being, he'd leave his wife in Delacroix's care and plot his defense against the Dark Breeder who stalked him. Perhaps if he abdicated, relinquished his right to rule the Tribe, he'd be able to take Neomina away from the vampyric world that now threatened them. He could pass his powers to his next of kin, but it would be dangerous. He'd have to be cautious in order to retain some of his preternatural abilities. If he gave up everything, he'd be called to the sun and wiped from the face of the Earth. But it was worth the risk because without the Tribe, he'd owe allegiance to no one but Neomina. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers before he vanished, returning to Sanctum Hall. As his astral body settled back into his physical being, two faces flashed before his eyes—one a hideous looking creature, the other Montigrael. He then saw the angel raise a sharp sword with a wood-tipped point and slice through the air. Unable to protest in his present condition, he could do nothing to stop his uncle. Screeching, disembodied voices filled the air as numerous faceless beings hurled wooden stakes toward him. In a flash, the pain of a thousand razor-sharp pikes punctured his heart. He gasped, his breath ragged and coming to an end. Back in his own body, Lazarus sat upright and gripped his chest. The vision confirmed his suspicions, he could trust no one. No one at all.

Chapter Five Raw emotion coursed through Lazarus's soul as he sat amongst the Tribe while they took their dinner. He studied the faces of each and every one of his kin and wondered which relatives seated at his tables sided with Montigrael. The angel hated Vampyres and was responsible for his own brother's death. Betraying a nephew would be just as easy. Because of their strained relationship, had the angel turned to another member of the Tribe to confide in? In his earlier vision several traitors had accompanied Montigrael. If his vision came true, who were those that were about to betray him? he wondered, looking around the room. They looked like such a pitiful bunch. Every one of them. For the first time in his more than six hundred years, he took a good look at the Tribe. They had pale faces, pale skin, and wore the most morbidly styled clothing he had ever seen—dark velvets adorned with heavy, weighted chains made of both silver and gold— even in summer. If an outsider ever happened upon them, the poor soul would fall dead from the shock alone. The idea irritated Lazarus. Since leaving Rome his Tribe had come to care little for man's world and only a very few ever ventured from Sanctum Hall. They knew nothing of the world outside. Then what did the Tribe really amount to? Were they mortal bodies bound to unnatural souls? Or the other way around—mortal souls bound in unnatural casings? Either way, he needed to be rid of them. He needed to find a way to safely transfer his powers while still retaining a certain amount of preternatural abilities so he wouldn't be called to the sun. He contemplated his predicament in silence. Anger filled his every thought and served to bring up yet another problem. He had to find the one soul he thought would be strong enough to lead the Tribe in his absence. His rightful heirs were the twins, Althea and Byron. The idea of leaving the Tribe in their care did little to settle his already agitated nerves. He frowned in annoyance. Once again, Lazarus surveyed the great hall. He saw the room as filled with the bodies of creatures living among the undead and nothing more. There was no family here, he thought, no sense of unity. No, the Tribe was nothing more than what they appeared to be—beasts born of darkness, or mutated, at best. He hated himself and what he was, what he had made the souls of his kin into being. Some of them existed before he was born, but for those who were younger, for those he'd personally brought across, he carried regret. Perhaps Roderick was right and they were better off dead. Let be what will be. Thoughts of betrayal lingered in his mind. He figured Monty would have confided in the prominent members of the Tribe because they were more powerful than the vampyres who favored the ancient ways of the breed. Lazarus's wrath leaned heavily against specific individuals, and his gaze darted across the tables, searching every soul seated in his company. He immediately singled out Althea and Byron. They always caused him grief and never once agreed with him for the better of the Tribe. Well, at least Althea never did. Byron was probably too stupid to know the meaning of the word “betray." He glanced down at the far end of the head table. Octavia sat feasting on Paradisian fruits and berry wine, as did the others. Lazarus couldn't help wondering about her, too. After all, she was the main person responsible for making him a vampyre. He fought the notion. His own mother? No, she couldn't betray him. He felt like a fool thinking such a thing. But Octavia always kept her distance from Monty and now the two were closer than ever. Lazarus searched his head for a logical explanation concerning his mother's behavior, but he came up with none. "You haven't eaten a thing, nephew.” Montigrael lowered his body into the vacant space next to Lazarus on the wood bench. “Why so glum and alone? Join us at the other end of the table. Or perhaps over there with the others.” Monty pointed to the numerous tables at which Lazarus's kin were seated. "I have no appetite tonight, thank you." "So you're back to not trusting the dear old uncle, are you?" "I'd thank you to leave your stupid sense of humor, or whatever you call your attitude, out of my thoughts,” said Lazarus. He had no patience for Montigrael tonight. No patience at all. He still hadn't gotten over the resentment about his father dying instead of

Monty, and after his vision his anger toward the angel only grew greater. "You don't know what you are dealing with here, Lazarus. This is no minor feud among the Tribe or any other trivial concern for that matter.” Monty stared at his nephew. An alarmed look radiated from his deep blue eyes. “The Dark Breed hails from the most evil, most unmerciful source known to all existence. I tell you the truth when I say not even Lucien, the Devil himself, would challenge those souls. You really do not know what you're getting into here." "And what about you? You know everything, don't you? Everything there is to know about this situation. Don't you? Tell me!" Lazarus's voice rose above all the others in the great hall. He stood and pounded his fists hard on the table. The room fell silent as all eyes turned to stare at him. From behind, a Tribe member's strong hand grabbed his shoulder. By the tight grip, Lazarus knew it to be his cousin, Artemis. "Let it go, Lazarus,” said Artemis. “The tension that has mounted here over the past several days is getting to all of us. Just let it go." Lazarus turned his head to see his cousin standing behind him. The older vampyre was one of the strongest among the Tribe. Lazarus gave a shrug and pulled free from Artemis's grasp. “I said tell me, Monty. Tell me what you know." Montigrael didn't answer, but bit into a succulent peach, rose from his seat and sauntered away. Lazarus didn't like being ignored. He turned his wrath on Artemis. “Are you with him, too? Or what about you, and you?” He shouted across the room, pointing to various members of his family. Raging with fury, he stomped down the great hall and stopped in front of where Althea and Byron sat. "And especially you.” He raised his voice to Althea. “I want you out of here, now! And take your lackey, Byron, with you. I don't take kindly to being betrayed especially by a soul I brought across myself." Lazarus stared relentlessly at Althea. He was not willing to back down, even though he realized he was probably overreacting to the entire situation. He felt his eyes transform, becoming like that of a cat. The sudden change caused his vision to shift. The vivid faces and bodies of his kin faded from his sight, replaced by blurs of detected heat. Speechless, Althea glanced back at him, utter fear filling her eyes. In the heat of anger, his Vampyric fangs began to grow. He hissed as his mouth opened, revealing his deadly incisors. “I can easily take back that which I gave. Come, Althea, let me at your neck.” He lunged forward aiming at his cousin's cold flesh. Byron stood in his sister's defense and immediately pushed a hand in Lazarus's face. “Don't ever underestimate me again. I know your thoughts for me are no more than a pittance of pity. But don't you ever belittle me again. And as for my sister, if you take her, then you must take me first, and I promise you, such an act will not be an easy venture." Montigrael pulled Lazarus back. “Do yourself some good, nephew, and leave here. Go see Delacroix. He'll know what to do. You've pushed yourself over the limit. Returning to a civil, human state will not be easy." "I refuse to listen to the words of a man who betrays me as we speak,” Lazarus said. With a show of force, he pulled away from Monty. “The Dark Breed hovers nearby and you know why. I'll never forgive you for turning your back on me, Monty. Never. Not even when I'm fully dead and gone from here." He turned and marched away, leaving Sanctum Hall. **** Lazarus fled to Tracker territory. In his vampyric form, he swooped over the densely forested land and searched for unsuspecting prey to satisfy his deadly hunger. He thought of the wolves his grandfather had given him, but he associated them with the Tribe. At

present, he wanted nothing to do with his kin, but nothing tempting surfaced. Lazarus watched as small animals scurried about in the darkness guided only by the moon's silvery beams. He considered taking perhaps a rabbit or a small dog roaming the land, but the thought of it turned his stomach. He never hunted purely for the kill or for the thrill. No, that wasn't him. He'd survive the pain of the moment. By dawn his hunger would die and he'd feel all the better for not feasting tonight. He saw a small clearing in the distance and glided down for a smooth landing. His vision remained in preternatural mode and made for easy detection of an enemy. However, on this night, no such force seemed to be near. He thanked God for that. Battling against another soul did not appeal to him now. In his present state he stood the chance of doing something reckless and he wasn't about lose his life over a foolish matter. He thought back to the Tribe and his actions against them earlier. Artemis was right. Tensions ran high among them all but they were still his kin and he could never harm them. He shook his head in despair. One moment he hated his kin; the next he loved them. In truth, he hated the thought of losing them. Thoughts of the Tribe brought back the emptiness he'd felt as a child. Despite having been an infant when Lexliel was killed, Lazarus's soul was still infused with a sense of loss at having grown up without a father. Over the years he had developed a good relationship with his Vampyric family, but once terror began to stalk them, the connection with his kin suffered. He didn't want to feel the loss of any more relatives. He leaned back against a tree and slumped down to the cool dewy grass. He had acted like a fool earlier and now the Tribe was left alone without his protection. Guilt added to the pain of having to choose between his kin and Neomina. In the shadows ahead, a single soul emerged. Lazarus stared out to see who approached him. "What brings you here on a night like tonight, my son? Is everything all right at the Hall?" Lazarus eyed the man who now stood before him. Gerard Delacroix wore a long hooded cape that covered him almost entirely. "I don't think you should see me like this, Delacroix. My mood is one most foul and the Vampyre inside has emerged. I'm afraid I am a frightful sight at present. Back at Sanctum Hall I let my worries get the best of me and now I must settle my soul. Please, leave me be. It's for the best." Gerard reached into a bag at his side and took out a Paradisian plum and some peaches. He offered them to Lazarus. “Take these and eat. They help suppress the pain." Lazarus took the pieces of fruit and threw them into the darkened forest. “I said leave me be." "Perhaps you would care to tell me your troubles, son. Maybe I can help." He laughed. “Son? What a lie. Tell me, Delacroix, do you always take to feeding your children to the Dark Breed? I'd really like to know." "What does that mean?" "As if you don't know." Gerard shot him a puzzled look. "The Dark Breeder who has been hovering about Sanctum Hall. Haven't you arranged for me to be his next feast?" Delacroix didn't answer at first. “Do you think this soul to be the same force that caused you to flee Rome when you were but a boy? You've told me very little of that incident, but perhaps now would be a good time to elaborate on it." Lazarus rose to his feet. Delacroix had avoided his question, but he hadn't denied it either.

"I don't know. Perhaps it is the same soul who stalked the Tribe in Rome. It feels the same, but I really cannot be sure. All I know is that a similar terror forced me to move my kin here to Connacht, seeking safety for the Tribe. Among my grandmother's people, her clan of the Trackers, I thought my kin would be free of the terror that hunted us in Rome. Now I see I was wrong. My grandmother's clan is only a small group among your people. Not all hunters, such as Roderick, see my kin in the same light as the Conlon Trackers. We're not safe here, not safe from the Dark Breed or from your kind." "Let me see your face,” said Gerard, obviously dismissing Lazarus's comments. With slow, cautious steps, Lazarus walked out of the shadows. His fangs still hung low extending over his bottom lip and he felt the small droplets of dried blood tugging at the corners of his mouth where he had bitten his own flesh while attempting to keep his wrath in check. Since he still had night vision, he knew his eyes remained fixed like a cat's. Growing up around vampyres, he knew when agitated, his eyes grew speckled like gold marbles with shiny black oblong slits in their center. He hated being seen like this. "I have something that will help you.” Delacroix reached once again into his bag, but this time a bright silver streak flashed from inside, illuminated by the moonlight. Lazarus immediately recognized it. "You're armed,” said Lazarus. “You brought the St. John Stake, the Trackers’ greatest weapon, with you. It's the one object that can kill both the Dark Breed and the New Breed. Were you seeking my soul all along?" "No. Let me exp—" He didn't give Gerard a chance. With a swift swing of his arm, Lazarus pulled the man in close and eyed his neck. “I know your secret, Delacroix,” he whispered. “Remember? You told me about your soul being that of the Dark Breed. One pierce of my teeth and your world fades to darkness." Gerard struggled within Lazarus's clutches. "I came here ... tonight ... to meet with another. I ... I ... didn't even know you ... roamed the area.” He gasped in short breaths as Lazarus's strong, firm hand tightened about his neck. "Don't lie to me." "You should know ... I tell the truth,” said Gerard. “Don't let your anger ... cloud ... your judgment." Lazarus felt the sharp pain as a cold silver-and-wood stake sliced through his flesh barely missing his heart. He let go of Delacroix and glanced down at his ripped, bloodstained tunic. The warm sticky fluid flowing from his wound trickled down his body and sent chills along his spine. His vision returned to normal and his fangs drew back into his mouth. Lazarus fell, crashing, to his knees. "I would never kill you or bring great harm to you in any way,” Gerard said. “I didn't stake your heart, only wounded your flesh. What I just did was for your own benefit. If left to your own devices, you would have surely killed tonight. And I couldn't have allowed that.” He wiped the stake clean and returned it to his bag. “Your body will heal and you'll thank me for this in the morning." He'd thank the man now, for he knew Delacroix was right, but his mind refused to focus. An odd sensation hung over him like a dark shadow and forced all reason from his thoughts. Lazarus fought to concentrate, to speak, but his efforts were in vain. The words simply refused to fall from his mouth. The darkness lingered about his soul. In the distance he saw a shadow blacker than the night emerge from the forest. Trying hard to concentrate, he squinted and blinked, but everything began to fade. First his sight grew blurry, and then it was gone completely. "Delacroix? Delacroix!” He called out, but no one answered. “Delacroix!" Lazarus flung his arms out frantically in front of him and searched, but nothing seemed to be present, not even the forested land. He listened for the animals—the rabbit and the dog. Nothing. The air fell silent. He couldn't detect a single living soul. He heard the snapping sound as a twig cracked under a foot.

"Gerard? Delacroix, is that you? Where are you?" Something hit him on the head. The world faded instantly.

Chapter Six The woods of Tracker Territory fell silent. Percival stared out into the night shadows and gloated over his minor conquest. Even he was a bit surprised by his good aim from this high up. As a child he'd spent countless hours toying with a forked twig and small bow while hanging upside down in the dead trees of the Nephilim forest. Instead of arrows he shot pebbles and rocks with his crude crossbow. Finally, those endless moments amounted to something. He swung over the branch and descended to his feet, discarding the makeshift weapon he'd used to assault Lazarus. The worn item landed on a pile of dried leaves and sent a crunching sound echoing through the night air. For a moment, he hesitated about what to do with the sack of remaining rocks and small stones, but he kept them at his side, tied with a leather cord. Perhaps he'd keep them forever as a remembrance of this night. He smiled to himself. Satisfaction filled his soul as he approached Gerard, who knelt at the unconscious Lazarus's side. He glared down at his fallen foe. “Leave him be." "But he's wounded and needs care,” said Delacroix. “At least let me take him to Sanctum Hall and set him out for his kin to claim." "No." "Why not? What do you have against him?" Percy hesitated. “My dealings with the New Breeder are of no concern of yours." "Bloody hell they're not. He's my son-in-law, therefore they're every concern of mine." "So, he's taken a wife. Interesting, that makes another reason for me to justify my animosity toward him. Thank you for the information, Tracker." Gerard's cold brown eyes pierced the darkness. “If given half the chance,” he said, “I'd drive the stake sitting in my bag right through your heart and be done with you once and for all. But as a former Dark Breeder, my soul prevents me from acting on such desires, so, for your sake, be glad I am a Dark Breeder and cannot turn against you. If I was not, you'd be dead by now." The tone of Gerard's voice sent a warning signal to Percy. He turned away, the desire for a keepsake of his conquest suddenly gone, and he tossed into the woods the remaining rocks he had used to hit Lazarus over the head. He licked at the dirt and wood splinters that covered his hands and fingers, but the scent of oozing blood nearby distracted him. He bent at Gerard's side and ran his thumb over Lazarus's open wound, painting his skin with the shiny crimson liquid. His unconscious foe was a rare breed, and Percy's tongue hungrily played with the warm, red fluid that caressed his finger. Never before had he savored the taste of one of his victims with as much delight as he did now. He rose to his feet. “Why did you call me, Delacroix? You know I hate to be disturbed when I am on the hunt." Gerard stood and met Percy eye to eye. “I want to discuss this business of you stalking the Tribe. Why them? They've done nothing to you." "If I must pay for my father's sins, then so should they. Do you think in God's eyes I am considered any different from them? Of course not. A soul is a soul, be it good or be it evil. Therefore, the price we pay for sins should be equal as well." "But why them and not any other Tribe?" "I suffer because of my father's actions. They survive because of Montigrael." He turned away from Delacroix and peered once more at Lazarus's slumped body. He knelt and grabbed the slumbering vampyre's face. "This is the face I should have had. Flawless, handsome, carved by an artist's hand and touched by the grace of God. But no, I have had to endure a life with this staring back at me day in and day out.” He pointed to his own face as he twisted back to Gerard. “Look at me. Tell me what you see, Delacroix. Tell me exactly what you see."

Gerard stared at him in silence. "Just as I thought. You can't face the truth. You can't find the words to describe my hideous face, can you?” Percival rose. “Well, I can. I have eyes made of red-hot embers, and hair as black as night and as tangled as a spider's web. And I have all this because my father cared nothing for me. Do you know what it is like to be fed to the Dark Breed as a child? Do you, Gerard? No. You crossed over by choice. They say you had greed in your heart and that is why you chose to become a Dark Breeder." He paced the wet grass, circling Delacroix. “I was a boy, a mere child of six years, when the beast came for me,” Percy continued. “And the Devil himself allowed it. Servants carried me to a long, cold marble-topped table. I can still feel the icy touch upon my back. And those teeth...” He paused, frowning in pain as he gasped for a single breath. “I have never felt such agony as in that moment. My young, warm flesh tore at the instant. And then it happened. They said it was an accident how the beast came to turn me into what I am today, but I never believed them. Not for a single moment. "The beast that feasted on my blood was stabbed by an angel's sword, which caused him to wither as he dined. In fury, the Devil gave this soul new life. He sought revenge for the act and turned the beast into an even greater, more evil being. The beast then drank from me with vengeance until he sucked dry my soul, and I was left to die a hideous death. But I fooled them all. I survived by sheer will, despite my severe wounds. I had bite marks all over my body and over time they left me hideously deformed, especially my face. Of course, had I known then that I would end up like this...” He let his words trail into silence. "Your father thought you dead,” said Gerard, obviously pleading on behalf of Montigrael's soul. “As a Dark Breeder, I knew this as fact. He had no knowledge of your survival. I assure you, he did everything to keep you from being taken from him in the first place." "Enough! Percy screamed. “I will not stand by and listen to you make the man out to be a saint. In my eyes, he is anything but. And I didn't come here to discuss my pains. What do you want from me?" Delacroix took a deep breath. “I came to negotiate with you. I know such attempts have failed in the past, but I am willing to try again. I want you to leave the Tribe alone. Name your price." "I have told you in the past that all I desire is the Amulet of Christ. Nothing more." Gerard shook his head. “It can't be done. The Blood of Christ cannot be turned over to a Dark Breeder and you know that. God forbids it." "Then how did you come to claim it?" "After our first argument about you hunting the Tribe in Rome and you left me dying in the woods, a Tracker found me. She saw an essence of light within me. The woman nursed me back from the brink of death and exorcized my soul. Only after that long period of rehabilitation did the amulet come my way. I cannot simply give it up as if it were mere coin. It's not mine to give." "If you cannot grant me the price I demand, then I am afraid I must take the Tribe,” said Percival. “Their blood will sustain me for years to come. I would turn my thoughts from such a conquest only in exchange for the Amulet of Christ. If such a treasure can give back mortality, then surely it can restore my face and body." Lazarus suddenly moaned. "He needs help.” Gerard quickly sank to his knees and withdrew a silver flask from his bag, then leaned over Lazarus's body, lifting his head. "I forbid you to give him any aid,” Percy said. The flask never reached Lazarus's lips. Percival pulled Delacroix to his feet, and burgundy-colored wine splashed to the ground. He grabbed the flask and emptied its remaining contents. The dark liquid flowed like a small stream, twisting and bending about the blades of grass. “I told you before,

leave him be. I hate it when I am ignored and my soul forces me to seek retribution for such acts against me.” He flung the silver flask far into the distance. “Let him die, for all I care." "Have you no conscience? No fear of God?" "No. And to make it clear, I shall prove it to you." Percy grabbed hold of Gerard's neck. He took flight in a single leap and then watched the man kick and swing his feet about. The bag at Delacroix's side fell to the ground beneath them and its contents scattered. "Enjoying the ride, Gerard?" Delacroix simply gasped for air. "What did you say, my friend?” A bit of heated sarcasm laced Percy's voice. “You can't breathe?” He offered no mercy. “Oh, what a pity. But, alas, have no fear, for your death is near. Ha! A rhyme. I couldn't have said that better had I planned it. Now. Are you ready to make a deal, old man? Or have you prayed for absolution on your death? What will it be?" Gerard continued to kick his legs violently and claw at Percival's hand. "I am far too strong for you, Delacroix. I suggest you give up your pitiful fight." They landed at a cliff overlooking the sea. He let go of Delacroix's throat. The man fell to the ground where he crashed his knees on the hard, rugged rock. He coughed incessantly. "Are you prepared to hand over the amulet or die?” He leaned in close until he and Gerard were nearly cheek-to-cheek. “Well, what will it be?" "I can't give you the amulet. I told you, it's not mine to give away. Besides, even if I went against every law of good versus evil and disobeyed my God, I still couldn't relinquish the relic to you, I don't have it on my person." "Then how do you survive?" "I pricked my finger before setting out tonight and placed a droplet of Christ's blood on the wound. The blood replenishes itself on a nightly basis. During the hours I have no need of it, I turn the amulet over to the Trackers. You'll have to defeat them all if you care to claim it, and that, I know, will never happen." "You're a bastard, Delacroix, and for such souls I have no use." He reached out and took hold of Gerard's cape. He dragged the man to the edge of the jagged cliff. From inside his boot, he retrieved a small wooden stake. "Go to your grave knowing that I will indeed feast upon Lazarus's Tribe until every last essence of their souls has been sucked dry, and then I will claim Neomina as my bride." "If you kill me,” said Gerard, “if you go against one of your own kind, you'll be damned even worse than you are now, Percy. I advise you to think this through." "I see you only as a Tracker now, and no longer as a Dark Breeder. And as such, in my mind, no law forbids me to kill you.” Percy drove the stake into Delacroix's heart and flung the man's dying body over the cliff. **** "We found Lazarus,” said Artemis. “He's over here." Montigrael quickly approached. “I never should have allowed him to leave in such anger."

Artemis and Byron hovered close to Lazarus's body. They'd searched for hours for their cousin in the dense woods of Tracker territory and had become alarmed that he might have left for good. A rush of relief filled Monty's soul at finding Lazarus. He studied the still bleeding wound on his nephew's chest. "He's been pierced by the St. John Stake. Gerard must have been here with him." Byron bit into his own wrist and held it to Lazarus's lips. Monty eyed him suspiciously. "What?” Byron asked. “He needs blood. Would you rather I let him die than save him? We are still cousins, Monty, despite our earlier argument." A moan escaped Lazarus's parched lips. He sucked deep, taking all he could get. "The taste of blood satisfies him greater than if a rapture of spirit consumed him,” Byron said. “He hasn't feasted like this in years, nor has any of the Tribe." "That is all,” Artemis said. He pulled Byron's wrist from Lazarus's mouth and replaced it with his own. “He needs more than you can give; more than I can give. We have to get him back to the Hall before sunrise. If not, he will be claimed like his grandfather before him." Montigrael ran a hand over his nephew's torn chest. His angelic powers sent a surge of healing energy straight to Lazarus's wound. “He won't heal in this state. He's lost too much blood.” The angel lightly cauterized the open wound to help Lazarus in his fight to heal himself. A slight sizzle echoed through the darkness as he followed Raphael's teachings. He thanked the heavens the archangel had taught him about the sacred powers of angelic healing. Montigrael had serious concerns for his nephew. “He must feast or die. Is the Tribe willing to go so far?" Byron answered in an irritated tone. “Of course they will. For six hundred years Lazarus has protected us, given us everything he had to offer. The past few days have been difficult for all of us. And forgive me for saying so, but maybe this was a Godsend. Lazarus will see the Tribe would never dream of betraying him now." A slight breeze rustled in the trees and surrounded them. Artemis looked up. “Something stirs, but whatever it is I believe it will remain at bay for the time being. At least that is what I sense.” He lifted an eyebrow at Monty. "I think it best we move him now,” Montigrael said. “If you haven't realized it yet, not a single Tracker has surfaced since we entered their territory and I find that a bit odd. I agree with Artemis that something is not right here." "And we mustn't forget about Gerard,” said Byron. “He has yet to show his face." "Where do you think Delacroix ran off to?” Artemis asked, looking puzzled. Monty rubbed his chin. “I'm not sure. His soul is nowhere near. That, I can assure you.” Truth be known, he feared Gerard was dead, but such news would unsettle the Tribe, and the last thing he wanted was to stir up more panic among them. Artemis shook his head in apparent concern. “Why do you think he left Lazarus like this?" Monty simply didn't know. “I've never known the man to be anything but fond of Lazarus. After all, he allowed him to marry Neomina. And for a Tracker to trust a Vampyre with his own daughter, Gerard had to really care for him. I'm just as puzzled as are you." Artemis reached out and lifted his cousin's body from the blood-soaked earth. He held Lazarus in his arms and said, “Go ahead of me, Byron. Keep a keen watch for anything unusual and signal me if all is clear.” Artemis then turned to Monty. “I'll carry Lazarus to the Hall. Watch my back and see to it that nothing stirs in my path. The patriarch of a Tribe would make for a great prize among

the Dark Breed, and something tells me we are not alone out here tonight. I don't like that one bit." "Have no fear, Artemis,” Montigrael assured his comrades. “I will be right behind you." Byron took flight first, swooping upwards into the night and scanning the forested lands ahead. He sent a bat-like screech pulsing through the night air and gave his cousin the go-ahead to take flight. After hearing the signal, Artemis launched his body forward and up, taking to the wind. He carried Lazarus back to Sanctum Hall and Montigrael followed closely behind him.

Chapter Seven Artemis glanced around the busy abbey room. His body cradled in rich velvets and silks, Lazarus lay in a crypt beneath Sanctum Hall. A dot of holy oil glistened on his forehead. Whispers of an ancient prayer echoed around the chamber as members of the Tribe prayed for his survival and to bind the evil threatening his soul from the sin of feasting on blood from his own kin. His family stood ready to give their blood to ensure his life. If they didn't, he'd be no better than a Dark Breeder, a vile vampyre who sought human blood to survive. The Tribe needed to rehabilitate his soul tonight. A constant “swoosh,” echoed about the underground abbey as a large, shiny censer glided back and forth, disbursing the sweet smell of incense. Blended aromas of frankincense and rose filled the air. Lazarus's kin waited patiently to be called. Dressed in long, deep-purple robes emblazoned with the crest of the wolf, they entered one by one. Once inside, each soul exposed his or her wrists and submerged them into a font of holy water. Steaming vapors rose from the marble basin and cleansed their Vampyric flesh. The Tribe had followed Christ's ritual of baptism by water as a symbolic way to remove sin from their souls, and now they practiced this similar ritual for Lazarus's sake. The procedure of rehabilitating a New Breed patriarch was not an easy task; neither was it a painless one. Lazarus lay in his crypt on the verge of death and waited for the Tribe to restore his strength. Large gold crosses sat at even intervals and lined the underground abbey, which was illuminated by a thousand candles. To Artemis, the room seemed brighter than the sun itself. He squinted and felt a slight twinge of pain in the presence of so many crosses. Like all his kin, his Vampyre soul had been exorcized and freed of the need to drink mortal blood. Because of this, he possessed the ability to withstand the minor discomfort. Artemis approached the crypt where Lazarus lay sleeping, lost to a world of limbo, and prepared to do his part in resurrecting his master. An icy cold hand reached out to grab his arm. Octavia's frozen touch did little to calm his nerves. He turned his head in the other direction as she sank her fangs into his flesh and drew forth a warm, flowing stream of blood. The red liquid that sustained his life force pooled in a brewing cauldron and was mixed with herbs and cursed with magic. The energy produced by this simple act was believed to go out into the elements to mix with the powers that be. Artemis turned away from Octavia. Behind him filed a line of his kin, each waiting to do the same as he had done. Montigrael stood at the head of the stone tomb, guarding Lazarus. He unfurled massive wings until they touched the edges of his nephew's resting place. His mind remained unsettled from the night before. Artemis paced up to him and leaned over the opened sarcophagus. “Do you think he will return to us, Monty? Or do you think death will claim him before we can give him back his strength?" "I cannot say. Lazarus has endured a lot in his years, but never a blood loss like this. Let us pray he is strong enough to survive." "If he does not,” said Artemis, “the Tribe will be in great danger. We will be weak from the bloodletting, and the Dark Breed can then easily storm Sanctum Hall and take us without a fight." Monty shook his head. “I would never allow such an event to occur. I may not be kin to you, Artemis, but, outside of Lazarus, I am all that remains of his Paradisian bloodline. For that ancestral connection, I must protect him and all that is his. Therefore, I protect the Tribe." Artemis apparently found comfort in the angel's words, for he smiled. “To me you are the same as kin, Montigrael. I can never repay you for your constant guarding of the Tribe." Carrying a steaming chalice of frothing broth, Byron walked up to the crypt. He approached Montigrael and handed him the cup. "Octavia says the deed must be done by you. She believes Lazarus will refuse our blood and this brew, and only your angelic powers will be forceful enough to stifle his fit. The essence of Paradise lingers in your soul, Montigrael. Hell has no power over you like it does Lazarus. He is of this earth, the Devil's playground."

