Night's Templar by Joey W. Hill
Her brow rose. "Of course. He has been difficult in Council meetings of late, particularly on this servant issue."
"Which I'm sure you expected." Uthe smiled. "However, since you deposed him as head of Council, he has an even greater regard for you. It is his nature to respect violence and strength. He is a battering ram, but if you point him in the right direction, he will understand the nature of the door better. He also represents the less enlightened thinking of many of our kind, so if you heed his perspective, you'll find the right balance to ensure change doesn't happen too swiftly."
"I don't disagree. Thank you, my lord. But returning to the issue of Mariela, perhaps I should temporarily assign her as a second mark to Helga, until your return?"
"If another appropriate vampire isn't available for her service now, that would be welcome. But I will not take her as mine again." This was a tricky point. There was so much he had to keep hidden.
"You tell me you must go on a trip, and that you do not know when you will return. I think you are softening the blow of this conversation. Will you return, Lord Uthe?" When he did not respond, she leaned forward and clasped his hand in slim fingers, an unexpectedly intimate gesture. "Not too long ago, when I had to choose someone for the Queen's dance at the Vampire Gathering, you took my hand and offered to dance with me. You wanted to help me manage the loss I was feeling over losing my husband Rex and my former servant Thomas. And though you did not know it, you were helping me deal with the certain death I thought I was facing at that time. We are vampires, and yet your compassion and honesty have always set you apart, Lord Uthe. It is not your vampire blood that drives you, but things far deeper and more powerful. Those things have been a foundation for me and this Council, and I am unspeakably loathe to lose them or you."
Her expression was sincere, her eyes telling him the truth of her deep affection for him. "We have fought the Territory Wars and built this Council together. We have experienced loss, frustration and victories. Set aside formality, and let's speak plainly. What can I do to prevent the tragedy of losing you? Is there nothing?"
By the Cross, he was getting hit by a surfeit of emotion tonight. He should have stayed away from the women in his life and ducked out like a thief in the night.
Instead, he shifted further forward and rested his forehead against hers. There was a comfort there he couldn't deny himself or question the act. The familiarity brought back those times of which she'd spoken. He remembered a night during the Territory Wars where they'd been outnumbered in a skirmish. They'd defeated their opponents regardless.
Due to her slender frame and short stature, the femininity that emanated from her like a bouquet of delicate roses, it was hard to see her as a savage and exceptional warrior, until one saw it firsthand and never forgot it again. It was why when she'd challenged Belizar for Council leadership he'd known she was going to win, and the power structure of Council was going to change.
On the long ago night during the Territory Wars, she'd sat on top of a corpse she'd created, using the fallen's shirt to wipe off the blades she'd used to hamstring him before she staked him. She'd been humming something like a lullaby. Uthe understood she was using the haunting tune to center and distance herself, from the horror of having to kill their brethren to ensure the survival of them all. At a recent Christmas gathering in her home, he'd heard her hum the same song to her son Kane when she was rocking him to sleep.
She stroked the back of Uthe's head, much as she'd done to her son then, offering comfort. "Stay here," she murmured. "Let me help. I would care for you and protect you however is needed."
It startled him, the insight so close to what he already knew and had barely acknowledged himself, but he squeezed his eyes closed, and drew strength from her love and his own resolve. He lifted his head and straightened, attempting proper decorum. "My lady honors me," he said in a thick voice. "It is difficult beyond description to resist the offer of being forever in your presence, but my regard for you is part of why this quest must be done."
She studied his face with shrewd eyes. Uthe recalled Lord Reghan looking at him much the same way when they'd made the decisions that had led to this moment.
Squeezing her hands, he rose, clearing his throat. "I will take my leave within the next couple days, as soon as I see to Mariela. If I may presume upon your friendship, please make my good-byes once I depart. I'm more susceptible to emotion about this than I expected. I cannot lose my resolve."
"Your honesty tempts me to be dishonorable and drown you in sentiment to keep you here, but I know you, Lord Uthe. Even if your heart broke in pieces, you would never allow it to keep you from what your honor and your God demand of you. It is why I've ever trusted your counsel."
