Pure Healing (17 page)

Once upon a time she’d made that mistake. She grew fond of a male during her first Phoenix Cycle as the Healer. The intimacies they shared deceived her into feeling something more than just sexual attraction, basic need and affection. She thought perhaps they could become like Mates, though they would only come together for thirty days every ten years. She thought she loved him enough to make it work.
And he fell in love with her in earnest, pining for her and waiting impatiently for the second Phoenix Cycle when they could be together again. Over the years, they lived separately, for fear of the temptation of being too close. Finally, the time approached again for the Healer to choose a Consort, and as they’d promised each other, Rain again chose him.
But the second cycle was different from the first. Instead of feeling fulfilled when they came together, the more Rain fed, the hungrier she felt. Yet, her Consort only became weaker, his strength rapidly depleting.
Towards the end of the thirty days, they realized that the Consort was in fact dying, for he had offered everything to her – his body, blood, heart and soul, but she was not able to reciprocate. Despite the deep affection and caring she felt for him, despite the grief and guilt his Decline incited, she could not give him equal measure even as she used her powers to try to heal him.
At the end of the Cycle, he died peacefully in her arms, giving her the last of his strength and power so that she finally felt her vitality return. She’d wept until there were no tears, until only dry heaves racked her body. It was a lesson she would never forget:
The Healer could not fall in love.
No matter how much she craved and cared for a male, she was not capable of giving; she only took. Her energy and power she gave only to her patients as the Pure Ones’ designated Healer. She had nothing left to give to a male of her choice.
She could never take a Mate.
To Serve her for one Phoenix Cycle was manageable if a male was strong. Eventually, he would heal and recover his strength. But to Serve her more than once was incredible risk, one that deluded both Healer and Consort into thinking their bond might be more permanent, more true.
She knew now that she could never form the Mating bond with a Pure-male, no matter his strength and devotion, no matter the depth of her feeling and determination. She would never love him enough.
Perhaps because she loved healing more. She could not prioritize personal love over a Gift that benefited her entire race.
Valerius sensed more than felt the Healer’s withdrawal. He could almost feel her pain and regret and had the inexplicable urge to comfort her.
But before he could act on that whim, he stiffened as he sensed danger a split moment before the tower they leaned against began to creak and shift.
Looking up, he saw that a fallen lantern had started a fire, but the breeze had carried the burning scent away and masked the impending danger. As the heavy wood beams swayed toward them, Valerius threw himself upon the Healer, knocking her to the hard ground, just before one of the beams collapsed on top of Valerius.
Rain’s breath was knocked out of her in a whoosh, and she braced herself for more impact but realized belatedly that none came. Valerius’ body served as a protective barrier over hers, his torso a hair’s width away from hers, his arms and legs like godly columns that kept the heavens from toppling. His face was turned away from hers, her lips lightly grazing the muscles of his throat.
Before she could collect her wits, he ground out in low urgent tones, “Get out from underneath me. Hurry.”
She pulled herself together enough to pedal backwards with her hands and feet, slowly easing out of the crevice he made with his body. She was helped the rest of the way by Ayelet and Wan’er who pulled her out by her arms.
When she was safely pulled aside, Valerius tensed his muscles in one great heave, pushing the collapsed beams a fraction upwards before executing a drive and a roll to extract himself from the deadly lock. As he rolled away, the tower collapsed fully, the debris of lanterns and bamboo and broken beams barely missing him on their way down.
He stayed lying on the ground in the aftermath and tilted his head back to check for the safety of the children, spectators and Rain. Seeing that they were a good distance away by now, the adrenaline flowed out of his body, leaving bone-deep agony in its wake.
Getting squashed by a thirty-foot tower weighing a ton tended to leave one feeling like a roach that just got flattened by a particularly heavy rock.
And then Rain was by his side, her hands flying across his throbbing body. A different kind of pain immediately triggered, and Valerius gritted his teeth against the onslaught.
“Don’t touch me,” he hissed out, making a monumental effort to roll away.
“But I have to –” she tried to follow him, her hands skimming across his chest and biceps.
“Don’t touch me!” he almost shouted, desperately trying to get away. He staggered to a half stance, holding his left shoulder with one hand, and limped as rapidly as he could to the nearest brick establishment.
She watched him go but did not follow, her eyes round with hurt and worry.
Before she knew what he was about, he slammed his left side against the wall, and the noise his bone and flesh made as his shoulder popped back into its socket made her cringe in vicarious pain. Valerius did not make a sound, however. He simply slid down the wall in an exhausted heap and sat with his legs sprawled haphazardly before him.
Rain felt Ayelet’s gentle hands on her shoulder. “Leave him be,” the Guardian said, “his body will heal within the night. He may be one large sore when we depart for the Shield tomorrow, but he’ll be fine very soon.”
Then she added, after hesitating a beat, “Don’t be offended by his rejection of your aid. That’s just the way he is. Don’t take it personally.”
Rain nodded, even though she didn’t understand. For the first time, her Gift as a Healer was staunchly rejected. For the first time, she felt uncertain and lost. For if there was one living creature in all the world, across all eternity that she yearned to heal, it was this man.
The Protector.