Monty took the chalice, thereby accepting the task proposed to him. He nodded to Artemis. “I will lift Lazarus up and then you must hold him there." Montigrael placed the cup's gold rim on his nephew's lips. The warm burgundy-colored brew, mixed with a variety of herbs, smelled sweet. Slowly he tilted the chalice forward. Its contents flowed freely into Lazarus’ mouth and he drank the fluid in large, loud gulps. The members of the Tribe watched in silence, holding their breaths as they waited to see their patriarch's reaction to the liferestoring brew. A fit of anger overcame Lazarus. He thrashed his hands out in front of him and cursed in the language of Hell. His voice was gruff, tainted with the evil of a damned soul. His eyes rolled back into his head. Hell made its greatest attempt at bringing Lazarus to his death in order to claim his soul as one of its own. In obvious torment, Lazarus clutched at the chalice and tried to force it away from his mouth, but Montigrael held the cup steady and continued to flood his nephew's soul with the essence of life. The fight went on for what seemed like hours. Cupful after cupful, Montigrael fed Lazarus the never-ending contents of the Tribe's gold chalice. Each drink went down alternately with a glass of Paradisian wine. The challenge of saving Lazarus from death proved to be a task more difficult than originally thought, but Monty did not relent. By dawn, the deed had been completed. Lazarus lay in his crypt, his body still and quiet, but at least he was far from the realm of death. **** The Tribe members settled into their own crypts and left their patriarch to his uncle's care. With the help of Artemis, Montigrael carried Lazarus upstairs to a private bedchamber. "Are you sure he will be better off here than in the abbey?" "Yes,” said Monty. Artemis pressed the issue. “But what about the sun? Shouldn't Lazarus remain underground at least for a day or so? His body is still weak. In this state, he will have an aversion to the sun and all else that threatens the common Vampyre." "No. He needs to fight all his fears and meet all his challenges immediately. If not, he will never overcome them. He is a patriarch of the New Breed. He cannot simply give up, as would an ordinary Vampyre. No patriarch can. Lazarus must face the sun and challenge it along with many other obstacles. Now go. I can tend to things from here. I will watch over Lazarus and see to it that Hell refrains from touching his soul again. He is still in a very vulnerable position." Artemis pushed aside the bed drapes as Montigrael lowered Lazarus's body to the mattress. “If you have need of my help, I'll be in my crypt.” He then dropped his hand from the drapes and left the room. Montigrael stared at his nephew. There was much work left to do if Lazarus was to resume his rightful place among the Tribe. He wondered if Lazarus was strong enough to overcome the obstacles that threatened the Vampyre within him. The act of bringing his kin across was a transgression allowed by God, and thus Lazarus's rehabilitation had never been severe in the past. But this time, to save his own life, Lazarus had to feast on the blood of the Tribe. Montigrael wondered how God would look upon such an act. He prayed his nephew would survive. He went first to the drapes. When he pulled, the heavy velvet panels sprang open and flooded the room with the morning's first rays of light. Lazarus moaned and sucked in a deep, harsh breath, as if he had never lived before. The Vampyre inside was finally returning from limbo. Monty kept his distance from the bed and said, “You must do this alone, Lazarus. You must rebuild your strength by facing and conquering the weaknesses of the Vampyre."

Lazarus reached out his hand from behind the thin veil of ivory silk shadowing the bed. “Bring me blood, angel,” he said in a tone sounding more like a wild animal's growl than a mortal's voice. “Be it human or beast, the difference means nothing to me." Monty remained at a distant, undisturbed by his nephew's plea. He eyed the window and forced it open by mere thought. Cool, crisp air drifted inside. Lazarus let out a cry. His voice grew raspy and unsteady. “The pain ... I can feel a burning pain scorching my soul, Monty. If you won't bring me a human, then bring me a wolf." "No. Now that your senses are returning, you must begin your fight." "To hell with this fight, I need the wolves’ blood to ease the pain. I keep them penned on a tract of land to the north of Sanctum Hall. Get one and bring it to me." "No, I cannot do what you ask of me,” said Montigrael. “According to the ordinances of good and evil, when a patriarch has feasted on the blood of his entire Tribe, the wolves are off-limits. You know the rules, Lazarus. Your weakness is only the Devil trying to tempt you." "But I will not take the wolf's life, only a small taste of its blood. They are kept specifically for a moment like this one." "I said, no." Lazarus squinted, agony apparent in the pained look marring his face. “But you always allow me a wolf when I am in need of being rehabilitated. I have suffered this fate each time a member of my family is made Vampyre. How does the present differ from the past?” He dug his fingers into his arms and bit down on his lips. Again using thought, Montigrael forced the bed to move to the center of the room. The sound of wood scratching against wood echoed about the chamber and heavy marks appeared on the floor. He marched continuously around the bed and paced away the energy building inside him. He hated being at odds with the Devil but knew full well the leader of Hell's kingdom still tempted Lazarus. Treading the room allowed him to release his anger without antagonizing God's most fallen son. "If you are to resume your duties as Patriarch of this Tribe, you must face your challenges with only your inner strength. Your kin have given you back the essence of life and now you must fill it with substance. You must regain the strength you lost when you were staked." "And should I desire to fill this renewed life with that which comes from outside my soul? Such as with sin?" Monty stopped at the side of Lazarus's bed. He peered through the thin silk and met his nephew's blood-red eyes. "Then you would be no better than those of the Dark Breed. You will continue to feed off living things and your powers will pass to the kin next in line. Under normal circumstances, I would bring you a wolf. But after we had to restore almost all your blood, feasting on a wolf would only doom your soul and slowly destroy your powers. The act would reverse your rehabilitation." Lazarus seemed to think about Monty's words. In silence he lay in bed and pursed his lips as if wondering who would be next in line for patriarch of the Tribe. A few moments passed before he spoke. “Artemis would be my choice should I ever die, but I know it doesn't work that way, by my own picking. Patriarchs or matriarchs must be of direct descent from our original forefathers. Artemis is my mother's cousin. I brought him across after a thief who invaded his home in Rome murdered his wife and children.” He went back to being silent. "I see you're coming to your senses, nephew. This is a good thing. Think about the Tribe and your next of kin. I urge you to think deeply about the matter." Lazarus let out a low growl. “I hate them,” he said in a voice not his own. Montigrael recognized the familiar voice on the instant—God's most fallen son. Out of nowhere, a glowing sword appeared in his hand. “Leave him be, brother. I have no time to play with the Devil."

"I want to give up leading the Tribe,” Lazarus continued, his mind and body occupied by Hell's ruling angel. “I want to be rid of them." Monty probed Lazarus's mind. “Remember who will inherit the Tribe and your powers, Lazarus. I beg you to recall the line of succession.” He pushed away the devil's temptation and cleared his nephew's thoughts. Lazarus considered the dilemma. Most, but not all, of his kin were descended from Octavia's brothers and sisters. He thought back to the order in which his mother's siblings had been born. After his mother came Cassius and then there was ... The realization hit him hard and fast. Cassius. The Tribe would fall to Byron and Althea unless Lazarus had a child of his own. "I need an heir of my own blood,” said Lazarus. "Yes, you do. And you have the means to sire an heir." Lazarus let out a deep sigh and relaxed his fingers from clawing at his flesh. “I can't leave Neomina. She means the world to me. I ... have to save her. Keep her ... from harm." Monty took a step closer to the bed. “That's right, Lazarus. Think of Neomina and what she means to you. Think of what you have with her." "She is my salvation, the light in my dark world. Neomina...” His thoughts echoed on his lips. "Do you still wish me to fetch a wolf, nephew?" "No. In my present state I had forgotten who my heirs were. The Tribe would never sustain itself left to the twins. They simply do not have the type of souls meant to lead my grandfather's kin. Besides, if I drink from the wolves now, I will never be able to see my wife again. I'd be too much of a threat to her and I would never dream of putting her through such agony." "Then I advise you to heal thyself, Lazarus. Rise above the challenges and above the pain." "Stay with me, Montigrael." "I shall be here until you fight the last of your demons and you have conquered the sun and the hunger and the devil's temptations. And until you realize you are the only soul strong enough to be patriarch of the Tribe." Lazarus reached a hand out from behind the bed drapes. He clutched the open air and grunted. “I am ... the only soul ... strong enough to lead my kin." "Never let temptation make you think otherwise, nephew." "Something is wrong. I can sense it." "It's your body going through the stages of rehabilitation. Your soul will feel many things in the coming hours." "No,” said Lazarus. “This is different. The sensation comes from outside ... from my wife." Monty unfurled his wings and touched the tips to Lazarus's balled hand. He closed his eyes. For the love of heaven, please don't let it be what I see. Lazarus roared in anger. “It is Delacroix. Neomina ... I feel her pain." And Monty did too.

Chapter Eight At dawn, they brought Neomina to her father. The agony of knowing what she had feared the night before had become truth cut through her heart like a sharp dagger. A band of Trackers, led by Gerard's brother-in-law, Roderick, accompanied her down the cliff to where her father lay dying. They descended in silence, every one of them pained by the inevitable. Death was an entity none of them could fight. A cold, damp chill tainted the air carrying the sea's scent to her nostrils. She could also smell the essence of death hovering over her father's soul. Pain filled Neomina's heart when she saw him below, twisted and broken on the sandy shore. Flashes of the past came back to haunt her. She remembered the day her mother had died. Drained of life, her body had been found on the edge of Tracker territory. A Dark Breeder had killed her in a vicious, cruel manner by turning her first into his slave, then into his creation, and finally sucking her dry of every last spark of life. She'd died in agony, and they never learned the name of her murderer or the reason for his kill. On the beach, she rushed to her father's side. She threw open her arms and cradled his broken body, weeping uncontrollably. Neomina hadn't remembered what it was like to feel such pain, such torment and such loss. After her mother's death, she had fought desperately to push the ache from her heart and hide the pain so deep it no longer stirred her emotions. Now it all came back, every twinge of grief, sorrow, and despair. Agony flooded her soul. She saw the wound inflicted on her father's chest and knew he'd been staked. The realization caught her by surprise. "Why would someone do this to you, Father? Who would kill a man in such a vile manner?" "Go ... to Monty ... tell him ... Percival lives,” Gerard whispered to her in a harsh, broken voice. “And ... Lazarus ... Lazarus needs you. Do not stray from his shadow, Neomina. Go to Lazarus." She wanted to tell him Lazarus wouldn't allow her to live among the Tribe. She wanted to tell him her husband cared more for the Vampyre than he did her, but it was too late. She felt death coming nearer. The prickly sensation caused the hair at the nape of her neck to stand on end. An entity not of man's world surrounded Gerard, and she sensed its presence. "Promise me, Neomina. Promise me you'll go to Lazarus.” Gerard pressed a folded note into his daughter's hand. “Take this to Lazarus. Promise me..." Tears flooded her eyes. “I promise." Her voice trailed to silence as her father's body fell limp in her arms. Roderick pulled her back gently. "Turn away, Neomina,” her uncle said. “Let your father's soul leave in peace so he may now finally know rest. If he sees you weeping so, Gerard will not want to leave this existence. He does not deserve to linger in man's world. He has earned his redemption, his right to eternal peace. Besides, there are things of which you know nothing, and now is not the proper time for me to discuss them with you." She didn't understand Roderick's words. Her father had been staked and she wanted to know why. Only Vampyres were killed in such a manner, not men, and her father was mortal. An odd thought struck her. Slowly, she studied the Trackers that surrounded her. She was one with them. She sensed it in her soul, but her father had always been different. She had heard whispered rumors since she was a child, rumors that stated Gerard was of a different breed than the Trackers, but she never wanted to believe them. Now she began to think that perhaps the rumors were true, perhaps her father was not the mortal she thought him to be. But, if not, what exactly was he? She simply didn't know. Trackers led her off the beach away from Delacroix. When she glanced back, a silver streak flashed in the sun's bright rays. "Those Trackers have the St. John Stake, the weapon used mainly against the Dark Breed. Why are they staking my father's heart?” She cried out in anguish. “My father is a mortal. What are they doing to him? God, no!"

She struggled against the tight grip of those accompanying her away from the shore. “Let go of me. I want to see what they are doing to him. Let me go!” she shouted. "No,” said Roderick. “There are things you know nothing of, Neomina. And now is not the proper time for me to discuss them with you. As your mother's brother, I tell you this. My own father welcomed Gerard among the Trackers as if he had always been one of us, as if he had always been mortal. My father welcomed him as an adopted son. I favored Delacroix as if he were my own brother and that is how I shall always remember him. Now, let your father have some peace." She broke down, falling hard to her knees on the wet, sticky sand, lost to the pain of grief. She told no one about the note folded in her palm. Even if Lazarus didn't want to be the proper husband her father had expected him to be, she would have to find a way to force him into being that man now. She refused to break her promise to her dead father. One way or another, she'd make Lazarus come around, and when she succeeded, she'd avenge her parents’ deaths. No beast was going to get away with murdering both her mother and father. No beast had seen the likes of the being that now brewed within her soul.

Chapter Nine As Roderick had instructed her after they returned from claiming her father's body, Neomina waited three days before venturing to Sanctum Hall, enough time for Gerard's soul to ascend to Paradise. As a born Tracker, she followed her people's customs, and in their belief system, it took three days for a soul to ascend to Heaven. She wanted desperately to call out to Lazarus, but knew better than to blemish her family's customs. A Tracker funeral was no place for a New Breed Vampyre's presence. Her father deserved her respect, despite the origins of his being. The Trackers had laid Gerard's body to rest in a private ceremony, attended only by Roderick, members of the Tracker Council, and herself. Neomina's uncle wanted it that way, and at the time, she felt too grief ridden to argue with the man. Like Gerard and her late mother, Roderick was a member of the council, an elite group of Trackers who knew the Vampyre better than they knew themselves. Trackers were born to hunt night creatures and each one of them did so based on natural instinct. Neomina had seen little reason to dispute her uncle's decision for the private ceremony. However, the more she thought about it now, the more her soul seemed unwilling to let it rest. She didn't like the fact her father had been staked . She didn't like the fact that she now began to wonder if the rumors of her father being Vampyre were true. And considering how the Trackers used the St. John Stake on him, she feared he might have been of the Dark Breed. The realization disturbed her. From what she knew of the vile creatures, the Dark Breed legacy passed on to their offspring only after the parent carrier was deceased. She wondered what awaited her future. Neomina simply didn't like not knowing. Disturbed by her father's death and the circumstances surrounding his burial, she fled the cottage. Under the cover of midnight, she made her way to Sanctum Hall. Her heart raced with fear, but she ignored the stirring sensation. She didn't want any of the Trackers to know what she was up to, and she certainly didn't want them to follow her. Putting her hesitation to rest, Neomina continued her trek through Vampyre territory. She entered the massive stone keep by way of a secret passage leading to an underground abbey. Inside, a haunting chill wrapped around Neomina's goose bump-covered flesh and caressed every nerve in her body. Her sense of awareness had never seemed as heightened as it was at present. She felt the Vampyre everywhere—in the shadows, in the light— even within her own soul. The strange consciousness unsettled her. They slept. The sudden realization struck her oddly. Many members of the Tribe preferred the old ways of the Vampyre and chose to sleep in crypts as opposed to beds, as did Lazarus. But surely they would be awake at this late hour. Why did the Tribe remain in their crypts now? To her knowledge, the Vampyre lived for the night, even those of the New Breed who could exist in the daylight, but thrived in the hours of darkness. Lazarus had never spoken of his kin resting after sunset. The strange sensations stirring in the air disturbed her. Unsettled, Neomina scurried past the stone sarcophagi lining the ancient abbey. Her feet barely touched the floor in her haste. She felt her heart racing at twice its normal rate as an unknown fear overwhelmed her and shadowed her every move. In a rush Neomina made her way through the underground chapel. The long, wispy fabric of her thin, silk gown flowed freely behind her. Stalking the tombs, she moved silently about the chamber and searched for the entrance to the main part of the keep. She wanted out of the abbey as quickly as possible. She darted between the aisles of sleeping souls and searched for the shortest escape route. Gerard had once told her about the secret entrance to Sanctum Hall so she could go to Lazarus should the Trackers ever engage in an all-out war with the Dark Breed. But Neomina hated using this entrance. It frightened her. But Lazarus was emphatic about not allowing her into his estate, and tonight she couldn't take the chance of being turned away at the gates. Salvation appeared at the end of the chapel. A large wood plank door separating the keep from the underground chamber beckoned her. She ran up the small set of stone steps leading to the exit and fiddled with a bolt. The wooden barrier was secured on both sides. Neomina unlocked her side of the door and slid the iron peg out from its bed. She bent down, lifted up the hem of her gown, and retrieved a small dagger strapped to her thigh. The weapon was just slim enough to fit through a crack under the door's outer lock. Working it furiously, Neomina unbolted the other side by moving the iron peg sideways and freed herself from the abbey.

She quickly passed through the doorway and, with her hands trembling with fear, slid the latch back into place, a sense of panic filling her soul. Looking around the keep, she realized Sanctum Hall had an eerie air to it—all quiet and vacant; nothing like the warm, welcoming cottage she was accustomed to. In fear, she considered not returning the dagger to the scabbard strapped to her thigh, but then she pushed the foolish notion from her head. This was her husband's home and she had every right to be here. At least, she would try to convince herself of that. Neomina felt her breath growing ragged, fueled by tension, anxiety, and fear. She wanted desperately to calm herself and take a moment to gather her senses. She needed to get to Lazarus and give him her father's note before Roderick realized where she had gone. She recalled the urgency in Gerard's voice and wondered what had troubled him so. Her father's dying words pressed at her soul. In hopes of finding Lazarus, she took off down the main hall. He hadn't come to her in four days and that worried her. Lazarus never stayed away from her. Sanctum Hall seemed to be an endless puzzle of rooms and corridors, all leading to and from the central great hall. Neomina couldn't remember the last time she had felt so frustrated. She needed to find Lazarus and she needed to do so before she lost her nerve. She wasn't used to being among the Vampyre, and the notion of being alone among them now unsettled her. Her heart stopped as a click echoed through the great hall. Neomina froze. She knew instinctively that the sound was that of a lock snapping open. Seeing no place to hide, she waited in fear in the center of the room. A door on one side of the fireplace slowly creaked open. Still, she waited. However, to Neomina's surprise, no one entered the hall. She approached the door with caution and stepped ever so softly across the threshold. A spiraling stone staircase led upstairs to the next level of the keep. Neomina craned her neck around the corner to see if friend or foe lingered in the shadows, but no one came forth. She took a step forward into the narrow corridor. Fearing something would come up behind her as she ascended the stairs, she shut the door behind her. In the dimly lit hall, her shaking fingers searched for the door's lock and secured it. Above her, two torches sat perched on the wall, one to be taken and one to remain in place. She reached up and pulled one from its metal hook. Ascending the stairs, Neomina went round and round, following the stone path leading to the next floor. Near the top, she heard the torch down below go out. The thought of someone following her frightened her to the core. A voice called to her from the semi-darkened stairway. Neomina. She recognized Lazarus's sensual, velvet-edged voice that now called to her thoughts. Neomina. Come to me. Raw emotion and a sense of urgency filled his tone, and Neomina ran through the upper corridor, searching for a door. But all that appeared were walls of stone. She let out a cry of anguish as Lazarus's voice grew louder. Feel my heart. The repeated beat of a pumping heart echoed through her ears. She closed her eyes and felt his presence nearby. Breathe with me, as you are my breath. Feel me, as you are my touch. A warm caress cocooned her body. She felt Lazarus's invisible hands roaming over her in a wild, savage manner. She instantly fell victim to his touch. As she quivered in pleasure, she felt her feet rise above the floor. The wind would carry her to him. The hidden stone door to Lazarus's bedchamber opened. She crossed the threshold, floated toward the bed, and made her way past the thin veils of silk draping the huge four-poster. Behind them lay Lazarus, sleeping. His large, muscular body lay under the thinnest of sheets. Neomina rested gently beside him and glided her hand down the length of the fabric, the single obstacle standing between them.

In one swift movement, Lazarus had her pinned beneath him, his naked body exposed above her. “What in God's name?" "I needed to speak with you." He backed off. “You'll be the death of me yet, wife." Neomina straightened her gown. “But you called me. I heard you, felt you...” Her cheeks flushed with the heat of passion. "I always call you, Neomina. Not a night goes by, or a day, for that matter, that I don't think of you in my sleep." She reached out a finger and lightly traced the scar on his chest. “You're scarred. What happened? Where have you been?" He turned on his side and rested on his elbow. “It is a long story. One I don't think you would really care to hear. Besides, I'm not in the mood to talk about it." "But I want to know what happened to you. You see, my father—” She fell silent, and suddenly tears began flowing down her cheeks. “My father is dead." A pained look crossed Lazarus's face. “How?" "He was staked. Roderick refuses to give me details, but I know in my heart the same beast who murdered my father is responsible for my mother's death as well.” She kept out the part that her father may have once been a Dark Breed Vampyre for fear of Lazarus's reaction at learning he was married to a creature far darker than himself. "In the name of the gods, Neomina, I am so sorry. I sensed something wrong several nights ago, but in my weakened state I had no way of deciphering truth from a figment of my imagination." "I wondered why you hadn't come. I thought perhaps your absence was due to your respect for my people's traditions." He raised a hand to her cheek and cradled her face, sending a warm tingle through her body. “I'd never do anything to shame you, Neomina,” Lazarus said. “And I'd certainly never disrespect your father's ways. But had I known and not been in such an ill state, I would have been there for you." "I know." "If I could take away your pain, I would do so without hesitation.” Lazarus reached out and wrapped his strong arms about her body, pulling her close. It felt good to be held like this again. She wondered how she had survived after riding away from him in the woods the other day, angered and annoyed with him. She now vowed to never turn away from him again. **** The scent of fruit and roses filled Lazarus's nostrils, stirring his blood. He wanted Neomina more than anything right now. To hold her, take her, and make her the wife she was meant to be. But Lazarus held back. He sensed the pain in her heart and he could never be so callous with her. She lifted her head and sobbed. “I found him by the sea, fallen from a cliff. He told me to go to you and to get Monty. Those were his last words.” She pulled away from him. Wiping the tears from her face, Neomina lifted her gown and pulled out her dagger. She placed it on the bed next to Lazarus and searched deep in the scabbard to retrieve a folded note, then handed it to him. "My father gave me this just before he died. No one knows about it. I didn't tell any of the other Trackers. He said it was meant for you." Lazarus took the note and unfolded the creased parchment. Scribbled words, written in black ink, stained the paper's yellowed

fibers. He read the note, which puzzled his mind. The St. John Stake rests in my heart, making the Amulet of Christ your destiny. Tell Montigrael that Percival lives. He didn't understand. The St. John Stake and Amulet of Christ were ancient relics cared for by the Trackers. And why would Delacroix say the Amulet of Christ was his destiny? He took a deep breath and tried to make sense of the situation, but time afforded him little benefit. The icy-cold burn of a stake seared his heart as he remembered the night he was wounded. In agony, Lazarus felt the hands of Hell tempt him once more, but he chose to ignore the pain and instead concentrate on his family's legacy. His own grandfather had once cared for the St. John Stake and the Amulet of Christ before leaving for a life of isolation during the days of the Roman Empire. Lazarus knew little else of the relics’ history. He folded the note and placed it on the table next to his bed. "Neomina, I don't know what to say. Your father and I were never close, but we respected each other. The Trackers suffer a great loss with his death, as does the Tribe." She peered up at him and her longing eyes filled with a deep sense of urgency. “Say you will help me find my father's killer. I believe him to be a soul who walks among the Dark Breed.” She paused and reached out, touching Lazarus's chest and circling his scar with her fingers. “Say you will do this for me. Please." "Of course. But what makes you think the killer is a Dark Breeder?" "Trackers never betray their own kind, so it's simply not possible,” she said. “The only enemies my father would have had would be among the Vampyre. And I surely do not believe any member of the Tribe would have done such a thing. That leaves only the Dark Breed." But the Dark Breed were also forbidden from killing their own kin, thought Lazarus, however he couldn't mention Gerard's former affliction to Neomina. His thoughts wandered back to the night he'd roamed through Tracker territory, meeting his father-in-law. Gerard had told him he was there to meet another soul but had never revealed a name. If only Lazarus knew who else had been in the forest that night, he'd know the name of Gerard's murderer. Neomina eyed him with a cautious stare. “Tell me your story, Lazarus. How were you wounded?" "I had an argument with Montigrael and members of the Tribe. In anger, I pushed myself too far. The Vampyre surfaced, Neomina, something that has not happened for many years.” He paused and looked down at her. He thanked God she hadn't seen him in that state. "I left Sanctum Hall to wander through the woods. The Tribe wouldn't have been safe if I had stayed. Your father found me and used the St. John Stake to quiet the Vampyre raging within me.” He hated having to tell her such things. The look in her eyes was obviously painful. "Please,” he said, “don't blame me for your father's death. If I had known Gerard was in trouble, I would have defended him without a second thought. I'd never have allowed any harm to come to him." How did you survive? He heard Neomina's thought before she spoke. "Someone hit me on the head and left me to bleed to death. I fell unconscious and, therefore, could not heal myself. I did not know I was losing so much blood. Monty, Artemis, and Byron came searching in the woods for me. They brought me back here, but they never saw your father. Whoever left me to die must have killed him." Neomina sat back on the bed. Her long blond hair flowed freely over her shoulders and back. She stared at Lazarus as if not sure what to make of his story. He read her mind. Realizing the dangerous threat of the Vampyre that lurked in his soul, she now feared him and that hurt. He'd find Gerard's killer if it was the last thing he'd ever do and prove to Neomina she meant more to him than anything in the world and that she had no need to fear him. Ever.

"Perhaps you should rest,” he said. “I can have Montigrael prepare your rooms for you. He should be with the Tribe now. They have been sleeping since the bloodletting that gave me back my life force." At Neomina's puzzled look, he explained, “I had to feed on their blood to keep from dying. To a mortal, I am sure the idea of feasting on the blood of one's own kin sounds not only bizarre but morbid. However, I assure you it is rarely done in such a manner, and that it is simply our way if the need arises. If this frightens you, I will accept your leaving me." "No. I want to stay right here. I want to be with you, Lazarus." His heart jumped. Did she really mean what she said? He searched her face and gazed into her eyes, into her soul. Was she afraid of him? He sensed she feared Sanctum Hall, but of him he wasn't sure. He knew she had nothing but good thoughts of him in her sleep, but in a conscious state she feared the Vampyre that ruled his soul. Lazarus read her mind again. Neomina feared what her father had seen that night in him and that was more than he could bear. "The bed is all yours.” Lazarus rose and crossed the room. He sensed Neomina's surprise at his action, but refrained from reading her thoughts. He pulled on a pair of breeches left folded over a chair and sat down in the bulky, throne-like seat that had once belonged to his grandfather. The chair offered him a good vantage point from which to keep watch over Neomina. With her father now gone, she had only him to protect her. Suddenly, a dull pain swept through his body. He still ached from his soul's recent battle with Hell that had ravaged him. But he ignored the pain, leaned back in the chair, and stared across the room. His eyes focused on Neomina only to find her fast asleep.

