Calling for a Miracle [The Order of Vampyres 2] (Siren Publishing Classic) (11 page)

It didn’t make sense for him to take such a personal interest in the girl. He frowned. In his older age he seemed to be developing strange idiosyncrasies. Eleazar could not recall the last time he wasn’t plagued with the sense of exhaustion from an unfit rest. Could he be receiving the Lord’s call? No. He had no recollection of dreams and his moods seemed steady, if not always pleasant. He never lost his control.

Just as he was about to open the gate and make his way to Larissa’s door, he stilled. Someone was in his mind. He immediately threw up a wall and guarded his thoughts. He pressed back at the intruder and felt them surrender under the pressure. He followed the cognitive bond and probed the intruder’s mind until their identity was clear. He relaxed the moment he recognized the immortal on the other end.

Adriel.

He greeted his friend, allowing her now to enter the surface of his mind enough to communicate over such distance, but still not granting her full access to his thoughts. It was rare that any immortal could cross his mental guard, but Adriel had been his friend for four hundred years. She was only a few decades his minor so she possessed a great deal of her own power. Being able to intrude on another immortal’s thoughts was one of her gifts.

Hello, Eleazar. I trust you are doing well. I, on the other hand, will have a headache for the next hour thanks to the jab you just drilled into my mind.

He chuckled. Adriel was never one to keep her emotions to herself.
That will teach you not to knock. Now, what can I do for you, old girl?

I thought you would be interested to know that there has been talk of Isaiah Hartzler.

Why would that interest me?

Because Isaiah’s kin, the young Hartzler twin, has just returned to the farm with suspicions that his great-uncle is still alive.

She did have the bishop’s attention now.
Impossible,
he thought back to her.
The male turned rogue over eighty years ago. He would not have survived.

The boy, Cain, he disagrees. He approached Ezekiel upon his return. The elder called a council meeting directly after he received the news
, she informed him.

Eleazar was not convinced.
Isaiah was Ezekiel’s brother. It’s natural for him to believe any rumors. The male has never been able to give up hope that his brother could still be saved. That exact hope is what almost got him killed eighty years ago.

It had been 1929 when Isaiah Hartzler, patriarch and council elder of the Hartzler line, had been called. Soon after he had displayed symptoms that accompanied the calling of one’s true mate, sensitivity to the sun, lack of appetite, increased hunger for blood, mostly that of a mate’s, vertigo, and loss of control, Isaiah had left the farm to find her. Only he never returned.

When an immortal does not find his mate, he becomes the
unanswered
, more animal than a rational-thinking being. When the calling is unanswered and one’s mate proves elusive, the mind begins to fragment. The sun begins to limit freedom and the bloodlust becomes a force too powerful to ignore. Small creatures no longer satisfy appetites and actual food becomes too complex for their systems to digest. This leads to a need for more blood in order to sustain any energy. Only the blood begins to run through the system like water. There is only one blood that will stop the process. The blood of a true mate.

Once all of the symptoms have taken effect and the immortal is no longer in control of their own actions, being led more by animal instinct than rational thought, the male becomes incapable of courting said mate. He is what their kind referred to as
feeish,
more animal than man, a nocturnal beast that lurks in the shadows, bearing fangs and claws and watching the world through glowing eyes.

An unanswered immortal will become so blood hungry and confused, they will begin taking victims at random, a game of roulette, hoping to fall across their called mate. When the blood hits the system and they realize it is again not satisfying the need the way a mate’s would, they become a feral beast and fall into a rage, sometimes ripping the victim’s throat out. This was how Isaiah had been the last time they saw him some eight decades ago.

The carnage and loss of innocent lives destroyed at Isaiah’s hand was tragic. Those lives lost were The Order’s burden. They had hunted Isaiah. The council took it upon themselves to stop him. When they found him, they attacked, but he was so full of human blood and rage, he had become much more powerful than all the others combined. Males had been hurt, some even lost limbs. It was Ezekiel who finally ended up restraining the monster Isaiah had become.

He had held his brother in his grips, his own claws and fangs out, ready to deliver a deathblow, when he hesitated a moment too long. Eleazar could still recall the paralyzing shock at seeing Isaiah slit his brother’s throat so deep it almost severed Ezekiel’s head. After that, Isaiah had escaped. The others had become distracted with saving Brother Ezekiel Hartzler. There had never been another sighting of Isaiah. The council had assumed him long dead, most likely driven to a point of insanity too deep to survive.

He could have survived, Eleazar,
Adriel said, pulling him back from his memories.

Doubtful.

I think you should return home and hear the evidence for yourself.

What evidence?
he asked.
Do not pretend you do not eavesdrop on every meeting, Adriel. I am well aware that you do.

She sighed.
Fine. The boy says that there have been twelve murders, females, all of them.

How does he know this? I do not trust Cain Hartzler. Perhaps he has killed these women.