Allowing herself a tight, sad smile, she rose with him. "Very well. It will remain our secret...and Mariela's, until your departure." She placed her elegant hand on his face. "You are a great friend, Lord Uthe. I pray you have a safe journey and safe return, for you will always be welcome in my home. Always."
Her many years showed in her face like the timelessness of smooth rock, worn by water's flow and polished. One might miss how many compressed years and experiences lay behind that remarkable beauty. He felt her stature like a towering Goddess.
"You asked if you might do something for me. It will not keep me here as you wish, but it will aid my quest." He sank to one knee before her, keeping his eyes on her face so he saw the flicker of surprise. "If you would bless my journey with your favor, and allow me to kiss the hem of your gown, I would deem it a far greater gift than this poor knight is worth."
It was rare that a vampire took his eyes off another, for it made him vulnerable. So he did it deliberately, lowering his eyes and bowing his head, awaiting her decision. Her finger tips whispered along his hair. "Lift your head, Lord Uthe," she said after a moment. "But keep your eyes closed."
He did, and quivered as her lips pressed against his throat, her fang sliding along the pulse there, a tiny needlelike sensation. Then she laid her hand on his head. "You have my blessing, Lord Uthe, and my command that you return to my side and service as soon as your conscience permits."
He didn't lift her hem to his mouth. No honorable knight would do such a thing. Instead he bent all the way to the floor and kissed the edge of her dark gown there. When he straightened and rose to his feet, for both their sakes he ignored the glistening in her right eye that suggested a threatening tear.
"'Our Lady was the beginning of our Order," he said. "In her and in her honor, if we please God, will be the end of our lives and the end of our Order, whenever God wishes it to be.'"
Lyssa arched a brow, and Uthe explained. "A quote from St. Bernard, who supported the Templars. Having that subconscious desire for a Goddess to worship, as so many do in a patriarchal religion, he was a devotee of the Virgin Mary. When I am in your presence, seeing your wisdom guide this Council and all our kind, his words come back to me."
He met her gaze then, as an equal, as a mentor, as one whose advice she'd valued. "In you, I see the strength and endurance, the suffering and ferocity ascribed to every feminine face of the Divine since the beginning of time, my lady. It has been a privilege to serve a queen worth serving."
The flash of emotion crossing her face was an even broader stroke this time, but he saved them both embarrassment with one last quick squeeze of her hand and looked toward her servant, standing silently in the shadows. "Care for your Mistress, Jacob. As I would and even better, as you always do and always will."
Jacob's blue eyes were steady as he bowed. "God grant you peace, my lord."
Uthe nodded and started toward the door. He'd almost reached it when Lyssa spoke. "My lord Uthe?"
He paused. "My lady?"
"Before I allow you to depart, I demand at least one piece of the puzzle from you."
"I will never lie to you, my lady."
"I mean I must have this truth, whether you wish to reveal it or not. A courteous refusal to tell me is not the same,
"No, my lady." He would miss her clever tongue.
"How old are you, Uthe? Truly?"
She made him smile. In the answering glimmer in her eye, he saw she intended it. It eased his heart in ways he couldn't explain. "You are not the oldest among us, my lady."
That she'd posed the question meant she'd suspected, but she would be wondering how he'd been able to conceal it, because a vampire's strength correlated to his approximate age, and vampires were able to detect the relative strength of potential friend or foe. When asked about his Templar background, he'd always intimated that he'd been inducted into their ranks in the early 1300s, right at the time the Order was disbanded, but that he'd continued to serve in various capacities as the scattered members relocated. Most thought that put him close to the eighth century mark, and he was able to mask his strength to match that impression.
That strength-to-age parity was one of the things that made Evan, the vampire Uthe had sired, vulnerable to other vampires. His protege had the strength of a hundred-year-old vampire, and was therefore often mistaken for being that age, though he was over three hundred now. Lord Brian thought it was because of lingering effects of the wasting disease that had come so close to taking his life as a mortal.