Chapter Ten The Tribe beckoned Lazarus as they rose from their cold stone tombs after three nights’ journey into Hell. Their act of restoring his strength had made the Tribe weak, and they had to suffer for three days and three nights by crawling into their crypts and settling into an existence of limbo, or Hell as the Vampyre called it. He didn't want to go, to leave Neomina alone sleeping in the upper chamber. But his body could not resist the call of the Vampyre. Lazarus rose from his chair and summoned Montigrael by thought. In the far corner of the room, the angel materialized, wings unfurled, emerging from the shadows. He eyed the bed, then shifted his gaze across the chamber. A look of surprise veiled his face. In a low voice he said, “I was unaware you had company, nephew.” He handed Lazarus a suit of clean clothes and a pair of soft leather boots he'd retrieved from the nearby wardrobe. "Neomina came to me last night,” said Lazarus, also keeping his words to nothing more than a whisper for fear of waking Neomina. "You should have called for me. Trackers are more vulnerable to the Dark Breed than Vampyres, and with all that has gone on of recent, I'd have thought you'd take more precautions where your wife is concerned. I would have posted extra guards at your door and around the keep." He ignored his uncle's comments. “You didn't tell me Delacroix was dead. You knew I sensed the man's passing and Neomina's pain, yet you did nothing to confirm my feelings. Why?" "You needed to heal." "I needed to be with my wife." Monty approached and eyed him head on. “Arguing with me will solve nothing. You need to go to the Tribe and reassure them of your ability to lead them, and then we must find the creature who murdered Delacroix." Lazarus turned away to keep watch over Neomina. “I won't leave her." "You have nothing to fear, nephew. Whoever harmed you and killed Gerard will by no means gain entrance to this room. I will keep watch over Neomina and see to her safety. The Tribe needs you.” Monty stood at the foot of the bed and looked much like an armed sentinel poised for battle. His massive wings stretched the width of the four-poster. Lazarus took a deep breath as the strong call of his kin weighed heavily on his mind. He didn't like having to leave Neomina with danger lurking nearby, but he had little choice in the matter. And the news of Gerard's death only added to his concern. The man's note pertaining to the St. John Stake and the Amulet of Christ still didn't make sense to him. Surely Montigrael had the knowledge to decipher the cryptic message, but the Tribe's intense need for him beckoned. The note would have to wait. "Your family will want to meet their new mistress,” Monty said, staring at the bed. "I'm well aware that Neomina must be formally presented to my kin, but not tonight,” Lazarus stated. “I need time to explain the Tribe to her. As a Tracker, she is accustomed to the Vampyre, but to live among them is an acquired taste." Have you thought about freeing the Vampyre that lives within her soul? Lazarus raked a hand through his hair. He had hopes of avoiding such a situation but, in truth, it was inevitable. He just didn't want to think about it yet. “I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. Delacroix was once a Dark Breeder and thus part of him has to exist within his daughter. But Neomina has never showed signs of Vampyrism. And until she does, I have no desire to bring her across. She's mortal and young, and needs to live life first." He turned away from Montigrael and changed his clothes. He dressed in a belted white tunic and black leather breeches, one of his favorite outfits. Monty helped him lace up his shirt sleeves, which fit tightly about his lower arms and then secured a small black

leather pouch at his side, a miniature but still deadly stake hidden inside. He then retrieved from the wardrobe a strand of soft black leather to wrap around his calf-high boots. Dressed, Lazarus walked back toward the bed. He stared down at Neomina and longed to hold her. His gaze raked over her blanket-covered body. Even with only her arms exposed, Neomina stirred him in ways no other woman ever had, and the mere scent of her blood caused his fangs to sharpen and grow. He ran the tip of his tongue over the deadly points and held his hunger in check. In anguish, he vanished into the night. **** The Tribe sat in silence as he made his way through the great hall to take his seat at the head table. A large, flaming candelabrum illuminated the room from each table and cast an eerie glow about the chamber. Lazarus felt uncomfortable amid their stares. He read their minds and knew what each and every one of them thought about him. Their words flooded his head. I wonder if he's the same soul as before. Can he still defend us against the Dark Breed? I smell the scent of a Tracker about his body. Lazarus froze. As always, he stopped dead in his tracks exactly where Althea sat. "Get used to it, cousin.” He spoke the words through gritted teeth. “My wife will soon take her rightful place as lady of this keep and I don't want a single word from you about the matter. Have I made myself clear on that?" Althea jumped up and wrapped her arms around Lazarus's neck. He stepped away in shock. "You're back, Lazarus. Just the way you were before the night in the woods. And, in truth, I wouldn't want you any other way." Byron rose from his seat on the wood bench and extended a hand. “I spoke harsh words to you and should not have said such things. Forgive me." Lazarus accepted Byron's hand. “No offense taken." He proceeded to walk down the great hall. A seat next to his mother had been left vacant especially for him. Lazarus stepped over the bench and lowered his body onto the wood plank. He read his mother's thoughts, but didn't want to acknowledge the truth behind them. Octavia knew he had considered her among the souls who might possibly betray him, and he hated himself now for having thought such a thing. "Forgive me,” he said. “I don't know what came over me to think that my own mother would betray me. I struggled with the thought even then.” He refused to look Octavia in the eye. Humiliation consumed his soul. She reached out a hand and gently covered his. "You are my son, Lazarus. I am today what I am because I wanted you to live. If betrayal was a part of my desires, the Dark Breed would have hunted you and conquered you as an infant." He pleaded with his eyes. He wanted his mother to know the turmoil he was facing and that, at times, he was not responsible for his actions. The Vampyre had ruled his soul since he was an infant and he knew no other existence. The thought of being mortal had never been more than a dream. Octavia smiled at him. “A mother's love is unconditional. Forget the other night ever happened. I am glad you are here and have been brought back to me. Now, as for Neomina, you must present her to the Tribe as soon as possible."

"I know. But I need a little more time with her. We're not exactly the most welcoming of families, as you well know." He studied the Tribe, noting their pallor. He couldn't imagine Neomina looking so pale and ... He paused his thoughts. To be officially presented to the Tribe, a soul had to be either dead or undead. They never took on new members who remained as mortals. It simply wasn't their way, nor was it according to their laws. He had to bring her across to make her one of them, and such a notion did not sit well with him. Lazarus lost his appetite and felt a churning wrench inside his stomach. He knew in time he would be forced to make Neomina one with the Vampyre. Artemis interrupted his thoughts by raising his glass. "A toast to our patriarch. A toast to Lazarus." The Tribe raised their crude glasses and cheered. In quick gulps, they drank their cups of berry wine and returned for seconds. In no time, his kin seemed to be back to their old selves, laughing, gossiping, and enjoying their unity. This was the Tribe Lazarus loved. From the first time they were stalked in Rome by the threatening evil entity, the Tribe had changed. Turmoil, anger, and fear had settled among his family and forced him to distance himself from them. Only on rare occasions such as tonight did his Tribe return to their true selves, free of fear for the moment. But, as he scanned the room, he couldn't help wondering what had possessed the Dark Breeder to let him live. True, the beast had left him to bleed, but Sanctum Hall was not far from Tracker territory and his assailant had to have known his kin would come looking for him. Lazarus suddenly felt ill at ease. The Dark Breeder had allowed him to live, and no enemy offered mercy without reason. Unless, of course, it was a trap, a sinister snare to lure him to the creature's lair. Realization struck with a hard blow. The Dark Breeder had to have known he'd eventually go looking for him and he'd do so without the aid of the Tribe. No true leader ever endangered his people. Lazarus pondered the notion, still having to sort out the connection between Montigrael and the creature who left him to bleed in the woods. He thought back to the note left by Gerard. Mayhap now was the right time to confront his uncle about Percival and learn what the angel knew about this vile being. He only prayed if there was a connection between the Montigrael and this Percival, it wouldn't result in a full-blown war between heaven and hell. If so, he didn't want to think about the consequences. Dealing with Dark Breed Vampyres on a good night was taxing enough.

Chapter Eleven At dawn, the Tribe still lingered, but Lazarus took his leave of them. He'd thought of Neomina all night and wanted desperately to go to her now. He left the great hall, made his way upstairs to the private chambers, and, in silence, slipped into the bedroom. Sitting in a chair next to the four-poster bed, Montigrael rose at his return. "She slept without so much as a single sigh,” said Monty. “I would say Neomina is comfortable within your lair, Lazarus." He wished that were true, but in his heart, he knew she feared Sanctum Hall. "Thank you for staying with her." "I did the same for you on many occasions and I would do it again.” Monty moved toward the door. “I think I'll see to the Tribe this morning. They must be reminded not to overtax their restored strength. The evil presence stalking Sanctum Hall rests but does not die. We all have to be cautious until this enemy is no longer a threat." Montigrael's words reminded Lazarus of Delacroix's note. He reached for the folded paper he'd tucked into his boots earlier and retrieved the message. Once opened, he stared at the cryptic words. "What do you know of a Percival—?” The door shut with a slight click. He glanced over his shoulder only to find the inside of the worn wooden portal staring back at him. Deciphering Gerard's message would have to wait yet again. He refolded the parchment and set it down on the dresser. "Lazarus,” Neomina's soft voice called from behind the silken veils hanging about his bed. She was awake. "Hush, my sweet. I'll be right there." He secured the heavy velvet drapes that covered the windows and sealed out every ray of light. He wanted nothing to disturb him this morning, not even the glorious sun. No, the Vampyre in him stirred his soul like never before. Yet he was ravaged by a hunger greater than that of the craving for blood. He hungered for sexual satisfaction with the woman he loved. Lazarus removed his clothes and slid into bed. Being so near Neomina caused him to tense. They'd yet to make love in a proper bed, the necessities of their arranged marriage forbidding them to live together. But with his former Dark Breeder father-in-law dead, the agreed upon rules had changed. He now needed to care for Neomina, keep her safe from harm's way, and to do so he needed to keep her at Sanctum Hall. He inched closer to his wife. The warmth from Neomina's body radiated toward him erasing the cold aura of his Vampyric essence. His flesh hadn't burned so heatedly in centuries. Wrapping his arms around Neomina, he pulled her to him. The sweet scent of fruit and roses stirred his senses. With strong, firm hands, he undid the ties of his wife's gown and removed all obstacles between them. He tossed the sheer fabric onto the floor. Touched by the cold morning air, Neomina crossed her arms over her bare breasts, hiding the swollen peaks. "A bit chilly?" She nodded, agreeing. With a thought, Lazarus commanded the fireplace to light. Soon it cast a warm glow about the chamber. "I believe, dear wife, I can easily remedy your torment." How? By replacing it with another? The frankness of her thoughts excited him. He pulled her on top of him with one swift move, gently pushed her arms away from her breasts, and cupped the perfect globes with his hands.

Neomina had never felt a touch as raw yet as gentle as Lazarus's. The warmth of his flesh sent her senses spinning as a heated pulse emitted from the palm of his hands. The intense sensation spiraled her to pleasure. She sighed. "I'm not all Vampyre, Neomina. My soul is half-Grigori and that can never change. Are you familiar with their great sin?" "Only that they coupled with the daughters of Eve." He gave her a sly smile. “They were gods in the sport of bed play. Having hailed from the tenth choir of angels, they were the elite group of watchers who were sent to teach man. They fell from grace by succumbing to the pleasures of the flesh, apparently forgetting that the gift they'd been given—the knowledge of sexual secrets—was not to be shared with man at that time. Eventually they paid the price for their transgressions. Their offspring,” he said with a grin, “were far more fortunate. We were permitted to keep the knowledge without suffering any consequence for putting our gift to good use." "You're cruel to have kept this secret from me, Lazarus.” She playfully poked him in the ribs. He laughed, flashing his wide grin she so loved. “I don't think the Trackers would have approved,” he said. "You didn't marry them, you married me." "True, but the only bed afforded us at the time was the one in your room at the cottage. And considering it was positioned in the middle of the hallway flanked by your father's room to the right and your uncle Roderick's to the left, I certainly had no intentions of sharing with you then what I plan on sharing with you now." "And what, pray tell, lord husband, is it that you wish to share with me?" A wicked, playful look crossed Lazarus's face. “A sampling of the true sport of bed play." She pulled away, slightly. "Is something wrong, Neomina?" She pursed her lips. “For one to partake in a true sport, one must have the proper tools. Gladiators had their armor and wild beasts, Persians ride horses while trying to drive a ball with a mallet, and all noblemen have swords for fencing. What is a Grigori equipped with, my lord?" She swore she heard Lazarus grunt as he caught his breath and shifted her slightly. “Numerous tools." He reached his hands to her breasts and gently circled her nipples. “Fingers and hands, to start,” he said. His slightly calloused palm teased her taut peaks. She reveled in the sensation, a tingling spark that shot through her body straight to the area between her legs. An ache grew at the apex between her thighs. "And lips,” continued Lazarus, rolling her off him and onto the bed. He bent his head and kissed her mouth, searing her lips. He nipped at her flesh. “And wicked tongues." She moaned. Trailing small circles with the tip of his tongue, Lazarus teased her flesh from her neck to her breast, settling his mouth upon her right nipple. He rolled the sensitive bud between his teeth and gently pulled. The sensation he created shot through her entire being. She arched her body and wrapped her legs about his hips. “Give me something more, Lazarus.” She felt greedy, but unable to control the urgency now possessing her body. He reached up and pulled down a thin veil of silk draped over the headboard and folded the fabric. He gently wrapped the silk around her eyes and tied it behind her head.

"Let me stir your senses to even greater heights, Neomina,” he whispered, his voice gruff with emotion. “Let me be one with you in every way." His voice lingered at her ears as he spoke to her in Gaelic, Latin, and French, languages well used by the Trackers. She understood every word. He described his actions in slow, deliberate sentences that drove her wild, and then explored her body caressing every inch of flesh and leaving an everlasting imprint upon her soul. She grasped in the darkness, reaching her hand between her and Lazarus and explored the length of his thick shaft. The room filled with his intoxicating scent—the fragrant aroma of sandalwood and spices mixed with musk—tantalizing her even further. The Grigori in his soul obviously knew the importance of tempting the senses, every one of them. For the first time she felt truly close to her husband. Lazarus let out deep moan and pushed her fingers away. He brought his lips to hers and kissed her once more. His fingers delved through the thatch of hair in her nether region, then slid between her folds. She cried out and wrapped her legs tighter about his body, his touch upon her aching mound sending her senses spinning. Lazarus aroused her to new heights, and she squirmed beneath him. She felt him lean forward, pressing his lips to hers. The sweet taste of honey warmed by the morning sun on a bright spring day filled her mouth and sent her over the edge. Behind her head, Lazarus worked his hands and untied the veil covering her eyes. "Look at me,” he said. Lost to his tempting ways, she could do nothing but abide by his command. His gaze locked with hers and captured the very essence of their joined souls. She heard his voice in her mind. Tell me you love me for me and not merely because I am the husband your father chose for you. Of course I love you for you. His fingers parted the tender flesh of her nether region and he filled her with one swift thrust of his hips. As he bucked against her yearning parts, she matched his every move. Heated ripples exploded through her body, sending Neomina into a frenzy of ecstasy. Lazarus then took his own pleasure. When finished, he collapsed on top of her, his breathing a bit ragged. "I do say, lord husband, you wield your sword quite expertly. As you do all your ‘tools.’” Lazarus chuckled and slid off her body. He propped himself up on one elbow. Raw yearning still glistened in Neomina's violet eyes. He took her in his arms and decided then and there to brand her, to sear her soul with the mark of the Vampyre. He would drink from her and then give her back his own blood. He should have done it months ago, but Delacroix would never have allowed it. But now the act would seal their marriage and make her his in the eyes of the Trackers. Neomina gave in to him completely, arching her heated body close to him. As he explored the deepest depths of her mind, she cried out as if waves of pleasure rippled through her for her a second time. "Be one with me, Neomina. Be one with me." Then she saw it. Lazarus knew on the instant that his wife was well aware of the Vampyre now emerging from within him. He caressed her with his hands and his mind. He read her thoughts. Neomina succumbed to his passion in such a way she felt as if she were wrapped in the finest silks and softest velvets. The touch of the beast within him was more sensual than she'd ever imagined it could be, proving the coupling of his various natures to be amazing. He prided himself that Neomina had fallen lost to his exquisite technique. In Paradise, the angels referred to the sensation as the rapture of true ecstasy and he couldn't agree with them more. Using the rawest, purest form of passion experienced only by angels and saints, Lazarus melded his soul with Neomina's and sent

her body into a heated frenzy. He trailed the tip of his tongue over the soft flesh of her neck. The taste and scent of warm, blood-filled flesh pushed him over the edge. He sank his teeth deep into Neomina's skin. She moaned. Lazarus pulled back, fearing he had harmed her, but Neomina refused to let him go. He returned his mouth to her neck and drank until his pleasures were sated. In all his years, he'd never known such wholeness, such satisfaction. Under normal circumstances, he was forbidden to drink human blood, especially that of a Tracker. But the ordinances that ruled his Tribe permitted him to bring across a member of his family or to brand a mortal for the sake of safety. The rules also allowed for small exchanges of blood between husband and wife. And Neomina needed to be initiated into the Tribe, to be branded so no other creature could lay claim to her. He brushed his lips against the puncture wounds in Neomina's flesh. Droplets of dark blood trickled slowly from the opened skin as he caressed her with his tongue, sealing his mark so it would heal quickly. Neomina fell fast asleep in Lazarus's arms. He didn't know what he would say when she awoke. This was only the beginning of her initiation into the Tribe. Lazarus didn't know whether to hate himself or to pride himself on such a conquest. He also now realized that in his lust he had never completed the branding by giving back to Neomina the blood he had taken from her. He wondered if the small trace of the mortal he once was would ever allow him to. He was meant to care for his kin, to bring them over so they might carry out their destiny of conquering the Dark Breed. But the thought of bringing Neomina fully across caused his soul to twist with a dull ache. He decided to keep his distance from her until the inevitable could no longer be avoided. Lazarus rose from the bed to sleep in his chair across the room.

Chapter Twelve The day passed without incident, and for that Lazarus was thankful, because he hadn't remembered a day so peaceful in months. He woke around noon and set out to complete the task of seeing his wife settled at Sanctum Hall. Neomina was now mistress of his keep and, as such, Lazarus saw to her every comfort by moving furniture, hanging bed drapes and bringing over her personal possessions from the cottage. He prepared the rooms adjoining his own chambers for her because he had decided that a bit of physical space between them would be best for both. Neomina hadn't questioned him on the matter, instead accepting the situation as if it were only natural she have her own space as lady of Sanctum Hall. But he wondered what she would say had he told her the truth. The thought of bringing Neomina across continued to haunt him. Hoping to take his mind off her, he kept busy until sundown. He prepared for the Tribe's gathering by donning a black tunic over a white shirt laced tight about his forearms. On his wrist, he wore a gold bracelet adorned with the Conlon wolf. On his right hand, he wore his grandfather's seal ring. Lazarus couldn't remember the last time he had dressed with such care or had concerned himself about his appearance among the Tribe. He laughed to himself. The Tribe would never be impressed by his sense of fashion. No, it was Neomina he wanted to win over. He pulled on a pair of black leather breeches that hugged his legs like a second skin and a pair of soft black boots that laced up the calf. Dressed for the Tribe's nightly gathering, Lazarus made his way toward Neomina's bedchamber, using a connecting door on the far wall of his own room. He knocked lightly, but didn't wait for an invitation to enter. The sight of his wife wearing a dark purple velvet gown caused him to catch his breath. Between the room's flickering candlelight, the pale powdered makeup, and her choice of dress, Neomina looked every bit the Vampyre Lazarus feared she would one day become. He approached her with caution. "What do you think, Lazarus?” She spoke to him with an innocent longing to please him. “Will they welcome your wife as one of their own or will they cast me aside as an outsider?" His mind still frozen in shock by Neomina's Vampyric appearance, he didn't know how to answer her. "What have you done to yourself?” Lazarus reached out a hand and lifted the thick gold necklace that covered his wife's neck and checked for wounds that might have been made by another beast. But to his satisfaction, none were found. "I have powdered my face and painted my lips with a crimson colored vegetable dye. That is all. What did you think?” she asked. A look of confusion masked her face. Lazarus backed away and leaned against the archway separating Neomina's dressing room from the sleeping chamber. He crossed his arms over his chest and one leg over the other, then stood, most content to watch his wife's every move. A sense of amusement teased at his smile as he considered Neomina's actions. Her desire to appease the Tribe meant she also wished to please him. Satisfaction filled his heart. She was good at disguises, that Lazarus would give her, but the vision of Neomina with pale skin and dressed in dark velvet disturbed as much as it pleased him. He admired her efforts, but the notion of her losing the rosy complexion of life pained him. Even mortal aging retained a degree of vibrant life essence not found in the Vampyre. Lazarus swore a mild oath, then pushed the troubling thoughts out of his mind. He shifted his focus to the present. Neomina's graceful moves and classic beauty beguiled him. He was certain, had his wife been a witch rather than a Tracker, he'd fall victim to her intoxicating charms. But as he watched her preparing for tonight's gathering, he realized the woman needed no outside magic or dark spells to captivate his soul. He was already hers and hers alone. With delicate hands, Neomina twisted her long golden tresses into narrow braids and then wrapped them into two larger ones that sat on either side of her head. She fastened a thin cloth of violet silk to her hair for added adornment.

He eyed her every move. A piece of jewelry fell to the floor from the dressing table. She bent down to retrieve it and her low cut neckline gaped, fueling his desire. His body tensed in an instant at the sight of her full breasts, and in sheer madness, he reached out and pulled her close, ignoring Neomina's pleas to let her finish dressing. "Perhaps we should pass on the Tribe's gathering tonight and return to bed, my sweet. Grigoris have an insatiable lust and are never short on ways to please their partners.” A raw seductive tone filled his voice, and he knew it sent heated tingles through Neomina's body. Lazarus tugged at the square neckline of Neomina's gown and then untied its gold braided ribbon. Slipping a hand inside the loosened bodice, he cupped her right breast and brought a pink rosy nipple to his lips. He teased her with his teeth and wallowed in Neomina's pleasure-filled sighs. Neomina leaned against Lazarus, wanting him as much as he wanted her, but something deep in her soul forced her to pull back. The call of the Vampyre invaded her mind and she recalled the odd feeling she'd felt in the abbey the night before when she'd run through it in search of Lazarus. The chilling sensation she'd felt in the underground chamber differed from what she experienced with the Vampyric Lazarus in bed. Neomina tensed and took a step back. A twinge of disappointment masked Lazarus's face. Retying the ribbon, Neomina adjusted her gown. The thin velvet strips slipped through her trembling fingers several times before she fixed them into a somewhat passable bow. "Perhaps it is wrong for me to keep you here,” said Lazarus, his voice cool and exact. “I can send Montigrael to the cottage and have him remain there for your protection, if you so desire. The last thing I want is to have you here against your will, Neomina.” He turned away from her. She didn't answer him. The never before experienced tingles assaulting her nerves put her senses on edge. She couldn't understand them let alone explain such things to someone like Lazarus. He would never accept her concern over trifling anxieties. The man appeared to fear nothing. To tell him of the unsettling feelings of an evil entity that seemed to be stalking her mind would be absurd. Lazarus was a Vampyre, and as such, Neomina felt he'd have little tolerance for the fears of man. She picked up the brooch that had fallen to the floor minutes before and toyed with the ornate pin. Her hand shook nervously as the pinpoint pricked her gown's bodice. The brooch showed the face of a howling wolf set amid gold knot work and jeweled accents. Thinking of Lazarus and the beast that dwelt within him, she ran a trembling hand over the pin. Her heart went cold. "Is that what you think me to be, Neomina? A soul no better than that of a wild animal preying on mortals for mere survival?" She swallowed hard, amazed at his exact perception of her feelings. She had forgotten the Vampyre could read man's mind. "I said no such thing." "You didn't have to." The realization that Lazarus had read her private thoughts unsettled Neomina. She wished she could keep from thinking such things about him, and keep from questioning the Vampyre that ruled his soul. He stared at her with cold, emotionless eyes that spoke a thousand words. Neomina saw the pain she caused him by fearing him. She felt as if she had taken a stake and stabbed his heart. By his expression, the pain was more than his heart could bear. "You are right, dear wife. At times, I am no more than the beast you believe me to be." She saw anger in his eyes and knew he didn't like her fearing him. Lazarus bit down on his bottom lip.

Neomina watched in horror. It was evident to her by the twisted look on his face that her husband endured great torture. His pointed fangs sank deep into his flesh and drew forth a slight trail of ruby-red liquid. She wondered what hungering for blood would be like. "The taste of your own sordid essence lingers in your mouth and never really goes away. That is what it is like, dear wife. That is what being Vampyre is like." "I don't see you as a beast,” she said, reaching her fingers up to cradle his face. Lazarus stopped her hand midair. “I don't want your pity, either." "You're impossible, my lord, an incorrigible toad to be precise. I wouldn't give you pity if it were all I had left to offer.” She spun on her heel and offered him only her back. It served him right to read her mind, to know what she really thought of the Vampyre. "By whose decree, dear wife? Yours? God's?" He did it again, invaded her thoughts. "I did nothing of the sort,” he protested to her back. “It is you who insists on unlocking your mind to my intrusion. In truth, it is I who should be annoyed by your overtly opened mind, forcing me to seek your every thought, the noise of your mind in my head like the incessant screeching of a cackling old witch." He'd crossed the line. “You're worse than a slimy toad,” she said as she spun back around to eye him with her full fury. “You're an undead incorrigible toad." What color Lazarus had left in his Vampyric pallor faded. She'd never seen a creature as pale as her shocked husband now standing before her. Guilt pummeled through her heart. If only he hadn't made her so mad... "You're meeting with the Tribe is no longer necessary, wife. You are free from all obligations to my kin and no longer need to make their acquaintance. For your own safety, I advise you to remain within this chamber tonight. I will have my uncle escort you to the cottage when I return at dawn.” Lazarus turned away and marched back toward the adjoining door between their rooms. The wood portal slammed with a loud thud as it closed behind him. **** Neomina defied Lazarus's warning and presented herself to the Tribe without the presence of his company. The bumble-headed rogue obviously had little experience with the fairer sex and had no understanding of how he'd only angered her into saying what she'd said. Did he not realize he had no need to take her seriously? When he returned, she planned on discussing a few things with him that concerned a husband and a wife living under one roof. Her father and mother never raised their voices at each other like she and Lazarus had tonight. The issue needed to be resolved before her husband had half the chance to do something very stupid. And considering what she knew of the man since marrying him, the chance of him doing something they'd both regret was a real possibility. The sight of a servant passing her with a large gold bowl of peaches distracted her thoughts. The sweet scent of plums, apples and berries wafted through the great hall and stirred Neomina's appetite. In the course of the day she had forgotten to eat, so absorbed was she in settling herself at Sanctum Hall. The thought of dining pleased her, but she wondered if the anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach would allow her to keep anything down. She dismissed the notion with a shrug of her shoulders and settled for whatever would be. Life had changed drastically for her, and it would be better to simply accept whatever fate awaited her than to disrupt the natural course of things. With soft, slow steps Neomina entered the outer corridor leading to the great hall and waited for Montigrael. The angel had promised her earlier in the day that he would accompany her to the gathering. She was thankful for his offering now since Lazarus was nowhere to be found. Yet she failed to dismiss the twinge of disappointment that twisted in her heart. She didn't like feeling unsettled in her own home and she knew it showed. Standing in the hall, she twisted the gold braided chain that hung at her waist into a tiny knot and worked her hands furiously in a nervous manner. She felt the incredible sensation of the

Vampyre's unnatural love of the night, and for all things associated with it, envelope her soul as visions of the abbey came flooding back. Her father's face flashed before her and his words echoed through her mind. "Percival lives." She knew no such soul and felt frustrated at being left in the dark. Lazarus had promised to find her father's killer, but he had said nothing about Percival. "Percival,” she said. For reasons unknown to her, and for feeling pressed by an unnatural force to do so, Neomina called out to the stranger. His name rolled off her tongue in a possessed manner and made her feel as if she was breathing life into the unknown entity. She held her breath and, for the moment, erased all thoughts of her father's last words from her mind. She had the sudden fear Percival was near and if she should think of her father, he would find out about the note she had given Lazarus. Dressed in a simple linen shirt and tan breeches, Montigrael approached her. “Are you all right, Neomina? You look as if you have just seen a ghost, and I can assure you no such being exists within the walls of this keep. The dead do not die at Sanctum Hall. They live on in physical form." The realization of what he said caught her off-guard. Living among the undead suddenly held less interest for her. "Have you seen Lazarus?” she asked, opting to change the subject. "No, I thought he was with you?" "We had a slight disagreement." "Even so, I would think my nephew to be a gentleman and accompany his wife to her first meeting with his kin." She worried her bottom lip, then gave in to divulging more on the matter of her absent husband. “My presence here, now, defies Lazarus's wishes." "Say no more, my lady. I am well aware of my nephew's minor flaw of occasionally falling victim to flights of roguish pigheadedness." "Minor? I'd say he was quite accomplished at the task." Monty chuckled. “My nephew has many admirable qualities. I assure you, it's not often he's this agitated." Flaw or no flaw, she wanted Lazarus back. “Do you think he'll return?" He offered her a slight smile. “Of that matter, have no fear. I would imagine my nephew has taken to the forests surrounding Sanctum Hall merely to settle his thoughts. He rarely dines with the Tribe, but almost always joins them later." "Oh, I didn't know that. Lazarus never told me about his dining habits." "No, I didn't think he would have. Learning all aspects of the Vampyric life takes time, Neomina. I'm certain Lazarus would not want to burden you with everything about his life all at once.” The angel offered Neomina his arm. She accepted it with great relief. The contemplation of encountering the Tribe alone was unnerving. "I will meet the Tribe tonight, yet I am not one of them. Lazarus once told me that to be truly accepted among the Vampyre I would have to become one. Do you think they will accept me despite my mortal existence?" "I am sure you will be well received, Neomina. After all, the Tribe is Lazarus's kin." With the angel at her side, Neomina entered the main hall of her husband's keep.