Perhaps, but why would he return home and draw the council’s attention to the act? He says the deaths are all over the English news. Cain, prior to returning, went into the woods where a reporter had said the most recent murder had taken place. He said he found markings, impressions that only a male, traveling at immortal speeds, could make in the earth.

Eleazar was growing tired of this conversation. He looked up toward Larissa’s window.
This is only speculation. Such propaganda will only encourage the others. I suggest the council make note of Cain’s claims and then lay the issue to rest. I assure you, Isaiah Hartzler is dead. He would not have survived eighty years without his mate. It has never been done.

But Eleazar, the women—

I must go, Adriel. I have work to do. Good-bye.

Before the connection was cut off, Adriel yelled,
Each victim was drained of blood!

Eleazar stilled. Drained of blood? Oh bloody hell. He looked back at Larissa’s window one last time then turned in the opposite direction. He walked, irritated that he was once again being distracted from his task, and soon came upon an English convenient store. He yanked the glass door open and growled at a woman who smiled at him. Up against the front windows of the store, was a rack stacked with newspapers and magazines. He snatched a paper from the top of the pile and began scanning the headlines. He flipped the pages noisily, causing some pages to flutter to the floor.

“Sir, you have to buy that if you’re going to read it,” the clerk at the counter whined.

“Quiet!” he barked, giving the girl a mental push to mind her own business.

On the third page, under a picture of a young boy and an even younger girl, both appearing deep in mourning, was the headline,
Beast Leaves Children Orphaned.

The article recapped the events of the past year. Adriel was right. The murders were right in the town of Jim Thorpe, not far from their farm. Words jumped out at Eleazar as he read.
Bloodless. Drained. Females. Sexually Assaulted. Man. Eye witnesses. Carnage. Puncture marks at the carotid artery.

Eleazar slammed the paper down and left the store. He would need to return home and get an exact account of what Cain Hartzler had seen. If this was in fact Isaiah, returned to the area and running rogue, he would need to be hunted and destroyed. The bishop would make it clear that this time no other Hartzler would accompany the men on the hunt so that there would be no hesitating upon killing this rogue once and for all.

More irritating than all else was the fact that this would postpone Larissa’s return to the farm. Sure, he could have easily retrieved her from her apartment and dragged her back home to her husband, but something inside of him did not want to rush things where she was concerned. He knew where she was living. She would no longer be dancing at that house of sin. He could return home, speak to Cain, and come back for Larissa by tomorrow night. He decided that was exactly what he would do.

Chapter 6

He was there again, the mortal graveyard, the ground turned out as the coffin, covered in yellow roses, was lowered into the earth. Jonas knew he was dreaming. He had had this dream over a dozen times in the past few weeks, always the woman he recognized as his called mate, always the crying children he didn’t recognize, always the middle-aged man holding the bible. It was as if he was being haunted by the dark dream or perhaps his mate was and she had managed to project the images into his subconscious.

Clara seemed to look right at him this time. Her snowy hair was pulled back into a bun at the back of her neck, a few wisps escaping in the breeze and caressing her plain face. She was dressed all in black with the exception of the bulky, gray sweater that covered her. The worn garment looked more like an old afghan than an article of clothing. The children, one boy of about fifteen or sixteen years and one girl some five or six years younger, both stood to Clara’s right with their heads bowed, the boy’s arm around the girl’s shoulders. There were no tears, only expressions of disbelief as if whoever’s passing they were mourning, was simply inconceivable to them all.

Clara’s withered hands clenched at her afghan sweater as the blustery wind moaned over the vacant cemetery. She appeared smaller, thinner than what he remembered her being from his last dream. He watched her as he always did, but like always he never spoke directly to her. Speaking to her would make his presence there too real and he could not dream of another woman. He could not share such a bond with a female that was not his Abilene. He would not allow it. Yet when Clara looked right at him this time, he feared his unobtrusive presence was about to be brought to light.

Her face was bare of any makeup. Her skin seemed to wear age beautifully. Although she bore creases around her sharp, blue eyes they never seemed to detract from her attractiveness. Those fingers of age reaching out from her fine lashes seemed to only add to her distinguished appearance. She was small and frail, but there was strength in her posture and those old, blue eyes. He was unsure of her exact age and while at her age she would still be a baby were she an immortal, as a mortal she appeared weathered and past her prime, but still beautiful. Jonas could never deny her beauty and he felt as if he were betraying his wife all the more each time he acknowledged that fact.

The man with the bible continued to speak softly over the grave. The children continued to stare numbly at the casket. And Clara continued to look at him. Her gaze felt so intense, Jonas would swear if she looked away, he would feel the relief of its weight, but she did not look away.

“Why are you here?” she suddenly demanded of him. She had never spoken directly to him. He was so taken off guard that she did now, he said nothing in reply.

The others did not seem to hear her or even notice his presence, most likely because it was not their dream. Her chin stuck out with defiant determination Jonas did not understand. She was not pleased to see him in her dream.