"Do you have an exact count? Or a guess?" Her eyes twinkled. "I can't remember mine anymore without effort."
"It was around 950 A.D. I believe. Give or take a couple decades."
Her lips pursed. "One day, I hope you'll tell me stories of your life at that time. We can find how close and how often we came to crossing paths."
Playing seven degrees of separation was a favorite pastime of vampires of advanced age, but the chance he and Lyssa would have that opportunity in this lifetime was slim.
"Perhaps God will be merciful and we'll share a garden in Paradise together. We can sit and share all, like old humans in their rockers at a nursing home." Would they be content, knowing the Lord's Will had been well served in their lives? Or be tormented by what had been left undone? In which case, he expected it wouldn't be Paradise at all, but some form of Purgatory.
Her mouth thinned. "My preference is to have your company on this side of the Veil again, Lord Uthe, before we face what lies beyond it. However, wherever I meet you again, I will look forward to it. And remember what I said." Her gaze locked on his face. "Whatever you need after your quest, I hope you will know you can find it here."
He could not answer that, for the thickness to his throat had returned. Offering her another short bow, he took his leave.
* * *
Mariela was waiting for him in his chambers at dawn. He allowed her to undress him, and then he took her into his bed, a twining of naked limbs and torsos. When he pressed her to her back, he saw the tears shining unshed in her eyes before she hid her face in his shoulder, her arms holding him urgently. He gave her the gift he'd promised, holding nothing back. He spilled his seed in her wet heat, making sure she came to a pinnacle with him. He brought her to another orgasm with his mouth, and a final with his fingers, enjoying the slippery sensation of her clit and labia spasming under his fingers. Women were endlessly responsive, something he'd always enjoyed watching. He made her drink from his throat, then let her sleep. He'd exhausted her as intended, and when she fell asleep in his arms, he kept his lips against her temple, his mind inside hers one last time, following the pleasant drift of her dreams.
Like most dreams, they were nothing cohesive. Snippets of this and that while she rocked along on the waves of sleep. He realized he was going to miss being in her mind. What if that connection had helped keep him more balanced and focused? Without it, he would feel even more isolated...than he'd always been.
Mariela was the only third marked servant he'd ever had. Up until her, the bond had not fit with where his path had taken him. With Hugh's warning always in his head, he knew he couldn't afford to get overly dependent on someone else's companionship. His fate, his mission, had always required severe mental isolation. It was best to reinforce that with actual physical isolation. But as a Council vampire, the day-to-day demands, the need for an easy blood source, and then the availability of an Inherited Servant for that purpose, had made taking a third mark seem a functional convenience. An InhServ was a safe choice, more formal, controlled, detached. He could have simply second marked her, but no Council vampire was without a third mark servant, and he had always been conscious of the need to blend.
But was that the true reason he'd capitulated? He hadn't expected things to change so drastically in the past decade, such that the bond with Mariela had become a lifeline of sorts, a way to not feel so alone.
He wasn't alone. Had his faith faltered so much that he thought severing his bond with Mariela would abandon him to a hellish abyss, the void of his own mind? His gut cramped, realizing that was exactly what he feared. He'd fought on the side of armies who were vastly outnumbered, he'd been cornered by aggressive vampires, he'd been trapped in places where the sun would have reduced him to ash if he hadn't figured out how to escape in time. All this time, he'd feared nothing...except becoming the one thing he feared most.
Forgive me my weakness, oh Lord. I will not fail you. I am not alone as long as I walk Your path.
He fell into fitful dreams full of shadows. Demons reached out to him, their fingers like fat slugs impregnated with barbs that latched onto his skin. They dug in and drew him down into oblivion where he would know nothing, remember nothing. But as he thrashed, as he fought, a hand reached through that, clasped him, drew him free. He was back in that silver tower with the scent of magic, clean air and peace. Only he didn't see green and silver eyes in the face bending over his. Dark eyes watched him, sensual fingers sliding down his throat, opening his shirt. Keldwyn's mouth was on his chest, his long hair on Uthe's bare skin. The Fae moved his touch between Uthe's legs, cupping his balls, rubbing his cock. As Uthe arched into the stimulation, he realized his arms were bound above his head, his body a feast for the Fae's pleasure. It didn't inspire panic. Far from it. Here in his dreams, he could be safe.