**** Topped with large, chunky candleholders from which flaming towers of dripping wax burned, long narrow tables sat scattered about the room. Their flickering lights illuminated the chamber. Neomina took a deep breath. The heavy scent of spicy incense filled the air and made her feel as if she had just set foot inside a church. Nothing could have been farther from the fact. She wondered if any of Lazarus's kin even prayed anymore. The New Breed was an odd group of beings, exorcized by Christ, bound by darkness. She wondered how they truly felt living as creatures of the undead. An odd sensation of turmoil and acceptance filled the very core of her being. Cold, dark eyes rose up to greet Neomina as she made her way through the great hall. She didn't like being the center of their attention. As Monty ushered her through the room, her mind filled with what seemed to be numerous voices. Whispers echoed in her ears, her thoughts swirling from one idea to another. The sudden rush of being open to Vampyric telepathy took her by storm. This is what Lazarus must have meant earlier when he said she forced his thoughts into her head and vice-versa. She wondered if this was what her father had lived with and if now, since his death, his Vampyric powers were emerging in her. The odd notion perplexed her, but not knowing what changes awaited her frightened her even more than they confused her. She regarded the Tribe with a new caution. Each member appeared to study her from head to foot as if searching to identify what type of soul had stolen Lazarus's heart. Apparently, they were not accustomed to having strangers among them, especially during their nightly gatherings, and for only this reason, she excused their unwanted stares. Silence descended upon the room like a hawk stalking its prey and made every breath audible in the quiet, dead air. Neomina grew uneasy among the stares. The Tribe sat assessing her and she wondered if they'd approve of her or dismiss her since she came to them in a mortal state. A pale, waifish-looking woman rose from her seat, offered Neomina a welcoming hand, and broke the cold barrier rising between the Tribe and herself. "It is with great pleasure I make your acquaintance, my lady. I have heard much about you from Lazarus. I am his cousin, Althea." She accepted the welcome, but still felt oddly out of place among the Tribe. Althea's pale face and dead, cold hand sent a chill up Neomina's spine. She did not remember Lazarus's flesh ever feeling as icy as his cousin's. Montigrael stepped up to her. “May I introduce you to Lazarus's mother? She waits for you at the head table.” He slightly nudged Neomina forward. Octavia sat at the main table and looked every bit the regal Vampyre that possessed her soul. She had hair as black as night, and deep, fathomless eyes the color of rich chocolate. Yet something about the woman comforted Neomina. She sensed warmth in Octavia not found in any of the other members of Lazarus's Tribe. The notion of a fellow ally among the Vampyre settled her ruffled nerves. "Come, child. Sit with me.” Octavia motioned with her hand to the empty seat at her right. “My son, it seems, has lost all sense of manners tonight. I assure you I did not raise him to be so callous and uncaring. You must forgive him." Neomina took her place next to Octavia and accepted the glass of berry wine and plate of fruit given her. “I do not expect Lazarus to change his ways merely because he is married to a mortal,” she said. “I shall grow accustomed to dining alone, as he shall accept the fact I am not Vampyre." Octavia smiled. “I welcome a daughter-in-law with a strong sense of pride. I believe, Neomina, you are exactly what Lazarus needs. And how is your father? I have not seen him these past few days." "You knew my father?"

"Why, of course, child. I have met with him on an almost daily basis to discuss business between the Tribe and the Trackers. Has he not told you of our acquaintance?" "No. He rarely discussed his role among the Trackers with me." "Well,” said Octavia. “I must speak with him of this. Surely he should tell you—" "My father is dead,” Neomina said, her voice rising, and then she realized how loudly she had spoken. The great hall fell silent once more as all eyes turned to the main table. Montigrael closed his eyes and let out a sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose as if dreading what might happen next. Octavia raised an eyebrow to her brother-in-law. Montigrael appeared at her side in an instant. "I did not feel it necessary to discuss Gerard's death with you until we had certain details,” the angel whispered in a low, harsh voice. "Not necessary?” Octavia balked with irate fury. “Are you mad? Delacroix was our ally, our one true friend among the outside world. What now, Montigrael? What now?" Looking away from Octavia's wide-eyed glare, Monty turned his gaze to the entrance of the great chamber. Passing through the low archway, Lazarus entered the room. "Neomina.” Lazarus nodded curtly to her and brushed a kiss upon her cheek. He whispered, “I returned to your room, but you weren't there. You caused my heart to stop. I will do right by you next gathering.” He pulled back without waiting for her to respond. He then took Octavia's hand and gave a slight bow. “Mother.” He rounded the table and lowered himself on the bench across from Neomina. A stern look settled over his face. "Did you know of Gerard's death, too?” Octavia asked. Lazarus didn't answer. His angered look spoke volumes, but his mother apparently was not a woman who followed anyone's orders, voiced or silent. Neomina needed no preternatural abilities to sense the tension between her husband and his mother. As Lazarus reached to pluck a peach from the bowl in front him, the warning look upon his face remained. He bit into the succulent fruit, apparently reveling in its sweet juices, his appetite undisturbed by the present topic of discussion. No one said a word. Lazarus stared at the Tribe, all glaring back at him. “The state of Delacroix's existence never concerned any of you before; neither does it now,” he said, his voice capped with ice. He knew the Tribe was well aware of the Dark Breeder that had once inhabited Gerard's soul, but his words were a warning to them not to speak about the matter in Neomina's presence. “I will have no further mention of the matter tonight." Whispers began to fill the chamber as the members of the Tribe resumed their previous conversations. The whooshing noise of pewter goblets splashed with berry wine and the soft sound of teeth biting into fruit echoed through Lazarus's head. He tuned out his preternatural abilities. "I have no answers for you at this time, Mother,” he said, speaking through gritted teeth. “But I assure you, if I have my own way, I will find the soul who murdered Delacroix and take from him the very same essence he took from Gerard. Now, let it rest." Raising a glass to her lips, Octavia acknowledged her son's request. Lazarus stared across the table, his gaze falling to Neomina. Since Dark Breeders cannot pass their powers to their offspring until

they die, Neomina had not inherited Gerard's Vampyric legacy until now. Lazarus read her mind. The essence of the Dark Breed flowed wild in his wife's soul, as she sat in silence, her thoughts wandering off in a million places, unable to control the force that was slowly taking her over. She was reading the minds of the Tribe and hearing the words of those who sat across the room. Lazarus closed his eyes and allowed himself to feel what Neomina felt, yet made sure to conceal his thoughts from her. The Vampyre that once controlled her father was beginning to now control her. He swore to himself. The Vampyric blood that flowed in Neomina's veins was stronger than he had previously thought, and he dreaded that it might even be darker than he had ever considered it to be. As far as Lazarus knew, Gerard was the only Dark Breeder to ever father an offspring. What would come of Neomina, he had no idea, and that thought caused him to shudder in concern. He continued to watch her. A look of exhaustion filled her eyes. The woman had outright defied him, but in doing so revealed her inner strength. She came to the Tribe, as she should have and as was her right, and obviously didn't need the fool that he'd earlier been to accompany her. Despite his anger, he wanted nothing more than to see to his wife's comfort, and he rose from his seat. “It has been a long day, Mother." He bent down and kissed Octavia good night. Neomina stood and waited for him to walk around the table. At her side, he placed a strong arm possessively around her waist and exited the room in silence, haunted by the stares of his kin. He knew the Tribe was not accustomed to seeing him with Neomina, a mortal, and their gawking at the two of them unsettled him. In the outer corridor, Lazarus stopped dead in his tracks. Neomina's thoughts flooded his mind as she wondered where he had gone off to before joining the Tribe. "Why do you think I feasted on animals?” he asked. "What?" "You were thinking I went into the woods for a blood hunt." Neomina flushed with embarrassment. Her cheeks turned a bright red and tears filled her eyes. “Please stop doing that. You must not read my mind all the time. It's most unsettling. I'm trying very hard to keep you out, but it's not working." He swore under his breath. “I am not accustomed to holding back on my abilities, Neomina. Forgive me.” Lazarus reached out his hand and gently wiped the tears from her face. "Where did you go?" "I went to check on the wolves. I do so every night before the gathering. They don't argue with me when I talk to them, and they listen to my reason, unlike others I know." She dismissed his comment. “Wolves?" Lazarus peered directly at Neomina but knew his words would not be easily understood. He braced himself for whatever reaction she was about to give him. “The wolves are part of me, part of my soul. On both sides of my mother's family, the wolf has played a major role in our ancestry. A Conlon's soul is known to be as strong as the wolf for the animal's blood runs through its veins. And my grandfather was descended from the ancient kings of Rome that were suckled by the she-wolf. "The wolves I keep are a pack as immortal as is my own soul. They cannot die unless killed by a Dark Breeder. Even man has no power over them. I brought them with me when the Tribe left Rome hundreds of years ago." She simply stared at him. The realization of an animal soul existing for centuries was apparently more than a bit perplexing to her, and Lazarus knew this was only the beginning. He had so much to tell Neomina and to share with her. He began to wonder if perhaps his wife was not meant to live in the world of the Vampyre.

If only Delacroix had told you the truth. If only he had told you that he was an old soul. If only he had told you he was Vampyre. "What did you say?” she asked. Lazarus stood dumbfounded. He hadn't spoken aloud a single word, yet Neomina had heard him. He had not expected her to be capable of reading his thoughts so soon. He'd have to learn to be more careful. "I said nothing." "I'm very tired,” she said, walking ahead of Lazarus. “My mind must be playing tricks on me for I thought you commented on my father." He felt a pinch of guilt grip his soul. To tell Neomina that Gerard was once a Dark Breeder would cause her more pain and more fear. Now simply was not the right time. Heading toward his bedchamber, Lazarus let the incident be and felt it was far better for Neomina to think herself tired than to allow her to realize the power of the Vampyre that now rose inside her soul. **** Lazarus waited until Neomina lingered in a state of dreams. Only then did he allow the power of the Vampyre to consume him. Rising from bed, he left the darkened rooms of his private chamber and entered his wife's sleeping quarters. The thought of her alone and unguarded troubled him. In silence, he made his way across the warm, airy bedroom to the large four poster draped in velvets and silks. The scent of Neomina's blood stirred him like never before and sent his senses whirling into an endless sea. Lazarus stopped at the bedside and refrained from going any farther. He'd come to protect Neomina, not to take her. He stood there for what seemed like hours, watching, staring, guarding her as she slept, slowly becoming one with her. He delved deep into Neomina's soul and reached for the secrets that stirred her beating heart. Using his preternatural hearing, Lazarus listened intently for the pulsing echo of flowing blood coursing through the chambers of his wife's heart and melded his own rhythm with hers. The beating pulse echoed in his ears. The union of souls was intoxicating, addictive, and made Lazarus feel more satisfied than he ever had in all his six hundred years. He once again took advantage of the Grigori essence in his soul, but this time he used it to sustain his energies. Calling the angel that melded with the Vampyre inside his body gave him great advantages over other beings. He needed little, if any, sleep most of the time and protecting his wife from harm was proving to be a never-ending task. He remained at Neomina's bedside until she stirred sometime before noon, then vanished without leaving so much as a trace of his watchful presence lingering behind.

Chapter Thirteen At dusk, Lazarus summoned Montigrael to his rooms. Dressed in his favorite tan breeches and white shirt, he paced the floor and clasped his hands behind his back. "I have decided to go in search of Delacroix's killer,” he said. “Neomina believes him to be a Dark Breeder and I have to agree with her on the matter. Gerard told me he was meeting with another soul that night and he carried the St. John Stake with him. I think he expected trouble." Lazarus lifted his head and glanced at Montigrael. The angel wore a blue tunic, the same hue as his eyes, and a leather breastplate. He appeared much like a Roman soldier left over from the empire. His feathery wings, for some odd reason, were fully unfurled. "I think the Dark Breeder Delacroix expected to meet is the same soul who left me bleeding in the woods." "Then you'll need my help. I will prepare to join you." Lazarus froze. A fair warning bracing his stare, he glared at his uncle. “No." "Surely you do not mean to take on this beast single-handedly." "I've given this a lot of thought, Montigrael. My enemy left me to bleed when he could have easily done away with me. That fact has bothered me to no end." Monty eyed his nephew with caution. He'd seen Lazarus determined like this once before and that incident had turned into a catastrophe that had forced the Tribe to flee Rome. He shuddered at the thought of repeating such a scene. "So, because you were left to live, you now seek the Dark Breed. Have you lost all reason?" Lazarus resumed pacing. The sound of his boot-clad feet treading across the hand-loomed rug echoed softly about the stone chamber. "He wants me face-to-face. Two souls equal in strength.” He paused. “And blood." A chill ran down Montigrael's spine and sent pricking sensations through the fibers of his wings. “What did you just say?" "We are connected,” answered Lazarus, his voice low yet firm. “I can feel it in my soul, and I believe Neomina senses it, too. I do not know how, but the entity that has stalked me my entire life is in some way a part of the Tribe. We share the same blood." Montigrael's heart chilled. His soul churned in tight, twisting knots and left him to feel the icy touch of Hell as it reached up and roamed about his body. "It cannot be,” he said, shaking his head. “It simply cannot be." "Why? Because you find no reason with which to validate my claim?" Montigrael raised an eyebrow. “Yes." "Gerard left a note. In it he said the St. John Stake rested in his heart. What do you make of the man's words?" Montigrael took a deep breath and raised his hands to his temples. A piercing stab penetrated his head. Visions of his brother's death flashed before him and caused pain to bolt through his soul. He couldn't think of any reason why he'd suddenly remember the long-ago incident. "Delacroix was not killed by the Dark Breeder,” he said.

"Of course he was. Who else would have done such a thing?" Monty shook his head. “No. The Trackers must have killed Gerard. He himself said the St. John Stake rests in his heart. The Trackers are the only ones who have possession of the relic. They drove the stake into his heart. A Dark Breeder cannot turn against his own kind." "But neither can a Tracker,” said Lazarus, “and Delacroix had returned to his mortal state years ago. The Dark Breeder that once ruled his soul no longer existed." "You're wrong about that. The soul who left you in the woods killed the mortal in Delacroix. The Trackers killed everything else and that is the symbolism in his words." Montigrael hated to admit it, but Lazarus was right about one thing. He had to face his enemy single-handedly. The Tribe was only as strong as was their patriarch, and if he didn't face his enemy alone, he would never conquer him. “Gerard was telling you not to trust anyone but yourself. You'll find no ally among the Trackers. They will see you as one with Delacroix, one with the Vampyre and as nothing else." "Then I must face my foe." "I will tend to the Tribe while you are away and, rest assured, no harm shall come to them. Neomina shall be safe as well." Lazarus let out a deep sigh. He ran a nervous hand through his thick black hair and alluded to the distress stalking his soul as he said, “Neomina is yet another concern of mine." He strode across the room and took a seat in an old Egyptian chair that had once belonged to his grandfather. "Her mother was a very powerful Tracker, the council member among her family. When she rescued and rehabilitated Delacroix, she willed her powers to him. A Tracker's power can be either passed on through blood or willed away by choice.” Lazarus raised a hand to his chin and rubbed his jaw line. A slight twitch jumped beneath his skin. “Delacroix also inherited additional powers from his adoptive father, a former leader of the Trackers. When Neomina's mother was murdered, she was defenseless against her enemy because she had previously given her powers to Gerard. The Dark Breeder who killed her must have known that when he set out to seek her. Her powers were not passed to Neomina at the time." Montigrael had a look of confusion settling on his face. “What happened to Gerard's powers when he died?" "Neomina inherited some of them, but she also inherited those of the Dark Breeder that survived hidden within Delacroix's soul. When Gerard and I agreed to the marriage pact between Neomina and myself, he told me his wife had willed away some of her powers to her brother, Roderick. The reason behind this was so the Tracker powers possessed by Neomina would never amount to as much should she become Vampyre. "Her mother knew of my grandfather's connection to the relics and that one day I would have need of them. She also knew I loved Neomina from the first moment I laid eyes on her. At the time I made the pact with Gerard, I didn't think about courting danger against the Tribe and myself as I am now. And because of all this, I'm quite concerned for Neomina." "Then bring her across." Lazarus shook his head. “No, I can't bring her over until she decides for herself what path to follow. The Tracker in her will be strong enough to keep the Vampyre at bay, and the Vampyre will be powerful enough to strengthen whatever supernatural abilities Neomina already possesses. If I bring her over now she will be forever tormented by the internal struggle." "And what about your own internal struggle? The match between you and Neomina was made for a reason and it was not intended to be based on love." He thought about Montigrael's words. His marriage to Neomina was arranged so one day he would have back both the St. John Stake and the Amulet containing Christ's blood. Lazarus was to be given back his mortality on a temporary basis solely for the purpose of siring heirs. The notion of such a fact seemed trivial to him now that he had just set his mind to battling the Dark Breed.

What if the fight were to be prolonged? Would he want to sire children knowing he was in the middle of a war that could destroy them all? "My mortality means nothing to me anymore. I have existed as Vampyre since I was no more than a few months old. I have no memory of any life other than this one. Neomina will either agree to be brought over or I will agree to adjust my life to accommodate our marriage. In any case, I will deal with the matter on my return. Until then, there is nothing I can do." Montigrael closed his wings and changed his appearance. A linen shirt worn over leather breeches skimmed his muscular form as he made his way to the door. “I will dine with the Tribe tonight. They must be assured of your return." He stopped in the doorway before entering the hall. “I can't help feeling something is amiss, Lazarus. If Gerard wanted you to know about being left alone in this battle, I would think he would have written more than just a comment about the St. John Stake." "Did Gerard ever mention a particular Dark Breeder by name?" "No, why?" "I believe he knew his murderer." Monty seemed to hesitate. “No,” he said. “I don't recall him ever mentioning any one enemy." Lazarus didn't push the issue. Despite Gerard's insistence, he didn't want to further discuss Percival with Montigrael until he was sure of the connection between his uncle and this other being. He sensed in his soul that by telling Monty he would do more damage than good to his kin. He needed to face the Dark Breeder alone and he feared if he revealed more, the angel would seek Percival in his stead and only God knew what havoc would be wrought by that feat. Lazarus needed to get to Percival before anyone else.

Chapter Fourteen Neomina waited for Lazarus, but he never came for her. With anxious steps, she hurried through her chambers toward her husband's private rooms and, without bothering to knock, opened the separating door. He stood there, tall and tense, staring into the flames dancing in the fireplace. His muscular body rested against the stone mantle, his weight borne on an elbow. She sensed his torment. She remained silent, not knowing how to approach him. Lazarus felt Neomina enter the room and it distracted him. He directed his gaze from one fire to another. The sight of Neomina dressed in a blood-red gown filled him with the burning desire to take her. He needed her and he wanted her. A teasing temptation nagged at his soul. With a suggestive gaze, Lazarus caressed the soft flesh of Neomina's neck and settled his eyes on the jugular under her ivory skin. The scent of Neomina's blood fueled his savage hunger and stirred the Vampyre within his soul. He fought the temptation. Neomina took a step forward, the curves of her body swaying slightly against the silk folds of her gown. Little was left to the imagination beneath the sheer fabric that caressed her skin. "Stay away, Neomina.” Lazarus lifted his hands in front of him and took a step backwards. “This is not a good time to be close to me. I have decided to go in search of your father's killer, and to do so successfully, my mind needs to be clear of all trappings." He saw the look of hurt that filled her dark-violet eyes. He hadn't meant for his words to come out the way they had. Neomina stirred him and caused him to lose all sense of reason when he was around her. She owned his heart, his soul, and even his mind. The thought of losing his composure to the frenzy of passion frightened him. He didn't know what type of beast he struggled with on a daily basis that resided beneath his controlled façade. Neomina ignored his warning. She marched across the cold stone chamber with deliberate steps. Lazarus was all she had left in this world, and she refused to let him leave Sanctum Hall without so much as a tender embrace. Her eyes meeting his glare, she stared at him. Neomina had never defied anyone before meeting up with Lazarus, but her husband brought out another side in her. Standing in front of him, she reached out and wrapped her arms around him, reveling in the heated warmth emitted by their embrace. The spicy scent of sandalwood and herbs filled her senses. She rested her cheek on the hard muscles of his chest, took a deep breath to burn his scent to memory, and drank in every last bit of him. "Do not leave me, Lazarus. Please say you'll return. Please." He lifted her chin with his finger and stared down at her with a loving gaze falling from his eyes. "I can never leave you, Neomina. Never." Lazarus gave in, succumbing to the temptation that now conquered him. He lifted Neomina into his arms with one swift move and headed straight for his bed. He eased her onto the soft silk sheets and gently covered her with his own body. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers, igniting sparks throughout her body. Neomina savored every tingling sensation and arched her body closer to his. He ran his tongue over her lips and she cried out. Driven by the fierce desire burning inside, Lazarus pulled back briefly and, in mere seconds, removed his clothing. The yearning to feel Neomina's soft, warm flesh against his own skin was overwhelming. He reached out and tugged at the sheer gown covering her body. Commanded by his hands, the thin silk slid off her in moments. Lazarus tossed the dress away and returned to kissing Neomina.

He possessed her lips with a single savage kiss that attested to the raw passion fueling his soul. The sweet essence of her mouth catapulted him over the edge when he felt the pointed tips of his fangs emerge downward. A slight pinch pricked Neomina's tongue. Lazarus tried to back away, but met with resistance from Neomina. Ensuring a strong hold upon him, she entwined her hands behind his neck and laced her fingers together. Without so much as a second glance, she turned her head and offered Lazarus the life force coursing through her veins. He broke free from her grasp, slid his head down to her breasts, and took in a deep breath. Lazarus forced the Vampyre inside him to remain at bay. His deadly fangs shortened and pulled back in an instant. The rosy pink peaks of Neomina's breasts swelled in response to his caress. He slid his tongue teasingly over her taut nipples and extracted a wild response. Lazarus sensed Neomina's need grow more demanding as he became her addiction. He delved into her thoughts. She feared she could never get enough of him, of his hot, passionate touch. He roamed her body with his hands and increased the pleasures that bolted through her. He knew all the right places to touch, to tease. Neomina shut her eyes and indulged in the pleasure Lazarus gave her. He slid his hand down over her silken belly and caressed her with small, circular motions. An electric heat emanated from the friction of their mingling flesh. Lazarus felt satisfied by the pleasure expressed in Neomina's face. She responded passionately to his wicked touch and pleased him beyond all other satisfaction. Captivated by Neomina's response, Lazarus slid his hand further down her body and caressed the smooth velvet-like skin of her inner thighs. She wriggled beneath him and arched her body closer to him. In the dim light the soft touch of her hand met with his and guided him to her most private places. Neomina's willingness to enjoy their shared passion aroused him. Lazarus felt his body quiver at the realization. Reaching up, he laced his fingers into Neomina's and held her hands firmly on the bed. Melding their bodies into one, he took her. Lazarus knew when ripples of pleasure flooded Neomina's body and sent her into a rapture of ecstasy where she lost herself completely. In the midst of passion, he leaned forward and buried his mouth against the soft flesh of her neck. His deadly fangs bit down, sinking deep into her flesh, sucking forth her life force. The warm, oozing liquid was addictive. His thirst ran deep, and he drank as if he were a parched being left to wither in the arid desert. A sigh escaped from Neomina's mouth. He pulled back. The sight of blood trickling down his wife's neck disgusted him. He hated himself for taking her in such a raw, hideous manner. Lazarus released his hold on her, fell back on his knees, and knelt between Neomina's smooth, pale thighs. A dazed look crossed her face. Certain his lips were stained with Neomina's blood, Lazarus wiped a hand over his mouth. He was right. The dark liquid smeared across his palm. With a deep, mesmerizing gaze, he stared down at Neomina. “Sleep, my sweet,” he whispered. “Sleep, Neomina, and remember none of this when you wake." He leaned forward once more and slid his crimson-stained tongue over the puncture wounds at her neck. The holes closed in an instant and left no trace of his deed. The Vampyre inside gnawed at Lazarus's soul. He had drank blood, and too much of it, at that. His grandfather had forbidden

Octavia from ever allowing him to satisfy the constant hunger that would one day tempt him. He was only to drink when it was necessary to bring one of his kin across, and now he knew why. A chilling sensation overcame his soul and stirred an insatiable hunger. He left Neomina's side and dressed. Armed with no more than the fury and hunger that rose inside him, Lazarus took to the night sky and headed for the camps of the Dark Breed.

Chapter Fifteen Lazarus landed at dawn on the outskirts of the villages near Dark Breed territory. He had spent the night prowling the surrounding areas looking for animals and mortals who could offer him relief from the growing hunger that now ached in his soul. After feeding off ten beings, he stopped taking count. He felt different somehow, the morning sun causing his skin to itch, to slightly burn with a tingling sensation. His linen shirt and leather breeches did nothing to help fight the hot solar rays. The odd feeling filled the very core of his being and spread throughout his body like wild fire. He didn't like the change that was taking place inside him. Octavia had warned him about the dangers, about the painful hunger and the never-ending desire for the hunt and conquest of mortals, but he never imagined it to be like this. Lazarus couldn't figure out what had happened to him last night. He had never felt the ache of the Vampyre's hunger like this before, not even when he brought his kin across, and he'd been unable to control himself. Something was wrong and, for the life of him, he didn't know what. Members of the Tribe rarely killed their prey and they never feasted on blood from a Tracker. His actions last night went against every rule his people adhered to. He had no right to sate his Vampyric hunger by drinking from Neomina. It was one thing to mark her soul and to drink small amounts during intimate moments, but he'd drank far too much last night, his actions going beyond the task of branding. The fruits and wines of Paradise had a potent effect on the New Breed. They satisfied much of their never-ending hunger. Raising his hand to his eyes, Lazarus squinted. He surveyed the vicinity and looked for an easy route through the lands claimed by the Dark Breed. In caves inaccessible to man, the camps were set on the edge of the sea. Lazarus surmised it to be a good distance before he would reach the Dark Breed's marked territory and decided that since he was feeling tired, he needed a horse to take him there. For the first time in centuries, he felt drained of his energy. He sluggishly traveled on foot to a nearby village inhabited by thieves and the disreputable. A bearded, rough-looking man approached him. "What can I offer you, sir?” the man asked, following Lazarus as he mingled among the beggars and crude merchants. “A meal, some mead, a woman. Or ... whatever your rich soul fancies.” The man eyed him up and down as if studying his fine clothing. Lazarus came to a sudden stop. Sensing the man's wayward soul, he turned his dark hypnotic eyes on the ruffian and glared, curbing the vagrant's desire to steal from him. "Bring me a horse,” he said. “I want the finest you have." Like a bewitched zombie, the man obliged and left Lazarus standing amid an aisle of filthy beggars as he disappeared into the noisy crowd. Leading a horse by its reins, the man soon returned. Lazarus dropped a pouch of silver into the man's opened palm and mounted the horse. He rode at lightning speed, the sun seeming now to lightly sear his skin. As he approached the empty beaches, his ears filled with the roar of the sea. Lazarus felt the cool air strike his face and tussle with his hair. He felt the strange sensation of being lured in by his enemy and it stirred his soul. Waves crashed against jagged, pointy rocks that jutted out into the distance and spewed forth a white foamy brew of seawater. The horse galloped through the wet, sticky sand and kicked it up in clumps behind them. Lazarus glanced back and stared at the tracks. Someone could find him, but he prayed the sea would wash away his trail. At the edge of the land, he dismounted and sent the animal back to where it had come. He didn't know how long his search would keep him in Dark Breed territory, and the horse would do him no good should he take days to return from the camps. He mustered his strength, took to the morning air, and flew out across the sea. Filled only with the water's crashing waves, a number of caves lined the seascape. He flew close to every darkened entryway, hoping to sense the soul he came in search of. The odor of foul-smelling blood filled his nostrils and caused nausea to rise from his stomach. Lazarus turned away. He flew out over the sea and drew in a deep, crisp breath of air. As he did so, a slight tingling sensation crept along his spine and alerted him to the danger that lurked in the caves. The creature he had come in search of dwelled nearby. Lazarus sensed his enemy with an

awareness more keen than he'd ever experienced. He felt his enemy's soul as if it had reached out and touched his own. He shuddered at the thought. This was the call of an angered soul, a Vampyre unsettled in his own world. Lazarus remembered feeling the same sensation back in Rome and hated the idea of reliving that nightmare. But he was here to settle this matter once and for all, and to avenge Gerard Delacroix's death. He knew his enemy to be in the cave from which the putrid odor drifted. He turned back and swooped close to the sea as he headed for the open caverns. He followed the pungent odor and singled out the cave he believed it came from. Lazarus dove down and entered the jagged, rocky opening just as a wave crashed against it. He was soaked from head to toe. Flying deep into the hidden cavern, he landed, squatting on a seaweed-covered ledge. He brushed away the wet, tangled plant and dropped down on the rocks. His hair was pasted to his forehead. Annoyed, he raised his hand, pushed it back, and freed his eyes from the black strands. His vision quickly adjusted to the dark surroundings. In the distance, Lazarus heard the crackling of fire and saw the flickering of orange-red flames. He stood, drenched, tired, and disgusted beyond all limits of irritation. He wanted nothing more than to rest, to take a moment to gather his thoughts and catch his breath. But to do so would show his weakness and put him in worse danger. He swore an oath and trod deeper into the cave. A pair of soft leather boots and a suit of dry clothes waited for him as he turned a corner. The Conlon crest, sewn with silver threads, was visible on the shirt fabric. Lazarus froze. Using his preternatural eyesight, he searched into the depths of the cave and looked for the soul who was obviously expecting him, but he couldn't detect any other being but himself. He picked up the leather breeches and linen shirt and changed into the clean clothing. The dry fabric felt good against his cold, damp skin. "Take me, sir." Lazarus spun around. A small boy stood waiting in the cave's shadows. Lazarus stared at him. Dark circles surrounded the child's deep-set eyes and cast a look of death about the boy's face. His palerthan-alabaster skin was pulled taut over his small face and revealed a delicate bone structure underneath. "Take me, sir. I am here to do your bidding." "I don't take children." The boy instantly changed. His frail form turned into a body sculpted with strong, well-defined muscles. He now appeared as a tall, handsome, healthy young man. "Does this please you instead?" Lazarus glared at him and cursed. He ventured deeper into the cavern. "What about this?” The shape-shifter followed him into the depths of the camp, and, now his body, resembling a seductive temptress, again stood in front of Lazarus. "I do not want you regardless of your form. Just tell me, where can I find Percival?" The woman stepped closer to him. "Drink from me and I will take you to him. If you turn me away, I will kill you." "I find that hard to believe.” Lazarus raised an eyebrow and wondered what tricks his nemesis would play next.

A thundering echo shattered through the cave like a den of lions roaring through the wilds. The ground beneath his feet shook. "What in God's name-?" "I told you, if you do not drink from me I will kill you,” said the shape-shifter. “I have just sealed the entrance to the cavern. You can no longer escape." She raised a wrist to her mouth and bit deep into the pale, chalky flesh, peeling off a layer of skin. She spit out the torn flesh that lingered in her mouth. Lazarus eyed the pooling blood sitting hot on the shape shifter's wrist. His hunger gnawed at him. "Come to me, sir. Take me for your own good.” The woman called to him with a voice as tempting as the night to the Vampyre. He wanted nothing to do with her. The thought of feeding on blood again made him sick. Yet despite Lazarus's best efforts, he felt himself being urged by an unknown, unseen force. Unwillingly succumbing to his desires, he grabbed hold of the shape-shifter's arm and sucked deep from her wrist. The pooled blood oozed down the woman's hand and arm and sent Lazarus into a feeding frenzy. Suddenly fearing no amount of blood would be enough to sate him, he licked at her flesh. The tainted blood tasted sweeter than nectar as he clamped his lips over her naked veins. He drank and drank and drank. He took his fill until nothing but a withered corpse remained of the woman, and she collapsed on the floor. The pale white body changed shape, once more reverting to the small boy. Lazarus stood in shock, horrified by what the lifeless body revealed. The child's chalky, puncture-ridden skin clung to his bones. He had not done this to the child! Or had he? Lazarus felt his mind slipping, fading into oblivion. He crashed to the floor, his knees scraping hard against the jagged, rocky surface. A dozen or so shape-shifters, all in the form of children, came to him, offering him their life force. He pushed them away. Visions of Neomina lying in bed all bloodied and pale flooded his mind. No. He hadn't left her in such a dire state. "Percival! Damn you, Percival!” he shouted but no one seemed to listen. Slowly, the warm essence of blood filled his mouth and smoothly slid down his throat like fine vintage of wine. He didn't know how it began or how it would ever end, but Lazarus fed until he felt his soul completely sated. The world of dreams took him. **** Searching for Montigrael, Neomina roamed the halls of Sanctum Hall. She hunted everywhere and finally found the angel in the apothecary. "Ah, a ray of sunshine. Please, come in.” Monty gestured to Neomina. “I hate it when the weather is cloudy and rainy. What about you?" Neomina shrugged her shoulders. “The rain does not bother me." A sense of longing clouded her soul. She missed Lazarus and was deathly worried about him. "My nephew is no fool, dear. I am sure he returns soon." Shocked washed over Neomina as she realized Monty read her thoughts. She never considered angels to have similar abilities as vampyres, and now wondered if Montigrael sensed everything that stirred within her. "No."

"What?" "I can only read that which you allow me to read. And, if truth be known, I make a habit of not listening. Do you know what it is like to be an angel? To sense everything, hear everything?" Neomina shook her head. “Forgive me. I didn't mean to unsettle you." "Nonsense, child. My feelings are quite unharmed. Now tell me what brings you here?" She bit her lip. After she gave Lazarus her father's note, he never mentioned again, but she had the distinct feeling he hadn't told Montigrael everything that Gerard had insisted he be told. "What do you know about the Amulet of Christ?" The angel lifted his head from a group of herbs sitting on the table. “The amulet was first given to Octavia's father sometime after the crucifixion. I believe one of the apostles brought it to him after having been instructed to do so by the risen Christ. The pendant carries a vial of Christ's blood and restores mortality to the New Breeder who wears it." Neomina thought back to her father and the life she led prior to his death. “What does the amulet look like?" Montigrael wiped his hands on the apron he wore. Colors from the herbs he'd been mixing painted the fabric with a rainbow of fingerprints. “It is round and marked with a symbol representing the Trinity. The outer casing is made of gold." A bolt of shock ran through Neomina's body. “My father wore a pendant with the very same markings on it, and I rarely remember seeing him without it. He wore it almost every day of his life. Now Roderick is in possession of it, but only temporarily, until it passes to its next, rightful owner." "Please, child, have a seat. Right now you look as pale as Althea." Neomina twisted the silky fabric of her purple gown. Her head pounded and her heart raced. She could feel the blood coursing through her veins and echoing in her ears. "There were things your father never wanted you to know. He kept certain secrets from you, and he did so with good reason." "You know them, don't you? The secrets he kept from me." Monty pulled up a chair next to Neomina. Comforted by his presence, Neomina allowed her soul to relax a bit by studying Montigrael. His gray breeches and burgundy linen shirt made him look like an average mortal and anything but an angel. Yet something about him set his soul apart from all others. A slight gold aura reflected off Monty's hair and reminded Neomina of a halo. She stared at him intently. "Your father met with misfortune sometime early in life,” he said, “and had his mortality taken from him by a Dark Breeder. The Trackers came upon him begging for help, as he lay wounded from battle. Your mother rescued him and rehabilitated his soul. The feat had never been attempted before nor has it been since." "And the amulet?" "Octavia's father lost the amulet, together with the St. John Stake, when the Vampyre that ruled his soul came back to taunt him. The relics were taken by angels and given to the Trackers for safekeeping. The St. John Stake is a deadly weapon made of wood and shrouded in silver melted down from the platter that once carried John the Baptist's head. It is used to kill the most villainous souls of the Dark Breed. "Octavia's mother possessed them both until her death when they were passed to the Tracker Council. Your father was given ownership of the relics after his rehabilitation."

Neomina didn't want to ask the next question, but she needed to know. “Who will possess them now?" "I am afraid, child, the new owner is you." Not knowing how to react she sucked in a deep breath. “But, if that is true, then I can give Lazarus back his mortality and he can father a child.” A shocking realization hit her. “You said my father's mortality was taken by a Dark Breeder, did you not?" Montigrael nodded. "But what does that make me? I inherited none of my mother's powers as she willed them to my father before I was even born." "That makes you a most unique creature, child." He said those words only to comfort her and she knew it. "I am Vampyre, am I not?" "The preternatural essence that lingered in your father's soul has, indeed, been passed on to you. It awoke at the time of Gerard's death. But understand, Neomina, you are not like any others. You must decide whether to remain mortal and take on the partial powers your mother willed away to Delacroix, and also accept the responsibility of now being Roderick's sole heir and future leader of the Tracker High Council, or to cross over and allow the Vampyre to claim your soul." A frenzy of emotions played with her mind and confused Neomina more than ever before. She knew only one thing—she could never live as Vampyre if she was to secure the succession of the Tracker line, even if the Amulet of Christ did restore mortality to the undead. She needed to be mortal all the time to lead the Trackers, not just to procreate. The Tracker legacy had to be secured before she could even entertain the idea of living as a true member of the Tribe. Now her biggest concern was telling Lazarus her decision. A Vampyre patriarch married to the future leader of the Tracker's High Council somehow didn't seem like an idea Lazarus would accept without argument. And arguing with an absentee vampyre wasn't exactly an easy feat. She needed to find out where her husband had taken off to and go fetch him back. And nothing or no one was going to stop her.

Chapter Sixteen The pain grew unbearable. Hovering on the verge of death, Lazarus woke, his body aching and shivering. The world around him appeared as nothing more than a spinning blur shrouded in shadows and darkness. He moaned in agony as the gnawing hunger tormenting his body slowly began to eat away at his soul. He tried to make sense of his surroundings. He was on a bed and his ankles and wrists were shackled to posts. As he tried to move, to break free from his restraints, his pain intensified. "It's the blood." He opened one eyelid and squinted. "Who is there? What have you done to me?" He heard nothing in response save for slow, deliberate footsteps echoing around the cavern. The rhythmic sound circled Lazarus's resting place over and over, growing more intense and coming closer with each completion of a turn. "Now you know how I have felt these past centuries,” a harsh, gruff voice whispered through the darkness. “The constant ache; the never-ending hunger.” The voice grew louder and more sinister. “It consumes you entirely until there is nothing left to your being except a soulless shell." "Who are you?" "Why do you want to know? I have existed for hundreds of years and my name meant nothing to you." A blurred figure emerged from the darkened shadows that danced across the room. Lazarus watched his captor approaching. He reached out a shackled hand and grabbed hold of the hideous looking beast who confined him. From his long, knotted black hair to the burning embers that filled his empty eye sockets, the creature who held him captive had to be a spawn of hell. No other being could look so frightening, thought Lazarus. “Damn you,” he said, anger filling his voice. Chains from the cold metal links harnessing his arms rattled over Lazarus's head and came thrashing down on his face as he struggled with his captor. He released the creature and pulled at the cuffs binding his arms above his head, chaining him to the crude bed. Lazarus let out a beastly growl. “There is no need for this." "I'd beg to differ. Though I do find your view on the matter interesting. Did you not come here to kill me? To still my living soul so your precious Neomina could have her revenge?" "I know nothing of such things." "You amuse me, Lazarus.” An eerie laugh rang out through the dead air. “For the patriarch of a Tribe, you certainly are naïve." Lazarus pulled at the chains once more and struggled with the heavy links. “Ugh!” He'd never felt so frustrated. "She gives me life,” whispered his captor. “Now that Gerard is dead, Neomina is my new student. I made Delacroix. I brought him across to the Dark Breed and, in return, he promised me his firstborn child. Neomina is mine in more ways than you can ever imagine. What Neomina hears, I hear. What Neomina feels, I feel. What she sees, I see. And, oh, yes. I see that look in your eyes. Does the realization make you sick? It is true, my dear Lazarus. Everything Neomina experiences, I experience. Even your shared intimacy.” The voice closed in on him. “What she gives, I give." Nausea rose in his stomach as Lazarus thought of Neomina and envisioned their last moments together. "Did my blood taste sweet to you?” his captor asked. “Did it taste familiar, remind you of another's? You have never felt the hunger

like I have. My blood now flows through you, making you crave that which had been forbidden to your soul for centuries. Savor the taste, the hunger. I will soon complete the task of making you into what I have always been." Lazarus could not contain the disgust that filled him, that turned his stomach. He leaned over the edge of his straw-covered pallet, as far as his metal restraints permitted, and vomited. The blood that had sated his hunger earlier came up in an instant, leaving him to suffer an even more unbearable pain. He rolled back upon the makeshift bed. "So, tell me. What am I to do with a soul who comes to destroy me? Any ideas?" Lazarus didn't answer. A sweet, succulent aroma filled his nostrils and reminded him of the fruits from Paradise. The fuzzy skin of a peach brushed his lips a moment later and then came down fast and hard on his teeth as he was forced to open his mouth. "Eat it." He bit into the peach, tasting the essence of Paradise in the first bite. "You are worth far more to me alive than if you were dead. So for that, be thankful." Lazarus swallowed. His captor forced him to take a second bite. "Damn you.” He wanted nothing more than to spit the fruit out of his mouth, but instead devoured it like a wild beast that hadn't eaten in days. Yet his dark hunger refused to subside. Whatever his captor had transformed him into he no longer reaped the benefits of feeding on Paradisian fruits. He hated himself for having no self-control. “Death would be my salvation. To live like this, one has nothing for which to be grateful." "Then think of Neomina. If you die, I will take her. I made her father, sent him to the Trackers and I possessed his soul until the very end. Do you really think Gerard would have allowed his offspring to marry a patriarch of the Vampyre Tribes when he himself had once been such a creature?" "Why not?” Lazarus asked. “Gerard had been rehabilitated, returned to a mortal state, and lived as a full-fledged member of the Tracker society. My grandmother was a Tracker and she married my grandfather, the first patriarch of my Tribe." "But Romulus's soul was already exorcized by the Nazarene. He had the amulet and the St. John Stake. Your grandfather had something to offer to the Trackers. What do you bring them?" Lazarus thought about his captor's words. It was true. One day he stood to inherit the sacred relics, but until then he brought nothing to the Trackers. For Gerard to hand over his only heir to the Vampyre made no sense. He wondered why he'd never realized it before. "Why have you done this?” asked Lazarus. “Why have you come into my life, taken me hostage and forced me to feast on tainted blood?" "Neomina can breathe into me new life, the life I was meant to live. But she can do so only after you bring her over." "Why Neomina?" A grunt of frustration echoed about the cavern. “I told you I made her father and Gerard promised me his firstborn. Had the child been a boy Gerard would have married him off to Althea and then your cousin would be here now instead of you. Her soul would do me just the same. Your blood runs in her veins as well. I would have reached you one way or another, Lazarus." "So you want me. Why?"

"To suffer, to torment, to torture. I want you to know the hell I've endured for all these centuries. I should have lived the life you did. It was my birthright." Lazarus didn't understand. He had no brothers or sisters and no immediate family, save for his mother. A shadow crossed his eyes. Thick, honey-sweet drops of liquid fell to his lips as the taste of blood filled his mouth. "Drink from me, dear Lazarus. Taste the familiar essence in my blood that links our souls—the essence of Paradise. Drink from me, dear cousin. And when you are fully sated, thank Montigrael for having sired me, your living nightmare." The words bolted through him like a stake striking at his heart. His captor was Monty's son. Lazarus cursed to himself. He closed his eyes and tried desperately to wish away the agony that was starting to spread like wildfire throughout his body. Tainted blood pooled in his mouth as his captor force-fed him. In an instant, the poisoned blood paralyzed his senses. Lazarus felt the world go dark.

Chapter Seventeen Neomina couldn't sleep. Dressed in a thin, flowing gown, she rose from her bed and ventured downstairs to the great hall. The room stood empty, devoid of the life that had filled it only hours ago when the Tribe had gathered here. Life among the Vampyre was different for her, different from the vibrant, life-filled Tracker world Gerard had shown her. Neomina wandered about the hall and wondered if she would ever get used to sleeping in the day and rising at night. Her body was filled with a strange tingling sensation that caused her to feel unreal. The world seemed to pass her by in slow motion, with no sense of tangibility. She felt as if she were floating in a dreamlike state, feeling only half alive. The overwhelming effect of the Vampyre was taking its toll on her. She no longer knew if she were awake or asleep, real or unreal. The world was beginning to seem like a faraway place and she didn't know if she would survive the changes taking place inside her. Neomina thought she might be dreaming. "No. You are as awake as am I." The voice startled her. “I didn't expect anyone to still be up." Montigrael smiled at her and took a seat at one of the long, wooden tables. “I'm not Vampyre. I don't sleep like the others." No, he wasn't Vampyre at all and Neomina was glad of it. She stared at him, longing to know his story. How did an angel come to guard creatures of the night? "Why do they go to the crypts? I thought the Tribe had all been exorcized and, in such a state, they could refrain from hiding from the sun." "They are, but the sleep that calls them is still very much present. Only a few members of the Tribe have challenged the Vampyre that rules inside. Octavia, Althea, and Byron have all successfully overcome their adversity to the sun's rays." "Oh.” Her mind wandered. "What's wrong, Neomina?" "I can't feel Lazarus and that bothers me." Montigrael stood. “I am quite sure my nephew will be fine. He's one of the strongest souls I have ever known." He didn't understand. How could he? Montigrael was an angel and knew nothing about love. A harsh sternness laced Monty's voice. “Quite the contrary." She wanted to remind him that his reading of her mind made her uncomfortable, but Neomina felt the pain that flowed through Montigrael's words. Now wasn't the time to chastise him. "I once had a wife and a child. Did Lazarus ever tell you anything about me or the Grigori?" At his words, Neomina remembered Lazarus's words about the Grigori and the affect the Grigori powers had had on their lovemaking. When she felt heat flood her cheeks at the memory, she turned away. "I wasn't referring to that,” Monty said with a soft chuckle. Then he became serious again when he said, “What I meant was did he ever tell you about our closeness to man?" She shook her head and peered back at the angel. "We were sent by God to the Garden of Eden as the watchers of man. It was our duty to teach man everything we knew, including

sacred knowledge." He stared at her, as if searching for words. Finally, he said, “The apple, the snake, it didn't happen as man believes. Adam and Eve had to learn. They had to eat from the Tree of Knowledge or remain in a childlike state for all eternity, and that was not what God intended. He wanted his children to enjoy all he had given them. Somewhere through time, the truth has been twisted." Montigrael took a deep breath and began pacing the stone-tiled floor. Neomina watched him, feeling his emotions and knew that painful memories of the past filled his soul and caused him great grief. "The Grigori were angels of the tenth choir. In Paradise, there are nine levels or choirs of angels. The Grigori is of a choir that no longer holds rank in the angelic realm. We fell from grace after coupling with the children of Eve. When the flood came, the angel Uriel and others warned Noah and the Grigori of the pending danger. I wanted to return to Paradise, as my Father had forgiven us our transgressions. But Lexliel, my brother, chose to take refuge in the dark side of Heaven. He was ashamed of his sins and could not face our Father. Plainly put, he descended to Hell. "I couldn't let my brother go alone. I feared for him. His soul was in such turmoil at the time that I couldn't leave him, so I followed his path to Hell. I didn't return to man's world until the time of the Roman Empire. I thought I would find a new Eden in Rome. I was wrong, so very wrong.” He closed his eyes as if his memories were too much to bear. He stopped pacing the floor and faced Neomina. “In the days just prior to the fall of the Empire, I met a woman in Rome. I had a very different life back then, nothing like what it is today. My soul became so engrossed with man that at times I forgot the fact I was angel." He swallowed, and Neomina watched him fight back the tears filling his eyes. She could feel both his pain and his joy. See his visions of the past. There was a villa surrounded by fertile crops and fragrant flowers. The scent of jasmine filled the room, bringing Montigrael's thoughts to life. Neomina backed away frightened. The power of bringing to life a vision alarmed her. "Don't fear it, Neomina. What you are now experiencing is the dark gift combined with my own abilities. I can't help remembering the life that once was. Your senses merely capture the vividness of my thoughts." "Go on, I want to know more.” Curiosity getting the best of her, she fought against her fear. "I fell in love.” He laughed, as if trying to ease the pain. “I'd never have imagined it if I hadn't experienced it myself, an angel in love with a mortal. I had never felt such an emotion before. The incident at Eden was born out of lust and simple curiosity. We desired to feel all that man felt back then. If I were to do it over again, never would I sin in such a manner." He stared out into the great hall as if searching for what once was. “I remember a time when my own house stirred with life and laughter. When I felt joy and peace." "What happened to your wife and child?” The words tumbled from Neomina's lips before she had a chance to think about the consequences of asking such a question. She feared causing Montigrael pain in being asked to retell his past agony. "We had a villa perched high in the hills above Rome. I thought my family would be safe there, away from the mob of the city. But I failed to think about the dangers that lurked outside man's realm. I became so involved with the mortal world that all else faded from my mind. I even kept my wings hidden at all times, never unfurling them, never feeling the true essence of love that is carried in the fibers of an angel's wings. I lost all touch with Paradise." He again fell into silence, and a great sadness etched across his features. “I remember the day as vividly as if it were only yesterday. I woke early, disturbed by the stirring of my soul. I turned to my wife, Aurelia, but found no one in bed beside me. A sudden panic filled every fiber of my body. I rose from the bed and went in search of her. "I can still feel the coldness of the marble under my bare feet as I ran through the corridor surrounding the villa. Near an entrance to the fields, I found Aurelia's body. Never had I seen such a sight. Dotted with two tiny droplets of blood upon her neck, her skin appeared whiter than alabaster. There was nothing left of her except an empty shell. I wept like never before." Neomina felt a sudden repulsion rise inside her as she saw the vision that flashed in Montigrael's mind. The thought of the Vampyre feeding upon mortals sickened her.

"Where was your son through all of this?" "He was nowhere to be found. Outside, I searched through the endless fields of wheat and other crops, only to find countless victims, all having met the same fate as my sweet Aurelia. Her entire family had been destroyed. "I asked myself why? In the first days that followed my loss, I thought I was paying the price for my transgressions in Eden and for descending to Hell. But the Soul of Paradise is a loving creator and not a damning one. I searched my mind until I thought all would be lost to madness. All the while I kept looking for my son, Julius, in every corner of the Earth. I even went to Hell. But Julius seemed to have simply vanished from existence. "I buried Aurelia together with her family members and left the villa. My brother, Lexliel, lived nearby and it was to him that I turned in my agony." Neomina remembered the name. "Lexliel was Lazarus's father, was he not?" Montigrael nodded. "When I arrived at my brother's home, I was told he had been called away on an urgent matter. I asked to see Octavia. At the time I had yet to meet her, as Lexliel and I had grown apart after our stay in Hell. The slave simply said no one was at home. "I left the villa and went in search of Lexliel. I could feel his soul and followed him to where he had gone. He rested in a place no one should ever have to go to. He rested in the lair of the Nephilim." "The Nephilim?" "Those are the demons born to the Grigori. Not all souls are as righteous as Lazarus. A child born to a Grigori must have its mortal parent bound to Paradise. If not, the soul will be that of a demon's. There is a creature among the Nephilim who has been feeding on mortals since the time of Eden. It gave birth to the Vampyric soul and rules over the Dark Breed. It took my son from me." Montigrael fell silent. He closed his eyes and Neomina knew he was recalling the moment he had found his son in the clutches of the Nephilim. She shied away from his memories, knowing they were horrific. "Lexliel felt Julius's fear. He knew my son was still alive and in great torment. Julius was crying out for help, but only Lexliel heard him. My brother felt my son's soul reach out to him on the ethereal plane. I had been so overburdened with grief I was unable to feel my own son's soul, and the guilt of that has haunted me ever since. "My brother found Julius pinned down upon a slab of rock and cradled in the arms of this wild, bloodsucking beast. He raised his sword of lightning and plunged it deep into the creature's soul. At that very moment, the Lord of Hell—one of my fallen brothers— appeared and killed Lexliel for attempting to destroy the soul who was feeding off my son. "The Devil immediately restored life to the beast who held Julius in his arms. The act served to intensify the creature's dark essence. My son died instantly, and in his place a hideous being was born." Neomina stared at Montigrael with wide eyes. "What did you do next?" "I wanted to lash out at the Lord of Hell, and the beast he had just restored to life. But my wishes were never to materialize. The powers of Paradise descended and pulled me back. I was immediately clutched in the arms of an unseen force and lifted to Heaven before I could I do anything. "I heard the voice of the Nephilim as a collective, the chilling sound of one soul echoing eerily through the realms of existence as it baptized my son with a new name. I heard the haunting voice trail away as I was drawn into Heaven. To this day, it still haunts my

dreams." A jolt of fear rushed through Neomina's soul and she knew too well what words Montigrael would utter next. "They called him by a name never before used by man. They called him Percival. And then they wiped him from the face of existence." She gasped. The mention of the name caused her soul to churn. "Neomina? Neomina, are you all right?” Montigrael asked, and then he leapt across the room to Neomina's side. She collapsed in his arms, her strength suddenly gone. "Child, what have I done?" "He lives...” The words fell from Neomina's lips, accompanied by short gasps of breath. She found a great pain growing inside of her. "He lives. Percival lives. My father told me so." Montigrael stared at Neomina in horror. The realization of what she said sliced through his soul like a sword thrust deep into the very essence of his being. He'd never imagined his son to be still alive. "Lazarus.” He called his nephew's name and feared for what fate might meet him. “We have to get to Lazarus, Neomina. I have to save him. I never told anyone about Percival because I feared the power of the spoken word. I thought should I mention my fears about him, they would materialize. I should have said something. Percival wants to destroy Lazarus and the Tribe." He closed his eyes. “He is my son and I can sometimes tell what he is thinking. All this time I thought it was me, my mind playing tricks on me. I thought it had to do with Hell and temptation because I wanted to believe my son still lived. Now Lazarus is in danger. My brother sacrificed his own life for my son's, and in return I pledged my soul to protect Lazarus. I can not allow Percival to destroy him." Neomina continued to struggle for breath, so Montigrael lifted her into his arms and carried her upstairs to her private chambers. There he gently placed her upon the bed. "We must pray Lazarus does not encounter Percival while searching for your father's killer among the Dark Breed,” Monty told her. “If he does, surely Percival will kill him. I know little of my son's life after the Nephilim took him, but some things I can sense in my mind. I think Percival wanted it that way. He has tormented me with bits and pieces of his life all these years, and for what reason I do not know." Neomina found it easier to breathe now. She recalled the note her father had given her. "Lazarus must know Percival is alive. My father gave me a note as he lay dying in my arms, and he told me to give it to Lazarus. I am sure my father wrote about Percival." "Where is the note?" "Lazarus placed it on the dresser in his room, but I don't know if it is still there." In an instant, Montigrael vanished. He returned no more than a second later carrying the unfolded parchment note. "Lazarus has gone in search of Percival. He is the soul who killed your father. We have to find my nephew and bring him back, or else...” His words trailed off to silence and Neomina knew why. "You do not have to protect me, Monty. I know Lazarus is in grave danger.” She fidgeted with the white ribbon tied at the end of her long, braided hair. The silky fabric began to fray. “He went in search of my father's killer, and that is a task I should have taken. I must go with you to help him. The St. John Stake and the Amulet of Christ are now mine. You said so yourself. I want to use

them to help Lazarus." "I don't know where the relics are hidden." "But you are an angel. I thought guardian angels were supposed to help in situations like this one." "Yes, but I cannot interfere with the will of man. The Trackers have the relics, and they are the only ones who can tell you where the items rest." "Then we will go to Roderick. My uncle is a member of the Tracker Council and he will be able to help us." Montigrael refrained from asking the one question that now troubled him, but Neomina picked up on his thoughts. “Do not worry, Monty. Roderick will give me the relics. I know he will." She silently prayed that she was right. If she was wrong, Lazarus would die. The Tribe would die and so would she. Life without her beloved husband would be no life at all. But she needed the relics to fight Percival. There existed no other weapon strong enough to destroy a Dark Breeder.