There is a freedom of thought and feeling in the service of a Master.
Surrendering all to a Master...
It was as if he were in an elevator that dropped suddenly, jolting his eyes open. He knew it was broad daylight, early afternoon, a time he wouldn't normally wake unless something had disturbed him. Mariela's scent was upon him and his sheets, as well as that of the coupling they'd shared. A desolate emptiness swept through him. He pushed up, logy, his mind spinning. He couldn't figure out what was going on, where he was, what...why did things feel upside down?
"Easy." Keldwyn's voice was against his ear, part of his dream. "Lie back down, my lord. Your servant is with Lord Brian. I suspect the procedure is complete and that's why you are feeling so out of sorts."
"Brian said...easier for vampire. She should be disoriented. Not me. Why am I..."
"You know why. It's all right. I'm here. Just lie back down with me. We'll talk chess. I still think you cheated last time."
"We play chess."
"Of course, my lord. Several times a week." Keldwyn was somehow easing him back down onto the sheets. He had his arm over Uthe's chest, was coiled up behind him. He never slept naked, always in lounging pants and a shirt, with the candle burning on the dresser. A Templar slept in his breeches and shirt, and kept a light on through the night.
He'd fallen asleep in the dark, without clothing, for Mariela. The sheets were tangled over Uthe so he felt the press of the other male's thighs against the back of his own through the cloth, but the heat of his body came through the thin fabric. He wasn't alone. Even though something was missing in his mind, far too many things, he wasn't alone. That was the most important thing right now. Uthe wrapped his fingers over Keldwyn's forearm. He was wearing one of those laced shirts, and Uthe plucked at it, irritated at not being able to get past the cloth to the flesh. He tugged harder.
"Hold on. Don't rip it." Keldwyn lifted away from
Uthe flinched as the shirt, folded into a thick strip, was wrapped around his eyes. He put up his hand to stop him, but Keldwyn tapped his knee against Uthe's tense ass. "It will help. Closes out a sense you don't need right now and reduces input."
Uthe thought he was wrong about that. Keldwyn's scent, captured in the fibers so close to Uthe's nose, increased other stimuli considerably. Somewhere in his fuzzy mind, he remembered not to pull Keldwyn's wrist to his mouth to bite the male, but it was a close thing. He gripped Keldwyn's forearm, banded across his chest once more. The straight lines of bone to the wrist were layered with prominent veins and sleek muscle, evidence of a male warrior who worked out with weapons. There was a light layer of hair over the firm flesh.
Keldwyn moved the sheets out of the way. Since he was wearing those tight, thin leggings he favored, when he brought his legs up to cradle Uthe's ass again, what pressed against his buttocks was unmistakably a generous-sized cock.
Though he'd had a strong sexual reaction to the male for some time, the response Uthe had now was deeper and even more intense. Keldwyn's contact wasn't a message about sex alone. It was about want, connection. Impending possession.
It was best just to sleep. He took deep, slow breaths, because the act was rhythmic and helpful. He kept his fingers latched over Keldwyn's forearm, and the male stroked his hair, his shoulder, his side. He was curled up naked in the shelter of the Fae's body. Uthe recognized it as a vulnerable position, but he felt better, stronger, with Keldwyn's heat against his back. Reaching back and up, he found some of his hair. Since the Fae male had so much of it, it wasn't a difficult task. Uthe pulled some forward over his shoulder like a cloak, those few strands bringing him as much warmth as a blanket.
"Sleep, my lord," Keldwyn said, and this time Uthe heard sadness and regret. They all had those, though. It was impossible to live as long as they did without them. His own deepest regrets had happened within the first fifty years of his existence. Would regret disappear when awareness did? Why was Keldwyn sad?