Chapter Eighteen Roderick sat on a small wooden stool inside the tent. He wore a brown tunic over a white shirt and a pair of black breeches. Worn leather boots covered his feet and calves. Neomina couldn't help staring at him. He was a man of simple means and fancied the forest as his home rather than a building made of stone or wood. Only on occasion did he stay at the cottage that once belonged to his father, the same small house Neomina called home. Since the time of his father's death, he had remained ready both day and night to aid the Trackers. His sacrifice of living for the Trackers and nothing else had cost him his youth and the love of his life. He'd devoted himself to protecting his people and hunting the Vampyre. "The Trackers will not be so eager to turn over the relics, Neomina, even if the items do rightfully belong to you,” her uncle told her. "But why would they fight me on this? My mother gave her life for the Trackers and to deny me what is mine would be an insult to her memory." Roderick stared at Montigrael. “My father allowed my sister to rehabilitate Gerard's soul." She nodded. “Yes, I know that." "He came here as Vampyre made by a Dark Breeder named Percival." A look of shock crossed Montigrael's face. “I had no idea." Roderick shook his head. “Gerard didn't think you did." "Why was I never told of this?" "Percival had sworn Gerard to secrecy. Besides, as a Dark Breeder, Gerard could never have gone against one of his own. It is their way, just as a true Tracker can never go against another." Neomina rose from her seat and started to pace the dirt floor. “But why would the Trackers deny me the relics? I am not a Dark Breeder." Roderick sighed. “But their blood runs through your veins. You must prove to the Tracker Council that you are worthy of caring for the relics in a responsible way. If you do not do this, the Trackers will refuse you all rights to their sacred relics. The main reason being that once you possess the St. John Stake and the Amulet of Christ, they remain yours until your death—or until you choose to will them away to another worthy Tracker." Neomina stopped in her tracks and studied the hem of her gown. The purple velvet edge was covered in a light dusting of earth kicked up from her pacing about the tent's dirt floor. She bent down and gently wiped the soil from her gown. The smell of earth rose to her nostrils and filled her with a sense of wonder. The forest was her home, and the Trackers were her people, yet deep inside she felt an attachment to the Tribe that now went beyond her relationship with Lazarus. Confusion struck her soul once again. She reached over and grabbed the stool she had previously sat on and placed it directly in front of Roderick. Neomina took her seat and stared at the man she knew only as her uncle. The difference in their blood, hers being part Vampyric, and Roderick's being full-fledged Tracker, meant nothing to her. "What do I have to do to prove myself to the Council?" Roderick studied her face. “You must swear allegiance to them over the Vampyre." She couldn't help the deep frown that down-curved her lips. “But you are asking me to go against my own husband. How can I do such a thing?" "You must swear allegiance to the Trackers or turn away from them. They are Vampyre hunters, Neomina. They cannot afford to have a weak link among them. Your father agreed to be rehabilitated and was so accepted by my people. But you living among the

Vampyre while having Vampyric blood running through your veins, puts the Trackers on guard. Our people can just as easily be hunted by The Tribe as we hunt the Dark Breed." Neomina knew her uncle was right. The Trackers depended on their unity to survive. They were a people who depended on each other's loyalty. One betraying soul and their world would crumble. The oath of allegiance was what kept them safe. She rubbed her hands across her face and then met his gaze. “What if I pledge my soul to the Trackers and promise not to cross over to the Vampyre until it is time to will away my powers, along with the relics, to another member of their society? I will be going against the man I love by pledging my soul to the Trackers until the appropriate time for me to leave them. Surely this is a sacrifice worthy enough to prove my allegiance to the Trackers." Roderick folded his arms in front of him and sat stoically, as if thinking over her words. “The council could agree to such an arrangement. After all, once you take the oath it cannot be broken, by you or by anyone else. The power of the oath is bound to the powers of good and evil. If you break this vow, your soul will be condemned to Hell and you will be shunned until your death. The powers that be are ruled by Heaven and Hell, and as mere mortals we have no control over them." Montigrael turned to Neomina. “Are you prepared to place yourself in that position? Think about Lazarus and your life together with him." She clutched Monty's arm. “I have thought about him and our life, but I know in my soul that this is the only way to help him." A warm wind ruffled the tent's flap that served as a door. Roderick rose in an instant as the rough fabric used to close the tent parted, revealing a woman dressed in black silk. Her raven locks flowed free from loose ribbons and a large gold cross hung about her neck. "Octavia,” said Montigrael, his voice filled with surprise. “What brings you here?" A look of fear marred Roderick's face. The presence of the Vampyre obviously didn't sit well with him. "Montigrael.” She nodded a greeting, acknowledging her brother-in-law and then Neomina, but refrained from looking at Roderick. “I come on behalf of my parents’ souls." Roderick rubbed his chin. “The council convenes as we speak." "Yes.” Octavia glanced around the tent and settled her gaze on the earthen floor. Neomina knew why Octavia didn't look at Roderick. As Vampyre, Octavia could not meet Roderick's stare head-on lest she mentally experience the pain of being staked. Roderick, like all leaders of the Trackers, had immense powers and could wound a Vampyre's heart by merely looking on its face. Octavia kept her gaze low. “My late mother has spoken to me as has Romulus. Give Neomina the relics. She will not betray you. The council has my word." "But you are Vampyre, Octavia,” said Neomina. “How could it be that the Trackers would accept your word?" "Neomina, my dear child, my father first brought the relics to the Trackers. One of the twelve apostles gave them to him on the direct command of the risen Christ. I have final say over who inherits the relics. In all my existence, I have never exercised that right until now. As I told you before, I knew your father well and I met with him on an almost daily basis. The reason for those meetings was to ensure the safety of the Trackers. I keep close tabs on the relics. It is my duty." "Uncle Roderick?” Neomina pleaded with her eyes. He nodded. “I will speak to the council and tell them of your willingness to pledge allegiance to them. Your vow of refraining from being brought across and keeping the relics and your powers until you can will them away should be worth something to them. While Octavia has final say over the sacred items, forcing the Trackers into doing something the Council doesn't not agree with would only weaken the relationship between the Tribe and our people. Your vow, combined with Octavia's good word, should

ensure you the relics." He paused. A pained look covered his aging face. “Neomina, promise me you'll be careful. I lost your mother, and a good friend in your father. I couldn't bear to lose you, too. You are all the family I have left." Tears welled in Neomina's eyes. “You don't know how much those words mean to me, Uncle. I promise that I'll be careful." **** Night came quickly and Neomina opted to forego the Tribe's nightly gathering because the day's business had left her exhausted. She retreated to the private rooms on the top floor of the keep. Alone, Neomina dressed in a simple, sheer shift and made her way across the chamber to her bed. She slid under the silken sheets, her heart and body longing for Lazarus. In an instant she was asleep. Come to me Neomina. Come to me. Lazarus's seductive voice called to her, wrapping her in the rich velvet of its tone. She felt him everywhere, around her, inside her; they melded as one. I can feel you, but I cannot see you, Lazarus. Tell me where you rest. In the cave, Neomina. I am in Percival's lair. Send me Montigrael. He is the only one who can help me fight my nemesis. Yes. Of course, he will come. Montigrael and I shall be with you soon, I promise you this. I have the St. John Stake and the Amulet of Christ. With these relics I will free you from Percival and later free you of the torment that steals your soul. Pain tore at her insides. She saw a heavy chain suddenly slash Lazarus's face and leave gaping wounds where flesh once existed. Streams of blood trickled down his face. "How dare you take advantage of my hospitality, dear cousin,” a sinister voice rang out, echoing through the night. Can you hear me, Neomina? Can you see me? It is Percival, the bringer of your nightmare. Grasping for her soul, the voice called to her. Oh, yes. I know you can hear me, so listen well, my sweet. Come to me and bring that pitiful father of mine with you. I would be delighted to see the bastard. With him here in my lair, I will finally have my revenge. I will take his soul from him and damn it to Hell for all eternity. And, as for those relics you hold so sacred, forget them. Nothing can kill me, not even the St. John Stake. My blood runs in your veins and, as time goes by, it makes me stronger, immune to the wounds inflicted by the weapons of the Trackers. A Dark Breeder cannot turn against one of its own kind, and your blood runs in my veins and mine in yours. You can never kill me, despite your loathing of my soul. There was a burst of brutal, sinister laughter, then, I made your father, and through him I enjoyed your mother. Her death was the most satisfying meal I ever had. Her blood was sweeter than the nectar of the gods, and I enjoyed every drop and savored the taste as it glided all warm and silky down my throat and into my being. And now I shall have you. I thought about taking Lazarus first, but now I've decided I will take you first, take your life's essence, your blood, right here in front of your husband. An audience makes the deed of killing all the more satisfying. There was another pause, and Neomina could hear him smacking his lips, as if imagining the taste of her blood. Then, he said, Know that when you are gone, I shall then turn my wrath on Lazarus and sate my hunger drop by drop so he will feel as if he will suffer for an endless number of days. I will ever so slowly drink from him until nothing but a withered corpse remains, and then I will carry him out onto the rocks so the sun may lay claim to his flesh and bones. And when I have finished my meal I shall take the Amulet of Christ, break open the vial inside, and consume its contents as dessert. Then I will journey into man's world and assemble a harem of mortal wives. Know, Neomina, that when I am through with you, Lazarus, and the Tribe, I will begin my work on man's world so my line never dies.

So, Neomina, come to me. Your Lazarus awaits you." Neomina woke in a bed of sweat, her sheets twisted and wrinkled. Her heart beat wildly, filling her ears with a repeated thump as the blood pumped through its chambers. She placed a hand over her left breast and felt the racing organ under her flesh. Her mouth parched from fearful panic, she licked her lips. Neomina rose from the four-poster bed and made her way across the room. She poured a glass of Paradisian wine from a pitcher that stood on a table near her clothes chest. The sweet-tasting drink eased her nerves. The dream frightened her. She didn't like thinking about Lazarus being Percival's prisoner. She also didn't like the idea of Percival entering her mind. Thankfully, the vision was only a dream. Or was it? She sat in a chair across from her bed and stared at the bulky piece of furniture. Tiny red specks glistened on the silk sheets. A sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach, matching the tightness rising in her throat. Neomina slowly rose from her chair and ventured back to the bed. Leaning over the mattress, she gasped at what she found. On the pillow that should have cradled Lazarus's head were streaks of blood matching the wounds she recalled seeing in her dream. The lines of thick burgundy liquid painted the pillow exactly like they had Lazarus's face. In a frenzied panic, Neomina dropped her glass of wine, and, yelling for Montigrael, ran from the room. The sound of shattering crystal echoed behind her.

Chapter Nineteen Montigrael fled the abbey; his feet barely touched the floor. Neomina's scream had sent his soul spinning into a pool of panic. He instantly appeared in the room where Neomina sat. "What happened?" "I saw Lazarus. I thought it was a dream, but my vision was more than that. Percival holds Lazarus as his prisoner and he plans to kill him." A dark aura of fear flowed from Neomina's shaking body. Montigrael reached out to her with open arms and cradled her against him. His wings unfurled and wrapped around her, absorbing her fear and calming the panic that held her captive. A sudden flood of relief washed over her. She stared into Monty's eyes as if seeing for the first time the true nature of his soul. "I won't let anything happen to you or to Lazarus,” he told her. She shook her head and leaned back. “What if you can't stop Percival? If he can enter my dreams, he can enter my mind. And being part Dark Breeder, what if I fall under Percival's control? What harm might I do to Lazarus?" "No harm will come to your husband." "I have no choice but to believe you. We must go to him." "Roderick will be here shortly. He sent me a note this morning saying the council has agreed to your oath of allegiance and he will be bringing the relics to Sanctum Hall soon. Once they are in your possession, we'll leave for Dark Breed territory." Octavia entered the room. "Are you all right, Neomina? I heard your scream, but the heavy blanket of sleep held me to its curse. I came as quickly as was possible." "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you.” She stared up at Montigrael and wondered if she should tell Octavia about the visions that haunted her sleep. She decided it was best not to frighten Octavia, and said, “It was only a dream." "Then I take it you were plagued by the same nightmare that tormented my own sleep." "What did you see?” Neomina asked. Montigrael released his hold on Neomina and stepped away from her. His massive feathery wings vanished in an instant, curling tightly about his spine as he tucked them away from plain sight. Without his wings visible, he looked like one of Caesar's soldiers. He wore a pale blue tunic and Roman sandals. He had turned his attention to Octavia. Octavia frowned sharply. “I dreamt of Lazarus being held against his will in a cave belonging to the Nephilim. Since the day of his birth, I have feared such a thing happening." Octavia crossed the room to Montigrael. "I will go after Lazarus tonight,” he said. “Roderick is bringing the St. John Stake and the Amulet of Christ to Sanctum Hall. I plan to leave here as soon as the man departs." "Is it true? Is my son being held by the Nephilim?” Octavia stared at Montigrael and her eyes begged for answers. “Do not spare me the pain, Monty. I need to know." "He is being held captive by Percival.” He paused and took a deep breath. It was obvious to Neomina that telling Octavia the truth

was not easy for him. “Percival is not of the Nephilim. He is my son." The shock on her face matched Neomina's. “Your son?” Octavia repeated. "When I arrived at Romulus's villa, I told you I came to man's world to repay a debt to Lexliel, but you didn't want to hear my story. You told me to leave and that you had no interest in why I came to protect Lazarus. I abided by your wishes, and now I am sorry for that. I should have told you about Percival. A beast that lived among the Nephilim killed my son Julius. Lexliel tried to save my boy's life, but it was too late. The child I had sired was dead and in his place all that remained was a hideous creature. I fear part of Julius's soul still exists in Percival's darkness, and that is why he associates himself with Lazarus. He remembers what life was like before being taken by the beast." A rush of grief covered Octavia's face. She sat down on one of the wooden benches and put her hands to her face. "Forgive me, Montigrael. I suffered a great deal back then—the loss of my husband and then my father, the crossing of Lazarus into the realm of the Vampyre, and my own crossing over. I should have listened to what you had to say." He shrugged. “It was a long time ago, Octavia. Over the years I have learned to deal with the grief. Or at least I thought I did, but recently I have come to a different conclusion. My way of dealing with the pain only pushed it into the hidden depths of my soul. Now I must deal with it all over again, and this time I believe it to be worse. I fear I will never recover from the loss of my wife and son." The thundering sound of a large number of racing horses outside echoed in the distance. Neomina went to the main entrance of the keep and saw Roderick and his men approaching. Octavia and Montigrael joined her in the outer hall. Neomina emitted a small gasp. “There are so many of them." "The relics are sacred to all of man,” Montigrael said. “To take them out of hiding is no easy task." Neomina watched in awe as what looked like hundreds of Trackers rode with Roderick to Sanctum Hall. Her uncle rode in the middle of the first row, well protected, at both sides and at his back, against potential harm. The clan of Trackers reined their horses to a thundering stop outside the keep and Montigrael went to greet them. Floating so his feet barely touched the ground beneath him, he crossed the field and passed through the opened gate that stood in the middle of the keep's stone wall. Roderick dismounted from his horse. First a box was exchanged and then a fabric sack. Montigrael and her uncle engaged in conversation, but she couldn't hear their words. They spoke briefly before bidding each other farewell. A cloud of dust and the echo of thunder rose up around the Trackers as they departed Sanctum Hall to return to their own territory. Montigrael stood at the gate until Roderick and his army were well out of view. Then he turned back toward the keep. Inside Sanctum Hall, he handed the box and sack to Neomina. "The stake is in the fabric sack and it must remain inside until we have need of it. The energy emitted from the St. John Stake is very powerful and will easily burn the skin of a mere mortal should a soul ever touch the weapon. Trackers are mortals born to hunt the Vampyre, and as God so deemed, they have the power to shield themselves from the energies emitted from the stake. Being that you are part Vampyre, you must use extra caution in handling these relics." "The Amulet of Christ rests within this box.” Monty pointed to the wooden case Neomina had set on a table in the great hall. “We will leave this behind at Sanctum Hall. Roderick said the mere presence of the relic would act as protector for the Tribe in my absence. I advise you to place the amulet in Octavia's care while we are gone." "Of course.” Very much aware of Octavia's sad expression, Neomina handed her the wooden box. “Memories of your father trouble you, do they not?" "Yes. Before he died, we discussed how he came to possess these sacred icons. I will never stop missing my father.” Her eyes filled with tears, Octavia stared at the box. “Bring me back my son, Neomina. Do not let the Nephilim take him from me like they

took Percival from Montigrael." "Lazarus will return, I promise you this." **** Montigrael explained that the journey ahead would not be an easy one and the length of a gown would be a hindrance to Neomina, so he persuaded her to wear a pair of breeches and a tunic with soft leather boots he fashioned for her. Neomina dressed in haste and pinned her hair into a knot of coiled braids. She wondered what Lazarus would think when he saw her dressed in a suit of men's clothing. The Tribe had gathered downstairs in the great hall, and they sat in near silence as they waited for their mistress to join them. The mood in Sanctum Hall was anything but joyous. Neomina descended the stone steps leading from the private chambers down into the keep's main corridor. She then made her way into the great hall. Montigrael sat next to Octavia and at the head table. "Are you sure you want to do this, Neomina?” asked Monty when she joined them. “I am prepared to go and get Lazarus on my own if need be." She nodded. “I have to go with you. Lazarus means the world to me and I cannot bear the thought of him being in Percival's lair. The Trackers have my word and, under the oath, I will do all that I can to fight their nemesis." The look on Montigrael's face was one of torment and despair, and Neomina felt a pang of guilt knowing her words had caused his pain. “This must be quite difficult for you." He nodded. “It is difficult, but I will do what must be done. I am an angel who was sent by the Soul of Paradise to protect Lazarus from the Dark Breed. The Nephilim is as much my enemy as it is Julius's. They are not ones to take up swords and fight man or Vampyre on a whim. But they made the Dark Breed and they can control them. One of their beasts took my son from me. His death must be avenged, regardless of the manner in which I am forced to accomplish the deed. Percival is not the soul I sired. He merely exists within Julius's body. I do not know what I will find when I encounter him." Neomina turned away from Montigrael and stared at the fabric sack sitting on the table. What would it be like to actually take a life from another living being even if it were an evil entity? Repulsion stirred her. She prayed the Tracker in her soul would give her the courage to carry out whatever task awaited her. Montigrael rose and bid Octavia a farewell. "Be careful, Neomina. I now have a son and a daughter and I do not want to lose either of them." Octavia obviously spoke from the heart and her words comforted Neomina. “Fear not, Mother. Both Lazarus and I shall return to you." "Our thoughts are with you, Neomina, Montigrael.” Althea spoke for herself and Byron as usual, but Neomina felt warmed by the expressed concern. The Tribe was beginning to grow on her and their acceptance of her was reason enough to return to them. She eyed them individually, and then, with tears welling in her eyes, left the great hall. Montigrael followed closely behind. "I can take you to Dark Breed Territory by using the angelic means of thought, or we can travel in the manner accustomed to man,” said Monty. “The choice is yours." "I want to get to Lazarus in the quickest manner possible"

Montigrael reached out his hand and unfurled his wings. “Come to me, Neomina. Take my hand and let my wings wrap about your body. We will be with Lazarus in no time."

Chapter Twenty "Soon your wife and that bastard angel who guards you will be mine,” said Percival with a chilling laugh. His voice sounded more sinister than ever. Lazarus shuddered at the thought of his captor harming Neomina and his uncle. The beast had shown no mercy since taking him hostage and he wondered what hellish deed would take place next. His strength still had not returned and, in truth, he felt weaker than before. He stared at Percival cautiously. "Care for your morning repast, cousin? Are you hungry enough yet?” Percy leaned in close and hovered over the bed. “What's that? You don't like playing my game? Tsk-tsk. By now I would've thought you knew the rules. They are really easy to remember. One, I am master here, the most powerful soul. Two, you must do whatever I say." Percival plopped himself onto the bed and landed hard next to Lazarus, and Lazarus moaned "Still in pain? I do say you are the main cause of your suffering affliction. It won't ease up until you give in to the hunger. Why do you fight the urge? In the end the hunger always wins." Lazarus glared at Percival, who was dressed in leather pants, tunic, and chain mail. The mixed aromas made Lazarus sick, but the idea of a being surviving solely by feeding on others’ blood made him even more nauseous. He thanked God the Tribe didn't feast in the same manner. "That was a bit harsh. My feelings are wounded, cousin. You must remember, I know your thoughts better than you do. I am an expert at reading and manipulating the mind. Do you care to see an example?" "Bloody hell, no." "But it would be my pleasure. Now let me see.” Percival sat up and leaned against the stone wall that acted as a headboard for the makeshift bed Lazarus lay on. He tapped his finger against his chin and mimicked a pensive look. “I think I will show you how I manipulate the mind. It's always such fun for me." Lazarus growled. His fangs grew long and pricked his tongue. The taste of his own blood repulsed him. He fought the Vampyre tormenting his soul, but bound in chains and weakened from the tainted feedings Percival had forced on him, Lazarus could do naught but abide by his captor's wishes. The hunger stirred him like never before. "Damn you, Percival. Stop it. Stop making the hunger grow worse. Stop it now." "You should be thanking me. I am merely preparing you for when Neomina arrives. By then your hunger will be uncontrollable and you will feed from her, bring her across, and then leave her for me to drain. The newly made Vampyres are always so bloody fun to toy with. They can never outrun you. Of course, I do allow them to think they can best me, and then when they eventually get comfortable and forget about me I make the kill. But with Neomina there'll be no need to hunt her down. No.” He shook his head as if to dismiss the notion. "I shall take her right here, drain every last drop of blood from her, and I shall do so in front of you. Perhaps even in this very bed. What do think? You'll be totally helpless as I make Neomina my next meal. Are you game for a threesome? You, me, Neomina— the same blood flows in all of us now. It shall be so sweet.” As if salivating over his dastardly plans, Percival licked his lips. Lazarus spit out the blood that flowed in his mouth. "You really should not have done that, cousin. What am I to do with you? No captive has ever given me as much grief as you.” Percival bit into his wrist and thrust his bleeding arm into Lazarus's face. “Drink, damn you." Lazarus refused to open his mouth. "Now you have really angered me. I have no patience for such obstinance.” He pulled his wrist away and swabbed the oozing

blood with one of his scarred fingers. Next, he grabbed Lazarus's face and squeezed, forcing his lips to pucker. Lazarus fought with all his remaining strength, but the beast had a firm grasp upon his jaw that could not be shaken. As cold flesh brushed against his lips, Percival's metallic-tasting blood filled Lazarus's mouth. "One way or another,” Percival said, “I will keep the hunger alive in you until you're incapable of fighting it. The Dark Breed's ravenous appetite for blood will consume you to the point where even your sweet wife will appeal to you as nothing more than a tempting meal." Thoughts of Neomina being bled by his own fangs flooded Lazarus's mind. His eyes grew wide with fear. "Yes, cousin, think of the feast you will soon enjoy. A Tracker's blood, even a half-breed's, is as intoxicating as wine, a crimson delight unlike any other. And soon you will come to crave Neomina's blood. There is no fighting it. You will be as I am, damned to the Dark Breed with no chance for redemption. Now, drink, or I'll send the Nephilim out to fetch your pretty bride for their own sport before you get to sink your fangs into her flesh." Lazarus did Percival's bidding, hoping to keep the sick creature occupied long enough to forget his plans of antagonizing Neomina. As he drank, he prayed to God he'd be able to find a way out of this chaos. At least by taking his captor's blood, he'd keep the beast from sending the Nephilim to Sanctum Hall. He dug his fangs deeper into Percival's wrist. In his state of torment, the beast's blood tasted metallic and tart, with a hint of citrus. He fought the urge to drink too much, fearing he'd cross a line from which there'd be no return. The idea of becoming a Dark Breed disgusted him. He pulled his lips away before sating his full hunger. "You truly are a miserable soul, Lazarus. You take from me my only source of enjoyment in this wretched world. Damn you, cousin. Damn you." Lazarus leaned over the bed and threw up. His wrists burned from raw wounds etched into his skin by the silver chains that held him to the bed. Then he swore an oath in anger. "Now, I must seek pleasure from another,” said Percival. “Perhaps you care to watch? No? Well, I'll share the fun with you just the same." Percival snapped his fingers and instantly one of his shape-shifter slaves appeared in the room. A waifish looking woman, with sunken eye sockets and long, matted hair. A torn tunic covered her thin frame. "This one was once mortal, an innocent soul who accidentally crossed my path. I had no choice but to drink her blood and then turn her into my slave.” Percival paused and put a studious look on his face. “I didn't tell you that these creatures—the shapeshifters—were made by me, did I?" "No,” said Lazarus. “And I'm shocked you failed to brag about such a great accomplishment." The cold sting of silver links whipped across his face. A searing burn settled on his flesh. Percival nodded to the shape-shifter and the zombie-like creature approached the bed. Once she was within his reach, he bent the woman's neck and pushed her long golden locks out of the way. A forked serpent's tongue slithered from Percival's mouth and danced across the woman's smooth, bare flesh. With a single bite, he dove deep into the shape-shifter's jugular and drank until the woman cried out. The beast then tossed her onto the bed and forced her neck to Lazarus's lips. "Take her or I'll kill her." Lazarus didn't know which of the two fates was better for the woman—death or to be trapped in a living damnation. He turned his head away. "Let this death rest on your conscience, cousin." Lazarus clenched his eyes shut and tuned out Percival's deed. He was helpless to stop him from murdering the poor woman. From this sin he knew there'd be no redemption. A faint laugh echoed in his ears. The Dark Breed nature slowly encroached upon his

soul.

Chapter Twenty-one "From here you'll have to trust me completely, Neomina,” said Monty. “The caves of the Dark Breed are dangerous places." Neomina opened her eyes and found herself on a sandy beach. Montigrael had brought them here by thought, just as he had promised. She checked the sack carrying the St. John Stake and secured it onto her shoulder. Taking a deep breath, she surveyed the beach and jutting rocks that disappeared into the crashing waves. "I am ready." Montigrael lifted Neomina yet again into his arms and glided easily off the ground. She closed her eyes and never once looked down. The cool water of the ocean's spray showered her as the angel carried her over the waves. She shook the drenching water from her face and hoped the ride would soon be over. The thought of being out over open sea frightened her, despite knowing being in the arms of an angel secured her safety. Moments later her feet touched ground. The cave was dark and smelled of iron, the scent of blood. Neomina choked on the odor. "I am afraid it won't get any better,” said Montigrael. “The lair is deep within the caverns, and I can assure you neatness and cleanliness are not high priorities with the Dark Breed. They care only about their feeding frenzies." Neomina shifted the sack on her shoulder. The sharp point of the St. John Stake protruded from the bag and jabbed at her back. She turned the weapon around. "It looks very dark in the cavern. How shall we find our way about?" Burning torches appeared from out of nowhere to line the cave's walls. "How did you do that, Monty?" "I didn't. It was you, your thoughts. The power of the Vampyre is very strong, child. You have no idea of the extent of your dark gift. You can make certain things happen merely by wishing them into being." Monty's words made her remember Lazarus and how he lit the hearth in their bedroom by using only his desire to do so. Neomina marveled at the notion. "Why do I feel it so strongly here?" "I suspect it is because Lazarus is nearby and is one with you." "As is Percival,” she whispered, an uneasiness settling on her soul as she acknowledged the truth. "Come, stay close to me. These caves have many hidden alcoves that lead to nowhere. Their only purpose is to confuse the wanderer." She tightly clutched Montigrael's hand and followed the angel into the depths of the dark caverns. Anxiety filled her soul as the cave opened to a large chamber. Flaming torches lined the walls, illuminating the inner lair. "This is where they make their homes. I can sense the Nephilim nearby." Sensing them, too, she shivered. “Will they come out?" "No,” said Montigrael. “This is not one of their battles. Percival wasn't born into the Nephilim and they will not fight on his behalf. They will do some of his bidding, but raising the sword they won't. We have only the Vampyre to worry about." Neomina glanced around the cavern and rubbed her arms. The cold chill of the Dark Breed—and of Percy—reached for her soul.

“Percival alone is more than I care to concern myself with. Which way shall we go? There are so many chambers leading off from this one. If only I could feel Lazarus more strongly." "He is probably not able to reach you because Percival has weakened him. When we get closer to him I'm sure you will feel his presence.” Montigrael studied the caverns surrounding them. “I believe we should go straight ahead. I can sense Percival there, and where he is, so shall Lazarus be." Monty took Neomina's hand and headed for the rocky archway at the end of the open cavern. The rotten smell of foul blood worsened and the aroma grew stronger as they continued deeper into the cave. They'd walked for several minutes when Neomina froze in her tracks, forcing Montigrael to stop. “Wait. I can feel him. Lazarus is nearby." "Close your eyes and concentrate, Neomina. Reach him with your mind." "But what if Percival hears me? He will know we are here and that we have come to rescue Lazarus." "Percival won't hear you. My angelic powers will shroud your thoughts from the Dark Breed, but first you must make contact with Lazarus." She shut her eyes and concentrated. Thoughts of Lazarus flooded her mind, but they were all of times past, all of moments shared in the forest and at Sanctum Hall. The icy hand of fear rose up to torment her as she realized Lazarus was losing his battle with Percival. "No.” She frantically shook her head, fighting the panic that slowly began to consume her. "Concentrate, Neomina. You will find him." Lazarus? Is that you? Where are you? A moan flowed through her ears. Neomina... She heard him call her name, but nothing more. She tried again. This time Neomina saw the prison chamber. She scanned the room in her mind and searched for a door. Bring your thoughts back this way, child, and we will find the path that leads to Lazarus, Monty said within her thoughts. I'm trying, but I don't see a way out of the chamber. That's because there is no door, whispered Lazarus. Think yourself there, Neomina. It is the only way, thought Montigrael. But what about you? I can do so on my own, but you must take the first step. I can connect with Percival because he is my son. You must be the one to connect with Lazarus. You are his wife. She concentrated even harder and then everything went black. In a moment of despair Neomina opened her eyes. To her amazement she found herself standing in Lazarus's prison chamber. "Neomina,” said Lazarus. “Come to me."

"No. Don't go near him, child,” Monty said. He quickly pulled Neomina back. "But he needs me." "No. It is a trick. Lazarus is under Percival's control at present. It is Percival who calls you now and not my nephew. I can feel it in my soul. The sensation emitted in this chamber stirs me to the core as only Percival can, as only the force of a tormented mind can." She didn't know what to believe. Lazarus lay in a crude bed across the room. Even at this distance, Neomina could see the extent of his wounds. His face and body were bruised and bloodied. Burn marks scorched his wrists and ankles. She felt his pain, his anger, and his fear. "Give me the stake." "What?" "I said give me the stake." Neomina stared at Montigrael not knowing what led him to such a notion. "I want to break off a small piece of wood and toss it onto the bed. By doing so, Percival will back away." "But what about Lazarus?" "He has already felt the sting of the St. John Stake. It will not hurt him in the same manner it does Percival. A soul can build resistance to the stake. Besides, by forcing Percival away, Lazarus will be relieved of some of his pain." Neomina took the sack off her shoulder and placed it on the ground. A sizzling sound filled the air as the bag met with the rocky surface and seared its mark into the stone. "Why did it do that?” she gasped. "Dark Breed Territory is damned,” replied Monty. “The Stake is of the essence of Paradise, and it will serve to destroy all that is of hell and unworthy of salvation." Neomina stared at the smoldering relic. "Be careful, child. Think of the Tracker inside your soul and the Stake will not burn you." She reached into the sack and felt for the weapon. The cold feel of metal encasing wood brushed her skin. With the utmost caution, Neomina retrieved the St. John Stake. The powerful relic was made of coarse wood taken from Christ's cross and interlaced with the silver melted down from the platter that once carried John the Baptist's head. She handed the relic to Montigrael. "Help him, please.” She begged. "Watch me. You may have need of this in the future.” Montigrael carefully drew a splinter from the stake. A small piece of silver topped one end of the wood shard. He tossed it onto the bed and waited. A whirling wind accompanied by a beastly roar blew about the chamber and then vanished. Lazarus cried out. "You can go to him now." Neomina wasted no time. In an instant, she stood at Lazarus's side and stared in disbelief at his many wounds. “I'll free you from this. I swear I will, Lazarus."

"Monty, how do I remove the chains that cuff his hands and feet?” she called to the angel. "Will them open, Neomina, and together we can remove them." The snapping sound of metal breaking crackled through the air as the heavy silver chains fell from the wall and bedposts and then from his wrists and legs. Neomina quickly pushed the links off the straw-covered pallet that cradled her husband's body. Montigrael opened his hand and a Paradisian peach appeared in his palm. He leaned over the bed and gently pressed the piece of fruit to his nephew's lips. Lazarus devoured the peach. "Perhaps he is thirsty,” said Neomina. “What about some wine?" A pitcher appeared in the air above the bed. Montigrael brought it down to Lazarus's mouth. Lazarus drank the berry wine, but in his parched state, it spilled as he gulped. The pitcher supplied him with an endless flow of drink and ceased only when he no longer thirsted. The bloodied wounds on his face slowly faded. Smooth flesh covered his wrists and ankles and wiped away the burns that seared his skin. "The fruit and wine of Paradise nourishes the Vampyric soul,” said Montigrael. “It will help him heal." Neomina reached for Lazarus's hand, but he pulled away. "Don't come near me. Back away, Neomina. Your blood stirs me. I can smell it.” His eyes closed, his body frozen in pain, in hunger. "Why did you bring her here, Monty? You, of all souls, should know how I get when the hunger consumes me." "You need her. Neomina is your only hope." "Then keep her away from me. Take her to the other side of the room." "No. I won't leave your side, Lazarus. I can't." "Go!” he shouted and opened his eyes. Dancing flames filled the pupils of his fathomless orbs as he gave Neomina a glare that could kill, if he so deemed. Neomina gasped in shock. "You have never seen something as hideous, I suspect,” said Lazarus. “Your fears are justified, woman. They always have been. I am Vampyre and now I am of the Dark Breed. I can feel my soul slowly dying, slowly damning itself to Hell." "But I don't fear you, Lazarus. I love you." "Leave me be." Pain consumed him beyond anything he had ever felt in the past. Lazarus wondered if it would go away or if this was the fate he was now doomed to live. "Tell me what happened to place you in such a state, nephew." "Percival forced me to feed on tainted blood. He has given life to a clan of shape-shifters that exist merely for him to feed upon. But the hunger began even before I came here. It happened the night I left. I took Neomina in my bed and I should have never done that. It was too soon after I had fed from the Tribe, but I couldn't help myself. Her blood stirs me to the ends of my resistance, and

now Percival's blood, along with Neomina's, flows through me because Percival created Gerard." He paused and drew in several deep breaths in an obvious effort to fight for control. Then he said, “Because I fed of Neomina and, therefore, had Percival's blood already coursing through my veins, he knew I was on my way here and he'd already planned his defense by the time I arrived. Your son is smarter than I thought, but that shouldn't surprise me. You killed my father and now your son shall kill me." Montigrael stood at Lazarus's bedside, struck by shock. “I did no such thing. You must have gone to great lengths to shield these thoughts from me. Is that why you have hated me all these years, thinking I killed my brother? Lazarus, nothing could be farther from the truth. The Lord of Hell killed your father. Lexliel was murdered while trying to save my son from the clutches of the Nephilim. They had a beast the devil turned into a Vampyre while it murdered my son, that creature tortured my Julius. I have pledged my soul to avenge his death and that is the reason why I loathed the Vampyre. The thought of Vampyric beings, be they exorcized or be they damned, remind me of my son's death." Lazarus stared at his uncle, not sure what to say. For his entire life he had carried a grudge against Montigrael and he never thought to talk to his uncle and learn why he hated the Vampyre. Now guilt filled his soul. What would his life have been like had he had a better relationship with his uncle? "I always wished I could've looked on you as a father,” he confessed. “I should never have allowed myself to harbor anger toward you." "Everything happens for a reason, Lazarus. I truly believe that." A sudden quake shook the caverns. Percival's sinister laugh echoed about the rocky lair, the eerie tone of his voice frightening Neomina. She shivered, as though chilled, and a strange look crossed her face. "What's wrong, Neomina?” Montigrael asked. "It is Percival. I can feel him inside me. His blood stirs my soul as if he and I are one. Perhaps it would be wise for us to leave here. I don't know how much longer I can fight him." Lazarus reached out his hand and grabbed Montigrael's arm. “Take Neomina away from this place, save my wife and save yourself. I will keep Percival occupied long enough for you to escape." Montigrael took his nephew's hand and wrapped it in his own. “I am not going anywhere,” he said. “Besides, we can't leave." "What do you mean?” Neomina asked. "I took an oath before the Soul of Paradise,” said the angel. “I vowed to rid the world of the being who took my son's life. By my own choice, I am to carry out the deed or die. The oath cannot be broken now that I am here." As Monty's words sank in, Neomina closed her eyes. Percival tormented her by making her wait for him to appear. He was a cunning soul and she remembered her father once saying how the Dark Breed always made their prey wait until they were weak and broken by frustration. Then, the kill would be easy. Anger rose inside her at the thought of being considered such an easy target. Percival could go to Hell for all she cared. Never would she allow her resolve to be broken. No. She came here to save Lazarus and to avenge her parents’ deaths. Regardless of the cost, she wasn't going to break so easily.

Chapter Twenty-two As they continued to wait for Percival to appear, Lazarus suddenly cried out in pain. "There must be something you can do for him, Monty.” Neomina's eyes filled with tears as she stared at her husband. She hated seeing Lazarus suffer. The wounds inflicted by the silver chains cuffing his wrists had healed on the outside, but underneath the flesh, searing lesions still festered. This, coupled with the agonizing hunger Percival had created within him, was pure torture for Lazarus. "I am not a full-fledged healer,” said Montigrael. “There is only so much I can do." "But surely he cannot sustain much more." Unbearable pain showed in Lazarus's eyes as he peered at his uncle. “Call on Raphael. As the healer of Paradise, he will come...” He spoke with ragged, gasping breaths. "Are you sure of this, Lazarus?” Montigrael asked. “You may not survive his methods." "Then so be it." Montigrael withdrew his hand and stepped away from Lazarus's bedside. He unfurled his wings and, his palms opened flat to the air above, he raised his arms high to the Heavens. Monty stood with his legs spread wide and firmly planted upon the floor. In Paradisian, the native tongue of angels, he chanted a song of mystical syllables that rang out in the heavy air like a sweet lullaby. Stirred by its hypnotic melody, Neomina listened intently to the mesmerizing chant, and then she stared in awe as a misty vapor descended on the chamber, bringing with it the exotic scent of burning herbs mixed with the aroma of roses. An ethereal apparition stalked through the mist and made its way to Lazarus's bedside. Then the vapor covered Lazarus, cocooning his flesh in an envelope of silken mist. Neomina watched in awe as the sweet-smelling vapor caressed Lazarus's body and then became one with him, entering his body with a sudden thrust to the very core of his being. Lazarus gasped in apparent pain, and then fell silent. The archangel Raphael emerged from the shadows, six sets of wings unfurled about his spine. He stood like the mighty Seraph he was, the highest of all angels, and slowly approached Lazarus's bedside. "He dies on this day,” said the archangel. The words sliced through Neomina's heart. She ran forward and fell to her knees at the angel's feet, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Please, I beg of you. Whatever it is that I can offer, take it. But spare Lazarus. He came here to find my father's killer and I am responsible for his present state." The angel gazed down at her and offered his hand. His vibrant, life-filled eyes appeared as endless depths of clear blue sea. “You misunderstand, child. Lazarus does not die a physical death, but a spiritual one. He must find the strength to return and fight. Only if he bears no desire to live will he die a true death." Neomina rose and wiped the tears from her face. She stared down at her husband's motionless body. “Why does he not breathe?" "I am searching his soul,” Raphael said. “Lazarus is in the realm of dreams. I can only search his soul while he sleeps, and it is necessary for me to do so if I am to detect the damage that has been done to him." Montigrael stepped forward and leaned over his nephew's bed. “His wounds run deep both on his flesh and on his soul. Percival is a merciless being that lives to torment and he thrives on such evil. I am shocked at the agony he has inflicted upon my nephew." Lazarus gasped again, his pain now obviously worse.

Neomina watched in horror as he flailed his arms about, apparently searching for something. Lazarus recovered his breath, but remained in a dream state. He drew his arms back down to the bed and rested them at his sides. A look of relief masked his face. Raphael's long-fingered hands made circular motions over Lazarus's flesh as if scanning for unhealed wounds. They stopped over Lazarus's heart. “He harbors all the pain in one central location." Concern in his eyes, Montigrael stared at the healer. “Is it his heart?" "Yes." Monty shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He swore an oath in anger. "I can offer him only one method of treatment,” said Raphael. "And what might that be?” asked Montigrael. Raphael glanced from Neomina to Montigrael. "It is all right. You may speak freely in Neomina's presence." "I can sear both his heart and his soul." "Brand him?” A look of fear flooded Montigrael's face. “But he is Grigori and he is Vampyre." "I can offer him nothing more." Neomina reached for Raphael's arm. Her hold on the angel grew tight from panic. “What do you mean? What is it to sear his soul?" "It is a form of exorcism known only to the angelic realm. The method is employed in the direst of circumstances. The soul is literally seared by Paradise. The act burns away the evil that torments it. In this case, it could be fatal." Lazarus lifted his hand and clenched his fingers about Raphael's red robe, twisting the fabric into a knot of wrinkles. He pulled, signaling the angel to come nearer. "He is waking from the sleep,” said Raphael to Neomina as he leaned closer to the bed. "Do it.” Lazarus spoke through gritted teeth. “For the love of God, free me from this torment. Even if it means my death.” He sucked in a deep breath and released his hold on the archangel. He then turned to Neomina. “Forgive me. For I cannot live as a Dark Breeder, I cannot put you in that kind of danger. You'd never be safe with me cursed." Neomina choked back tears, trying hard to be strong for Lazarus at this crucial time. Her heart ached with the most unbearable pain she'd every experienced. Raphael placed one hand over Lazarus's heart and the other over the very core of the Vampyre's body, a powerful energy center near the base of the spine. He spread his fingers wide and began to speak in Paradisian. The words flowed from the angel's lips like a continuous stream of thunder. The sound was deafening. Neomina pressed her hands over her ears and stepped back as the intense energy emitting from Raphael pushed her away. The torment inside Lazarus struck out at the angelic healer, marring his flawless skin with red streaks as if a bed of nails raked his flesh. She watched in horror as the evil that infested her husband's body fought for its life. She tried to stay strong, but her resolve weakened. Tears fell down her face as she watched steaming vapors rise from Lazarus's heart and soul. A sizzling crackle filled the air. He

growled like a wild beast and thrashed about on the bed as Raphael determinedly pursued the darkness riddling his soul. Then a sudden stillness descended on the room and Raphael lifted his hands away from Lazarus's body and stepped back. “The deed is done." "Does he ... does he still live?” asked Neomina. "Yes, but the dark sleep blankets him. I did not eradicate the Vampyre that lives in his soul, only the essence of darkness that had tormented him. He needs a great deal of rest." "But what if Percival surfaces?" "Lazarus is safe now and Percival can no longer kill him. My crest is branded across his heart and soul, marking Lazarus as one of my wards. While the mark is not outwardly visible, Vampyres and Trackers will detect its essence if they make the effort. Even the Nephilim will keep their distance once they detect the brand." "How can I ever repay you?” asked Montigrael. “Lazarus means as much to me as did my son. I will never forget this, brother." "There is no need to repay me. I am the healer of Paradise and it is my duty to help those in need of my assistance.” A look of concern crossed his face. “Percival knows nothing of my healing of Lazarus. My power allowed me to shield my presence from him. But he will return and he will not be pleased when he eventually finds out about my work here. I know the Dark Breed well. On the many occasions I have encountered them, I have found they can be more ruthless than the devil himself. You might need further assistance in fighting him. If so, I can call on Heaven's army, and as general, the archangel Michael will see to it that his soldiers descend to help you. Do you wish Michael's assistance?" Monty turned to Neomina, who stood at Lazarus's bedside. She peered up at him and shook her head. Monty glanced back to Raphael. "No,” he said. “We are prepared to fight Percival. Of that, you can rest assured. It will take some effort, but Neomina and I can temporarily shield our presence from Percival until he makes his move. Hopefully that will serve to our advantage." "Then I take my leave of you for my job here is finished.” The angel stepped back into the shadows from which he came and vanished. Lazarus remained lost to the dark sleep. And for that, Neomina was relieved. She didn't want her husband to suffer, especially because of her. If she had not asked him to help her find her father's murderer, he'd not have suffered Percival's wrath. She wished she could leave now, take Lazarus away from this horrible place, but their troubles weren't over yet. Eradicating her husband's inner turmoil had only been half the battle. Destroying Percival was the other half. And for some reason she sensed Percival wasn't going to be a soul so easily defeated.

Chapter Twenty-three Percival decided he'd waited long enough. He entered the prison chamber where Lazarus lay chained and reveled in making his presence known. The hissing sound of a serpent's rattle slithered off his tongue as he emerged from the shadows and made his way toward Lazarus's bed. He moved cautiously, his senses alerted to a powerful energy having been in the room but now gone. Lingering sparks of a seraph... Percy cursed to himself. He didn't like it when Heaven interfered with his little games. He wondered what the bloody hell his cousin had been up to while he was gone? If the sorry bastard refused to talk, he'd force it out of him. He scanned the room searching for possible traps left behind by the seraph. None were to be found. But he did detect at least one soul, other than Lazarus, hiding in the shadows. His gaze darted to the far corner of the chamber. If something else did linger, it couldn't have been of any importance, for Percy sensed no strong energies emitting from the entity. Perhaps it was only a sleeping sprite or even an energy image left behind from the woman he'd killed earlier. He decided against investigating, the weak entity bearing no challenge to him. Percy moved closer to the bed, yet kept up his guard. “Wake, dear cousin,” he snapped, his voice echoing eerily about the cavern. Lazarus opened his eyes on the instant. The scraping sound of a sword drawn from its scabbard echoed across the chamber. “Leave him be,” said Montigrael. "Father,” said Percival, recognizing something familiar in the voice that lingered behind him. “You really should have come sooner. You missed my childhood, my years of agony. Allow me to show you all that has been lost." Percy backed away from the bed. He turned around and faced Montigrael then changed the shape of his form into that of a small boy. He stood in the center of the room and looked battered and beaten. Numerous puncture wounds dotted his neck. "This is how you left me,” he said, his eyes burning as the orbs shifted into balls of hot embers. He glared at Montigrael, hoping the angel would feel guilt at seeing his hideous face. “This is what I came to be." He changed his form yet again. The tall, well-sculpted figure of a grown man emerged from that of the boy and pointed fangs darted from his mouth. “And this is what I have since become. See what you have missed, Father dear—years of my youth, my adult life, and all my Vampyric existence. What a pity you did not share these with me. Was Lazarus a good substitute? Did he fill the void I left in your soul?" Percival reverted to his present form. Dressed in black leather and chain mail, he stood tall in the center of the room. “What do you think of me now, Father? Do you like what you see? Do you like my serpent's tongue and my long, matted hair?" "Enough!” Montigrael raised his sword to Percival's throat. “I can bleed you here and now and then take your heart." "Is that not what you came to do? To kill me and steal my soul so I will no longer walk among man?" Montigrael closed his eyes and backed away. He took a deep breath. “Do not force me, Julius. My anger and my pain are difficult to contain. Do not play with my emotions. You know nothing of my soul or my heart." "I beg to differ with you." In an instant, Percival vanished. He reappeared on the bed. His right hand clutched Lazarus's hair and bent back his neck. Pain flared in his hand as a powerful energy emitted from Lazarus's body and burned his palm. Yet he refused to give in to the enemy, despite the discomfort. “Tell me he means nothing to you. Tell me and I will let him go." Neomina turned to Montigrael. Don't let him harm Lazarus. He can't. If Percival tries, he will die. Raphael will see to it.

Then why is he doing this? Because he's a vile soul and has not yet detected Raphael's brand. Monty stared silently at Percival as the fear of not knowing what would come next consumed his thoughts. The Dark Breeder was sure to lash out at him once he realized Raphael had branded Lazarus's soul, and such a wrath could prove deadly. But Montigrael did nothing. He watched Percival and hoped the Dark Breeder remained too angry to take the time to detect Raphael's healing. "His blood is sweet,” commented Percival. “The essence of Paradise flows freely in my cousin's veins. It's the very same essence that gives life to your soul.” He licked his lips, as if in anticipation of eating, and a devilish grin crossed his face. “To sate my hunger with the elixir of Paradise would be sinful yet delectable. Lazarus will add an immense strength to my powers and return to me the soul that is rightfully mine." "There is only one way for that soul to return to you,” said Montigrael. “That is by your death." "No. Never!” He let Lazarus's head fall back on the bed. “How dare you enter my lair and speak of such things! Have I not been a gracious host and allowed you life without so much as a single attempt at striking you down?" Percy rose from the bed and stomped across the room. His heavy walk shook the earthen floor and caused small rocks to fall from the cavern walls. With his face only a breath away, he stood before Montigrael. "Take me if you wish, but I will not die. I am immune to all death, even the one inflicted by the St. John Stake." Percival faced Neomina and frowned. She'd have made such a delectable meal had he not he needed her to feed Lazarus's hunger. He extended an open hand. “Come to me, Neomina." She shook her head, a look of fear crossing her face. "I don't take kindly to being denied, especially by one of my own.” He crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps. His eyes widened and his fangs emerged. "I'm not one of your sordid spawns,” spat Neomina. Percival glared. “I made your father, therefore I own the vampyre that will eventually rule your soul." Neomina shook her head a second time. “Never." "You can't change what has already been done.” He lunged and pulled her by the hair. “Give in to me or I'll..." "Or you'll what? Kill me?” Her voice shook with fear. "You fight hard to suppress your fear and your anger. I like that in my slaves,” he hissed. He let go of her and pushed her to the floor. She froze in mid-fall. Then, with her arms and hands extended before her, she levitated. Percival stepped back and watched in horror at the way Neomina showed mastery over her powers. "Frightened that you have finally met your match, Percival?” she taunted. “Fear is a powerful entity. It can force a soul to find strength and courage when it needs it most.” Her voice reverberated with growing animosity. “I am not the naïve child you think me to be. You may have murdered my father and drank the life from my mother, but energy can only be changed in form, never destroyed. In me, my mother and father both run strong. I would rather take my own life than allow your sickening ways to continue." With a deadly glare, Neomina eyed Percival. “If I die, then so does part of your soul. We are one. Remember? You made my

father and, therefore, some of your blood flows in my veins. Should I die, your powers will weaken. But since I am also part Tracker, your individual death will not harm me. You made it so." Percival edged closer to the wall, placing a greater distance between him and Neomina, and then glanced from Montigrael to Lazarus. He could feel Neomina's stare burn into his soul, searing his cold, dead flesh. He growled in fury. It was not supposed to have come to this. The damned woman had pledged her soul to the Trackers and disrupted his plans. She was fully prepared to sacrifice her own soul for the sake of Lazarus and the entire wretched human race. He took a moment to think, to shroud his mind from the unwelcome probing coming from both Neomina and Montigrael. His thoughts were now for him alone. He searched his head for answers. The dark gift stirred inside him and caused his anger to grow. Percival knew in an instant that he had to bring Neomina across. He had to show the wretched little wench what life on the other side was like. Lazarus, no doubt, exemplified an existence of peace and contentment. The restored life of the New Breed was nothing like that of the damned. The gift of the Dark Breed would set the woman straight. Now calm, he marched back toward Neomina. Then he held out an open hand for the second time and motioned for her to come to him. Neomina descended from her levitated state, her feet now touching the floor. “I said never!" He gave her a sinister grin. “Oh, but you will.” He forced the burning flames of his orbs to emerge once more for the sheer madness of striking fear in Neomina's heart. Percy stared at her, probing the depths of her soul, searching for a weakness. "You cannot break me, Percival. I'd rather die than allow myself to fall into your sordid hands." "Then so be it.” He reached forward, his hands lurching for Neomina's neck. Lazarus had endured enough. The thought of Neomina taking her own life in order to stop Percival from his heinous crimes pushed him over the edge. He didn't care that his body hadn't healed completely . Neomina needed him. Lunging from the bed, he came up behind his cousin and sank his teeth into Percival's neck like a nail driven deep by the pounding of a hammer. Percival never knew what hit him. Lazarus held tight to the Vampyre's body. In one swift bite he severed Percival's jugular. Blood gushed forth and spilled to the floor. "Give me the stake, Neomina,” shouted Montigrael as he approached her. “Hurry." She reached for the sack at her feet and pulled at its gold cord. The top fell open. Searching inside, she withdrew the silver-andwood weapon and handed it to Montigrael. The angel leapt forward and struck the stake into Percival's heart. The beast shuddered violently. Lazarus caught Percival's collapsing body in his arms and knelt on the floor, his knees sinking into the pool of blood that now covered the earthen surface. Montigrael knelt at his son's side. He withdrew the St. John Stake from Percival's heart and discarded the weapon. "Father,” whispered Percy. He reached out a trembling hand. “Father, it is I, Julius. Thank you for freeing me after all these years of torment." Montigrael stared down at him with tear-filled eyes. “Hush, let your soul be at peace." "No. Allow me this and let me state my one regret...” Julius, speaking through Percival's body, paused to catch his breath. “That I never had the chance to love you as a son should love his father. Forgive me...” Percival fell silent as his last breath escaped him. Montigrael cried a river of tears as he lifted his arms high to the Heavens and shouted in his native tongue.

"What is he saying?” asked Neomina as she knelt beside Lazarus. Lazarus slipped his arm around her shoulder and hugged her close. “He is pleading with God.” With a pained voice Lazarus translated his uncle's words. “As Your holy Son once asked, so now do I, Father. Why have You forsaken me? Why have You shown me such grief? I beg of You. Welcome my son with open arms, for his sins were not of his own making." An army of angels shrouded in glory descended into the cavern. They reached for Julius's soul and protectively carried it away to Paradise. Neomina raised a hand to her eyes and shielded her vision from the intense light illuminating the angels. The tips of their soft, feathery wings brushed against her flesh. She gasped as an overwhelming sense of peace enveloped her body and her mind reeled in awe. Lazarus continued to hold her close, his embrace comforting. The cry of the Nephilim sang out in an eerie song of sadness, as they, too, mourned Percival's death.

Chapter Twenty-four Percival's body vanished after the angels took Julius's soul to Paradise. In the aftermath, a welcoming calm descended upon the caverns. Monty prayed a silent prayer, then reached out to Lazarus and helped him to his feet. “Do you have the strength to return home?" "Yes. I refuse to spend another moment here among the Nephilim. It is time we take our leave of this place." Lazarus turned to Neomina. “Percival did kill your father, but I guess you know that by now." "Nothing matters anymore, Lazarus. All I want is to be with you, but will you still have me?” asked Neomina in a small, unsure voice. He opened his arms and pulled her to him. “Of course. Why do you ask?" "I had to pledge my soul to the Trackers in order to come here with the St. John Stake. It was the only way to save you." He knew the implications of her vow. Neomina could no longer be brought across. A sudden bolt of pain sliced through his soul and twisted it into knots. He had always hated the idea of making her Vampyre, but now she could never be presented to the Tribe in the proper manner. Regardless of Neomina's sacrifice for his kin, according to the laws that governed the Tribe, he was not permitted to take a wife in the Vampyric tradition if her soul could not be pledged the Vampyre. "I think this neither the place nor time for such matters to be discussed,” said Montigrael. Lazarus agreed. He released his hold on Neomina and allowed her to gather the sack and stake. In silence, they departed for Sanctum Hall. But instead of being overjoyed for having defeated the entity that had stalked him for centuries, Lazarus journeyed home with a heavy heart. He knew life with Neomina would never be the same again. He had no right to keep her from her people, despite how much he loved her. The proper thing would be to send her back to the Trackers, back to where she rightfully belonged.

Chapter Twenty-five The trip back from the Nephilim caverns seemed like an eternity to Neomina and she was glad when her feet touched ground outside Sanctum Hall. As she entered the keep's main chamber, she thanked the Heavens for returning her safely and for sparing Lazarus's life. Yet, despite her good fortune, she felt sadness deep within her soul for Montigrael. The angel had suffered a horrible loss. "Will you be all right, Monty?" "Yes. Soon I shall return to Paradise so I may be reunited with Julius and my wife, Aurelia. The King of Paradise has requested my presence at his table, and I shall be glad to be back home." "I know this is selfish to say, but what shall we do without you?" Montigrael smiled. “Lazarus has nothing to fear now. And besides, you don't need an angel who knows your every thought wandering about the keep.” He winked at her. “I do believe you and Lazarus have some, shall we say unfinished business, to tend to? The continuation of the Tribe is vital to the Grigori. We have many enemies among the Nephilim, and souls like Lazarus are needed to conquer them. What happened to Julius must never happen again." She stared at him. Montigrael had grown on her over these last few weeks and the thought of him leaving saddened her. “I will miss you greatly." "And I you. But only call my name and I will return. My debt to Lexliel may now be paid, yet I am still Lazarus's uncle and, as such, I will forever hold his soul dear to me. In truth, in Julius's absence, I loved Lazarus like a son. Such feelings do not fade." "Speaking of Lazarus, what am I to do with him? He is Vampyre and I am Tracker. What future can we truly make?" A look of concern crossed Monty's face. “What are you saying, child? Do you not love Lazarus?" "Of course I do. But will he still have me now that my soul has been pledged to the Trackers? He cannot bring me across and I know that in order to be presented to the Tribe and be counted among them one must be Vampyre and walk among the undead. I am no longer in a position to give myself to Lazarus in such a manner." Neomina toyed nervously with the gold silk cord that dangled from her waist. She was in a fit of nerves, concerned about what Lazarus would now think of his full-fledged Tracker wife. "My nephew is no fool, Neomina. He knows what is in your soul, in your heart. Besides, I do believe the boy is quite smitten with you." "Indeed he is.” The velvet-edged voice rang out across the empty great hall. Lazarus entered the room, ambled over to Neomina, and put his arms lovingly around her waist. The scent of sandalwood and musk stirred her senses. Neomina felt warmth cocoon her as Lazarus pressed his hard body against hers. "So, you will still have me, husband?" He shook his head, as though he found her words amusing. “Of course. In fact, I intend to keep you for all eternity. Perhaps it is I who should ask if you will still care to have me." She felt a blush brush her cheeks, and she smiled up at him. He laughed. “I take that as yes. Now tell me, dear wife, what is all this talk about unfinished business between the two of us?" Montigrael rose from the bench and stretched his arms. “I think it is time I take a much needed rest." Neomina stared at him. “I thought you said angels do not sleep."

"Ah, so true. I did say such a thing. But at times we do enjoy a bit of rest. Do you know what it is like to be forever worrying about the world and the fate of man? The job can prove to be most tiring. Besides, this is our first day back at Sanctum Hall, and I think it best that you and Lazarus have some time to yourselves. I shall see you again at the gathering tonight.” Montigrael vanished in an instant. "So, dear wife, what secrets are you keeping from me?" Lazarus led her to one of the benches set up in the middle of the room. He lowered himself onto the seat and pulled Neomina down with him. "I think perhaps this is not a good time to discuss such a matter." "And why not?" She took a deep breath and released a sigh. “You have been through a lot as of recent. I am not sure if you are up to what I had in mind." He stared at her and raised an eyebrow in question. “Do you mean to insult me, wife?" "No, of course not. It is just that ... well...” She didn't know how to approach the subject of having a family. She and Lazarus had never talked about children, but it was what she wanted most. “I have the means to make you mortal again. At least temporarily." "What are you saying?" "I have the Amulet of Christ. Roderick gave it to me when he gave me the St. John Stake." "And do you wish me to be mortal?" "Yes." He let go of Neomina and pulled back from her. “I no longer am certain that I'd want to be mortal again.” He lied. Neomina now belonged with the Trackers, not with his Tribe. He refused to be the reason that kept her from her people. After her sacrifice of putting her own life in danger to save his, she deserved more than to be tied to a Vampyric husband who forced her to live in a dark world away from her kin. “I think you are right, wife. Now is not the time to discuss such matters." Lazarus rose from the bench and strode across the room. He sensed her longing for his embrace, to feel the heated fire of his kiss, and the pain she suffered at knowing he would offer her neither of the two. His heart ached that he could not give her what she wanted, but the sooner they severed their relationship, the better. He turned back to stare at her. “I am sorry, Neomina. I had hoped that one day we could share the life of the New Breed together. Restoring my mortality is no longer a priority." "Then what do we have, Lazarus, an arrangement of words made between you and Delacroix and nothing more?” Anger and hurt filled her words. Lazarus raked a hand through his hair. He saw the pain in her eyes, but he could do nothing. He was Vampyre and the dark gift ruled him. To force Neomina into a life where they truly could never be one would be cruel to her. She would be better off away from him and living among her own people. "In light of things, perhaps an arrangement of words is all that we have.” He lied to her, but it was better this way. Neomina would survive. She had the soul of a fighter and the beauty of an enchantress. She would have no trouble finding a true husband among the Trackers. His heart heavy with broken emotions, Lazarus turned away from her and left the room.

Chapter Twenty-six The trip back from the Nephilim caverns seemed like an eternity to Neomina and she was glad when her feet touched ground outside Sanctum Hall. As she entered the keep's main chamber, she thanked the Heavens for returning her safely and for sparing Lazarus's life. Yet, despite her good fortune, she felt sadness deep within her soul for Montigrael. The angel had suffered a horrible loss. "Will you be all right, Monty?" "Yes. Soon I shall return to Paradise so I may be reunited with Julius and my wife, Aurelia. The King of Paradise has requested my presence at his table, and I shall be glad to be back home." "I know this is selfish to say, but what shall we do without you?" Montigrael smiled. “Lazarus has nothing to fear now. And besides, you don't need an angel who knows your every thought wandering about the keep.” He winked at her. “I do believe you and Lazarus have some, shall we say unfinished business, to tend to? The continuation of the Tribe is vital to the Grigori. We have many enemies among the Nephilim, and souls like Lazarus are needed to conquer them. What happened to Julius must never happen again." She stared at him. Montigrael had grown on her over these last few weeks and the thought of him leaving saddened her. “I will miss you greatly." "And I you. But only call my name and I will return. My debt to Lexliel may now be paid, yet I am still Lazarus's uncle and, as such, I will forever hold his soul dear to me. In truth, in Julius's absence, I loved Lazarus like a son. Such feelings do not fade." "Speaking of Lazarus, what am I to do with him? He is Vampyre and I am Tracker. What future can we truly make?" A look of concern crossed Monty's face. “What are you saying, child? Do you not love Lazarus?" "Of course I do. But will he still have me now that my soul has been pledged to the Trackers? He cannot bring me across and I know that in order to be presented to the Tribe and be counted among them one must be Vampyre and walk among the undead. I am no longer in a position to give myself to Lazarus in such a manner." Neomina toyed nervously with the gold silk cord that dangled from her waist. She was in a fit of nerves, concerned about what Lazarus would now think of his full-fledged Tracker wife. "My nephew is no fool, Neomina. He knows what is in your soul, in your heart. Besides, I do believe the boy is quite smitten with you." "Indeed he is.” The velvet-edged voice rang out across the empty great hall. Lazarus entered the room, ambled over to Neomina, and put his arms lovingly around her waist. The scent of sandalwood and musk stirred her senses. Neomina felt warmth cocoon her as Lazarus pressed his hard body against hers. "So, you will still have me, husband?" He shook his head, as though he found her words amusing. “Of course. In fact, I intend to keep you for all eternity. Perhaps it is I who should ask if you will still care to have me." She felt a blush brush her cheeks, and she smiled up at him. He laughed. “I take that as yes. Now tell me, dear wife, what is all this talk about unfinished business between the two of us?" Montigrael rose from the bench and stretched his arms. “I think it is time I take a much needed rest." Neomina stared at him. “I thought you said angels do not sleep."

"Ah, so true. I did say such a thing. But at times we do enjoy a bit of rest. Do you know what it is like to be forever worrying about the world and the fate of man? The job can prove to be most tiring. Besides, this is our first day back at Sanctum Hall, and I think it best that you and Lazarus have some time to yourselves. I shall see you again at the gathering tonight.” Montigrael vanished in an instant. "So, dear wife, what secrets are you keeping from me?" Lazarus led her to one of the benches set up in the middle of the room. He lowered himself onto the seat and pulled Neomina down with him. "I think perhaps this is not a good time to discuss such a matter." "And why not?" She took a deep breath and released a sigh. “You have been through a lot as of recent. I am not sure if you are up to what I had in mind." He stared at her and raised an eyebrow in question. “Do you mean to insult me, wife?" "No, of course not. It is just that ... well...” She didn't know how to approach the subject of having a family. She and Lazarus had never talked about children, but it was what she wanted most. “I have the means to make you mortal again. At least temporarily." "What are you saying?" "I have the Amulet of Christ. Roderick gave it to me when he gave me the St. John Stake." "And do you wish me to be mortal?" "Yes." He let go of Neomina and pulled back from her. “I no longer am certain that I'd want to be mortal again.” He lied. Neomina now belonged with the Trackers, not with his Tribe. He refused to be the reason that kept her from her people. After her sacrifice of putting her own life in danger to save his, she deserved more than to be tied to a Vampyric husband who forced her to live in a dark world away from her kin. “I think you are right, wife. Now is not the time to discuss such matters." Lazarus rose from the bench and strode across the room. He sensed her longing for his embrace, to feel the heated fire of his kiss, and the pain she suffered at knowing he would offer her neither of the two. His heart ached that he could not give her what she wanted, but the sooner they severed their relationship, the better. He turned back to stare at her. “I am sorry, Neomina. I had hoped that one day we could share the life of the New Breed together. Restoring my mortality is no longer a priority." "Then what do we have, Lazarus, an arrangement of words made between you and Delacroix and nothing more?” Anger and hurt filled her words. Lazarus raked a hand through his hair. He saw the pain in her eyes, but he could do nothing. He was Vampyre and the dark gift ruled him. To force Neomina into a life where they truly could never be one would be cruel to her. She would be better off away from him and living among her own people. "In light of things, perhaps an arrangement of words is all that we have.” He lied to her, but it was better this way. Neomina would survive. She had the soul of a fighter and the beauty of an enchantress. She would have no trouble finding a true husband among the Trackers. His heart heavy with broken emotions, Lazarus turned away from her and left the room.

Chapter Twenty-seven Lazarus couldn't help himself. Being so near to Neomina stirred his soul to new heights and ignited desire within him. His body responded in an instant to the heat of her touch, and the mere act of taking her hand sent his soul into a frenzy of raw emotions that left him both internally excited and physically aroused. As the fires of passion fed Lazarus's soul with a longing he had never felt in all his existence, he thought that perhaps angering fate and keeping Neomina with him wouldn't be so bad after all. At least not while he lived on this earth. Of course, the Trackers would hunt him down if he didn't return Neomina to her people, and that would send him to an early grave where he was sure to pay a hefty price for his transgressions. He took a deep breath and let out a sigh. To hell with the Trackers, and to hell with Fate. In one swift move, he swept Neomina into his arms, entered the bedchamber, and, with the sole of his boot, kicked the door shut behind him. He carried Neomina across the room and gently eased her down onto the bed. "I thought you were going to set me free tonight, husband.” Longing for his love, Neomina peered up at him with pleading eyes. Despite the tension between them, she still ached for Lazarus's touch, and the feeling left her uncomfortable. He didn't respond, and she said, “I heard every word of the conversation that you had with your mother.” She paused. Her heart ached for Lazarus's love and her body burned for his embrace. She fought the urge to give in to him because she knew now that nothing could ever come from their union. “And I knew what you were feeling." He removed his clothes, all the while staring at her, and then joined her in bed. “Then you should know that I long to make you mine, truly mine, and indeed I shall set you free tonight." Lazarus leaned over Neomina and reached for the hem of her gown. He pulled the sheer fabric off her body and tossed the dress to the floor. She didn't resist or make any effort to stop him. Instead, she said, “You are a cruel soul, Lazarus Conlon. A cruel soul if ever I knew one." He gazed down at her, a look of surprise etched on his face. “Cruel? What makes you say such a thing?" Shocked by his words, Neomina stared up at him. “What else am I to think? You plan on having your way with me and then sending me back to my people. If that is not cruel, then I do not know what is." Lazarus told himself that Neomina was right; that he had to get off the bed and walk away from her. But even as he gave himself the lecture, he settled himself between her velvet-soft thighs, lowered his weight gently on her, and soaked up the heat that emanated from her warm flesh. He felt the spark of electricity that ignited between them, and he caressed her skin with a tantalizing touch, making small circles with his hands as he explored the soft contours of her body. "What I intend, dear wife, is not only to have my way with you, but to make you mine for all eternity." She struggled beneath him, twisting the silk sheets that covered the large bed. “You cannot. Please, Lazarus, I beg of you, do not make me Vampyre. My soul belongs to the Trackers." He pulled back and stared down at her as if stunned by her words. “I would never bring you across without your consent. I'm wounded to think you'd even believe I'd do otherwise." She reached her hand to his chest. “I love you, Lazarus Conlon. I love you with all my heart and all my soul." Lazarus closed his eyes as her words echoed through his mind. Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. The flames of passion that heated his heart now fanned his soul and spread throughout his tense body. “I have longed to hear you say those words and mean them, Neomina." "And I do." "I know that. I can sense it in my soul."

He pulled her close to him. The feel of her warm, silky flesh against his hard, cold body made him quiver. He couldn't remember feeling anything as wondrous as being one with Neomina. He marveled at the sensation of her warm body pressed against his, and reeled in the madness she created in his soul. She made him whole and she made him long for a life spent together for all eternity. He swore a silent oath, hating how easily he was falling to temptation. "Where is the amulet, Neomina?" She stared at the table next to the bed. A small wooden box sat perched on top. Lazarus followed her gaze. Concentrating on the box, he forced the top to lift. Inside sat the amulet containing Christ's blood. Lazarus willed the powers of his mind to bring forth the relic and place it around his neck. The heavy chain graced his flesh as the smooth feel of gold brushed against his chest. A sudden change took over his senses. Lazarus could feel the transformation occurring inside his body. The preternatural instincts vanished, as did all his Vampyric abilities. He was suddenly aware of the man that had survived deep within and hidden for centuries by the darkness. Mixed emotions of fear mingled with surprise coursed through his body. Warmth returned to his flesh. The heat that flowed through him made his skin tingle. He caressed Neomina with his suddenly warm hand and reveled in watching her respond to him. For the first time in his life, Lazarus did not fear the beast that dwelled within him, and he brushed his lips against the smooth skin of Neomina's neck and lingered there. His tongue explored her sweet flesh and tasted her every essence. He didn't have to hold back now. He had no need to keep himself in check for the Vampyre that had always ruled his soul now slept in the presence of mortality. Lazarus saw the world in a whole new light. He saw it as a man, with beauty and awe. He pulled Neomina to him and made them one by melding their bodies together. The pleasure was explosive and divine. "Lazarus,” cried Neomina. The sound of her voice sent him over the edge and plummeted him to pure ecstasy. “Be one with me Neomina. Be one with me in both body and spirit." "I already am." She quivered beneath him and responded to the magic that grew from their union. And at that very moment he knew he'd never be able to survive without Neomina. He needed to find a way to appease the Trackers and have them free his wife from her vow. Selfish or not, he didn't want to let her go. He wanted to give her the children she craved and he wanted to be at her side to help raise them.

Chapter Twenty-eight At dawn, Montigrael waited in the chapel for Lazarus and Neomina to arrive. He had called to them earlier, saying it was urgent for them to meet with him. Lazarus entered the underground church and made his way toward the sitting angel. He took a seat in the front pew next to Monty. "What stirs your soul, Uncle?" "Is Neomina coming, too? I want her to be here." No sooner did he speak than she appeared at his side. "Why the urgency, Montigrael?" "Please, have a seat." She obliged him and sat in the pew with him and Lazarus. "I am to leave for Paradise on this day. Aurelia and Julius are waiting for me." Tears welled in Neomina's eyes. “I didn't think you would be leaving so soon." He reached out his hand and took hers in his palm. “I will be back, just as I told you before. And if you ever have need of me, call my name and I shall come to you. I wanted to bid you farewell before leaving and to tell you that the Conlon line lives on." Neomina stared at him in stunned silence. He smiled at her. “It is true, my dear. You and Lazarus will have a family of your own. This I know for fact. But please promise me that however you choose to raise your children, you will not let the twins turn out to be like Althea and Byron." "Twins?” Lazarus raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Yes, nephew, twins." "Mortal twins?" "They will be mortals who have Grigori souls with Tracker blood. The dark gift will be theirs only if they so desire it." "I know it's rather selfish of me, Uncle,” said Lazarus. “But I'd prefer if you stayed with us. I've never ruled the Tribe without you at my side." "I'm certain you'll have no trouble leading your kin. It's your destiny, Lazarus.” Montigrael rose and unfurled his wings. “It is time for me to ascend to Paradise. My task here is now complete." He lovingly embraced both Lazarus and Neomina, and then he said, “Only call my name and I shall return..." Montigrael's voice echoed in the distance as he vanished from man's world. "I'll miss him,” said Neomina. “If it weren't for your uncle, I'd never have managed to find the Nephilim caverns, and you'd be lost to me forever. I don't like losing things I love.” She offered him an innocent kiss. "Neomina,” he said, taking her hands in his. “There's something I need to tell you." "You have a very serious look about your face, husband. Please don't tell me another entity stalks Sanctum Hall."

"No, it has nothing to do with the keep or the Tribe. But rather something I've done." "What?" "I lied to you." She gave him a glaring look. He invaded her thoughts. Do you have a mistress, lord husband? He offered a slight laugh. “I desire only you. That is part of my problem and the very reason I was not truthful with you. When you told me about the vow you took in order to inherit the Tracker relics, I knew I no longer had any right to take you as my wife in the Vampyric tradition. You belong with your people, where you can find a proper husband who can enter into an official union fully recognized by the Trackers. I cannot give you the same. Your father and I made an agreement based on ancient prophecies, tolerated by the Trackers but never fully accepted by them. They knew you'd be torn between two worlds and the High Council always wished for you to be rid of me, so you could return to your people. But after last night, after being one with you in a mortal way, I cannot let you go. Truth be told, I probably never would have let you go, despite my attempts at convincing myself I could survive without you." "I'd never leave you, Lazarus. I love you." He smiled at her. “I know that now. But I still have to deal with the Trackers. I must find a way to prove to them I'm worthy of you." Neomina patted her flat belly. “I'm sure they will accept you once our children are born. I know my uncle. Eventually he'll see the good in your heart. I promise you, Lazarus. We'll find a way to stay together." He prayed Neomina was right, because now he'd fight to the death to keep his wife and family under his own roof.

Epilogue One Year Later "Are you sure of this, Neomina?" "Yes. You have given me the family I desired and shared my world. Now I want to give back to you that which you gave me. I want to share your world with you, Lazarus Conlon. I want to be part of your Tribe." "But what about Aaron and Briana? The children will need a mortal mother." Neomina reached for the Amulet of Christ hanging about Lazarus's neck. “We have the means to revert to our mortality whenever the need arises. I can raise our children in a loving manner whether I am mortal or Vampyre." "And what will the Trackers say?" "The High Council has realized that you are no threat to them or to anyone else in the mortal world. They've agreed to free me from my vow, allowing me to will my powers and my belongings, including the relics, to the twins. I've already informed Roderick I'd accept the High Council ruling. He has agreed to see to it that when the twins are old enough, they will inherit both my seat and his on the Tracker Council. Our children will know both worlds." "Then I have no choice but to abide by your wishes.” He took a deep breath and paused. It had been years since he'd last brought anyone across to the world of the Vampyre and bestowed the dark gift upon another soul. He prayed he would be up to the task this time around. "The act is not an easy one, Neomina. I will need time to prepare and I must consult with my mother, Byron, Althea and Artemis. I will need their help in rehabilitating my soul after the deed is done. A soul cannot rehabilitate completely on its own." "The Tribe has been good to me this past year and I know now that they accept me as I am. With Percival no longer here to threaten them, they have been a happy, lively bunch. And therefore I can wait to be brought across until the time is right." **** The Tribe gathered in the forest surrounding Sanctum Hall and stood under the silvery glow of a waxing moon. They had witnessed many souls brought across over the centuries of their existence, but tonight's rite would prove more sacred than any from the past. Tonight Lazarus would take Neomina and formally present her to his grandfather's people. In the moon's light he would make her Vampyre, bestow the dark gift upon her soul, and officially make her the mistress of his Tribe. Waiting inside the keep, Lazarus paced back and forth in the great hall. His stomach seemed to knot tighter with each round of steps he took across the floor. "Why are you so nervous, nephew?" He spun around, shocked to hear Montigrael's voice behind him. His uncle emerged from the shadows. "What are you doing here?" "Do you think I would abandon you at a time like this?" "Well, no. But I did not think to call upon you. In truth, I feared disturbing you and taking you away from Aurelia and Julius." "Nonsense. They are quite capable of doing without me for a short while and understand fully that I will forever be your guardian." The angel handed Lazarus a silver pitcher and bowl.

"What is this for?" "Your grandfather kept them in his villa during the years he lived in darkness. They carried an endless supply of Paradisian fruits and wines. When he left this earthly existence, these belongings went with him. He asked me to give them to you for this occasion." The bowl and pitcher filled in an instant. "The supply will never run dry, Lazarus. It is a gift from Romulus." His soul still lingering in a fit of panic, Lazarus took a deep breath. “What if I am making a mistake tonight? What if Neomina is not meant to be brought across? I will doom her soul." Montigrael unfurled his massive, feathery wings and extended them until they touched Lazarus's shoulder. "Feel the presence of Paradise, nephew. Feel the flow of energy coming from my wings and absorb it into your soul. Paradise has a long battle ahead with the Dark Breed. It is necessary for the Tribes of the New Breed to continue to exist and to grow. All things happen for a reason, and all things happen because the Soul of Paradise so desires them to be." Lazarus hadn't thought about it like that before, but Montigrael's words made sense. He thanked the Heavens for sending him his uncle. "God is God of all things, including God of Hell. Nothing can be without Him,” said Monty. Lazarus took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. His soul began to steady itself and calm washed over him. He waited patiently for Artemis and Octavia. “Will you join us tonight, Montigrael?" "I think, perhaps, I shall remain inside and enjoy the company of my grandniece and nephew. The rites of the Tribe are sacred and I wish to respect that." "But you, of all beings, are always welcome." "Thank you." Dressed in a black velvet gown embroidered with rich silver threads depicting the Conlon wolf, Octavia entered the main hall. Her long ebony hair, which was rolled into two coiled braids on either side of her head, was draped in sheer silvery fabric. "Monty, so good of you to come.” With a sincere hug she embraced her angelic brother-in-law. “Have you seen the twins?" "No. But I plan on watching them tonight while the Tribe gathers.” He paused and a sad expression crossed his face. “I remember when Lazarus was just an infant and I came to your villa the day he was made Vampyre. It was just days after Julius died, and I wished I could have seen my own son grow up. But I thank God for sending me to Lazarus." "Then you must promise to return often so you may see Aaron and Briana grow. Living among the Tribe, I'm sure they will have need of an uncle like you." Octavia looped her arm into Montigrael's and shuffled him off to see the twins. Lazarus was left once more to his own company. Thoughts of the pending rites occupied his mind and caused him to tune out the rest of the world. He became so engrossed in his worries, he barely heard Neomina enter the room. She moved across the chamber in silence. Turning about, Lazarus froze. The beauty Neomina possessed was spellbinding, and she had long since enchanted him. "Do you like my gown, husband?" Silver folds of rich velvet and silk caressed Neomina's body like a glove. Lazarus fought viciously with the temptations stirring him

at that moment. “I have never seen a woman more beautiful than you, Neomina. Perhaps we should forget about the crossing over and return to our bed." She smiled. “I do not think that wise, husband. The Tribe would never let you get away with such actions." "No, they wouldn't, would they?" She shook her head. "Byron and Althea have worked long and hard for this night, as have all the Tribe. I am elated they've agreed to welcome me among their family." "They have never had a true mistress before and I wonder how they shall take to this. In the past, when we fought, I always went out into the woods surrounding Sanctum Hall and kept company with the wolves. Now things are different. For the first time in my existence, I don't know what the future will hold." "Does that frighten you?" "A little. I have a family to care for, a Tribe to rule and, first and foremost, a wife to please. The wolves understand the Tribe, but I cannot talk to them about other things, such as you and the children." Neomina took a step closer to him and gently placed her hand against his cheek. "Do you really fear for the Tribe and their adjustment to having a mistress, or do you fear for yourself and whether or not you are doing the right thing tonight?" He laughed. Neomina already knew him too well. “Wife, I fear that when you are made Vampyre, I'll have no escape from your probing of my mind. How will I ever excite you if you know my every thought, my every move? I fear the dark gift runs stronger in your blood than it does in mine. The notion is quite frightening." She smiled. “Just think of the great team we'll make. And, if you ever tire of the Tribe, you can retake your mortality and leave Althea and Byron to me." "Oh, really? So tell me, wife, did you agree to our marriage solely to one day rule the Tribe?" "Of course. Why else would I have wanted to be your wife?" She laughed, and the sound of her sweet voice calmed Lazarus. He loved Neomina and would never want to hurt her. His tone grew serious as he stared at her and said, “Are you really certain about this, Neomina? You can still change your mind." "I have never been surer of anything in my life. I want to be part of your world, Lazarus. I want us to be one completely." Wolves howled outside Sanctum Hall. "It is almost midnight, Neomina. We must go outside to join the Tribe." Lazarus took her hand and led her from the keep. He lifted Neomina to a horse dressed in silver blankets and decorations and then mounted behind her. Together they made their way into the woods surrounding Sanctum Hall. In the clearing where the Tribe had gathered for the sacred ceremony, he saw Octavia standing among them, accompanied by her cousin Artemis. Althea and Byron waited for Lazarus and Neomina. They approached them as he reined in the horse. "My Lord, my Lady.” Althea curtsied and her brother bowed. The twin Vampyres were dressed in matching outfits of black velvet trimmed in silver. The pattern of a moon with a wolf's face emblazoned across the front repeated itself over their clothes. They

accompanied Lazarus and Neomina as the two made their way through the Tribe. "Is it like this every time a member is brought across?” questioned Neomina. "No,” said Althea. “Not exactly. Most occasions are not as formal or as involved as is this one." "Were you brought across in a rite like this?" "My brother and I were orphans. My mother died in childbirth and my father was killed in war. For years we lived with relatives until Aunt Octavia took us in and Lazarus brought us across. The ceremony was very private." Neomina suddenly felt sad for Althea and Byron. All they had were each other, and she now understood why they acted as they did. The world, she thought, must have seemed such an empty place to them. They finally made it through the crowd. Showered by the moon's silvery rays, Neomina and Lazarus stood before the Tribe. "You look like the goddess herself, dear wife,” whispered Lazarus. He wanted the rite to be over so he could return to Sanctum Hall and spend time alone with Neomina. With great care he removed the Amulet of Christ from his neck and handed it to Octavia. The relic was then placed in its box and taken away by a group of Trackers for safekeeping. Lazarus felt the Vampyre return. His senses heightened, tuning into the woods that surrounded him. He could feel the wolves, their beating hearts and their pumping blood. The darkness welcomed his return with open arms and cradled his soul in its bewitching lair. He was one with the world of night again. Roderick joined the Tribe to take part in the rite. He gave Neomina's hand to Lazarus as a father would give his daughter's in marriage. "Do not disappoint me, Conlon,” whispered Roderick. “If I ever hear of a problem, I will hunt you down and put an end to the Tribe. Neomina is like a daughter to me. If ever any harm should come to her or to Aaron or Briana, I will become your worst nightmare." "You have my word, as did Delacroix. Neomina is the world to me." "Then so be it.” Roderick turned to his niece. “You can still change your mind, Neomina.” She shook her head, but remained silent. “Then I wish you all the best, my child. Never fear to come to me or to the Trackers. Our blood will always run through your veins." Roderick kissed Neomina on the cheek and left for his home in the woods. He had expressed earlier that he had no desire to socialize among the Tribe or take further part in their ceremonies. Lazarus was now left to complete the deed. He felt the eyes of his kin fall upon him, their stares burning into his soul. "I know I have asked you this before, Neomina, but I must ask you again. Are you sure of this? Once you are brought across, there is no turning back. Even with the Amulet of Christ, you will still be Vampyre. Right now the two coexist in your soul, but by our actions tonight, we will be calling forth the Vampyre to overtake the Tracker." "Yes, I know, and I still want to be a part of your world, Lazarus. I want us to truly be one." He took a deep breath and calmed his soul. The scent of Neomina's blood stirred him like it had in the past before he had taken back his mortality. The sweet fragrance of roses and fruit filled his nostrils. His teeth grew long and pointed and sought their drink. The hunger returned to tempt him, and for the first time in his life, he couldn't have been happier. He used to hate the essence that stirred him, but now he welcomed it. Now he could safely satisfy the hunger. Lazarus raised his hand and brought it to Neomina's neck. He gently pushed aside her long moon-kissed hair and swept it over her

shoulder towards her back. Her scent danced on the night air, filling his soul. He pulled her toward him and took a moment to stare at the soft, smooth flesh that covered Neomina's swan-like neck. She was ripe for the taking and he knew it. The pulse that beat under her skin called to him and lured him to her throat. Lazarus bared his fangs and hissed. The wolves howled under the moonlight and merged their souls with his. He was both man and beast wrapped in the essence of the Vampyre. Neomina called to him softly. “Take me, Lazarus. What are you waiting for?" He closed his eyes. The Tribe fell silent. In one swift move, Lazarus turned his back to his kin. He shielded Neomina with his body and blocked the deed from all eyes that gathered in the woods. This was a private matter. Lazarus took to the air and carried Neomina away. She gasped. “What are you doing?" "Trust me on this, Neomina, trust me." And she did. He brought her to Delacroix's cottage and said, “You haven't been home in a long time, and I thought this would be a better place than among the Tribe." "But the moon? Should we not be outside?" He shrugged. “In truth, it does not matter." Neomina pursed her lips and seemed lost in thought. "What are you thinking?" She smiled at him. “Do you not know, Vampyre?" Thoughts of the apothecary came flooding back to him. He gave a slight laugh. “Is that where you would like to go?" "Yes. That is were we first met and I think such a place would be most appropriate." "Very well, wife. We shall go to the apothecary." In the woods behind the cottage sat a large wood, stone, and glass building. The door opened with a single wave of Lazarus's hand. In the hearth, a fire blazed, taking the chill off the room. Lazarus took in the mixed aromas of spicy, pungent herbs and sweet-smelling flowers. And he breathed in the scent of Neomina. The distinct smell of her blood filled his nostrils, calling him with urgency. He pulled her close and lowered her to the floor in front of the fireplace. With quick ease he removed Neomina's clothing and then his own. The heat from the hearth warmed his soul. He wrapped the two of them in a soft blanket and embraced Neomina.

The skin of her neck glowed in the firelight. "I love you, Neomina Conlon. You have my heart and you have my soul. Now I give you my world." He leaned over her and brushed his lips against the smooth flesh of her neck. He caressed her with long, loving kisses and buried himself in the sweet essence of her scent. With ease, the tender flesh parted for his fangs and her blood flowed to him on command. In one bite, Lazarus began the sacred act of bringing her across. He had never tasted anything as sweet as Neomina. Her blood sated his hunger. He drank until he had his fill. Neomina cried out as Lazarus carried out the ritual. The warmth that flooded her body was pure ecstasy. She never expected it to be like this. Memories of her birth, childhood, adolescence, all came back to her. Scenes long since forgotten flashed before her eyes. She remembered her mother, her father, the cat she had as a toddler. And then Lazarus pulled back. He bit into his own wrist and placed it upon Neomina's lips. "Drink from me and be part of me. Let the night take you, Neomina." And Neomina did. As the warm, thick liquid eased its way down her throat, she saw scenes of Lazarus's life flash through her mind. She felt his pain, his joy, his guilt, and even his pleasure. Neomina took in all that was Lazarus, his every essence. Together they merged as one, a true union of both body and spirit. Neomina had once made Lazarus man and given him a part of her world. Now Lazarus made Neomina Vampyre and gave her a part of his world. Together they succumbed to the night and a life that would be eternally sweet. Copyright 2006 by Josephine Piraneo Published by ImaJinn Books

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