“Goddess above, those new recruits are
killing
me,” Aella griped as she threw herself down on a deep seated chaise in the antechamber adjoining the throne room. “I don’t know how Alexandros put up with it.”

Ayelet smiled slightly at Aella’s complaining and asked, without looking up from her research, “I take it the training of Chevaliers is not going as smoothly as you hoped?”

“To put it mildly,” Aella quickly responded. “Those boys barely know the business end of a
spatha
much less how to defend themselves when vampires attack in Hordes. A couple of human males are showing far more promise than their Pure counterparts, despite being physically weaker and slower.”

“I am not surprised,” Ayelet said, “our Pure recruits are mostly peace-loving civilians not accustomed to combat. Fighting is something against the grain for them. Causing injury unto others must not be stomached well. But the humans we’ve recruited are chosen largely because of their warrior leanings. I take it one of the two humans you spoke of is the exNavy SEAL and the other is the mixed martial arts champion?”

“Yep,” Aella agreed, “I’m having a blast throwing those two around.” She grinned beatifically, then abruptly sobered and sighed. “But I’m nowhere near as natural at this as the General. I have a whole new appreciation for his patience and innate ability to be a leader of men. I am praying fervently for Xandros’ speedy recovery.”

At that Ayelet turned to face the Amazon. “How is he by the way? When I looked in last night, he was still deep in slumber, his body exhausted from both the blood loss and the healing process.”

Aella grew serious. “We almost lost him, that’s how bad his wounds were. He’s a tough bugger to take down too. Hell, he’s the one who trained me and whipped my ass more times than I care to recount.”

“I know,” Ayelet agreed, knowing where Aella’s thoughts were headed, “if whoever is orchestrating these ambushes can take down two of our fiercest and most experienced – and don’t forget they almost succeeded with Val as well – it doesn’t bear thinking what they would be up to next.”

“I think these past events are skirmishes,” Aella mused contemplatively. “It’s as if she’s testing us, trying our strength, searching for our weaknesses and waiting for the right time to exploit them.”

“We don’t know that it’s a she,” Ayelet reminded her.
“True enough,” Aella agreed, “but I’ve never met a male vampire who is so well organized, so methodical and devious. The males are more prone to letting their instincts rule them, the need to eat, fuck, claim territory. Females are a lot more manipulative. I feel like whoever it is likes to toy with her prey before she goes in for the kill.”
“How weak are our defenses?” Ayelet dreaded the question but she must know. “How prepared are the Chevaliers?”
Aella took a deep breath and let it out in a frustrated gush as she combed one hand through her wild golden mane. “First, we are short on numbers. There are only a dozen fully-trained Chevaliers on site after we lost some good soldiers in the battle with the Hordes last year. New recruits are few and far between. Pure males of warrior class are more and more difficult to find. Dalair and I are having to consider more humans to fill in the gap, and I don’t want to expose our race to others any more than absolutely necessary. Second, of the Chevaliers we have, few are experienced warriors. They may be battle-ready, but they haven’t learned the hard way through thousands of years of warfare how to be cunning, how to survive. The oldest one is only a few hundred years old, and he is not of warrior class.”
Ayelet grimaced. They were yet babes compared to the ancient vampire assassins who threatened them.
“Third, we must stop hobbling along with less than the full Dozen,” Aella continued, referring to the Royal Zodiac. “Either we find and bring back Leonidas and Seth or we move on without them.” Though she hated to say the words, and Ayelet hated hearing them, they both knew it was the truth.
“Already, the guard rotation around Sophia and our hunting patterns are less than ideal. And with Val for the most part out of the rounds due to his Service, we are even more exposed to our enemies whenever we go out. Not only does this new opponent have the upper hand, but so does every vampire Horde out there who wants to take a shot at us.”
Ayelet nodded and added worriedly, “Meanwhile, the Healer is not recovering her strength as she should.”
“What?” Aella didn’t think she could stomach more bad news.
Ayelet sighed heavily and looked back to her computer screens. “It’s been almost a fortnight since the Phoenix Cycle began. She should be starting to recover her color and vitality but I only see her continue to weaken. It’s true that healing Val and Xandros took a lot out of her, especially in her weakened state, but the Nourishment should have reinvigorated her, or at least stem the decline.”
“Unless Val isn’t providing the full Nourishment,” Aella said quietly. “To tell you the truth, I was surprised when I found out he’d applied to Serve her. I never thought he would volunteer to put himself in that situation. In any situation where he has to be intimate with someone.”
“I am less surprised,” Ayelet admitted. “Since the first time they met I’ve noticed a certain push and pull between them. That he becomes her Consort is inevitable. It was just a question of when. And whether he can fulfill her or not depends on whether he can conquer his inner demons.”
“You know of his past then?” Aella asked, feeling as if she were the only one left out of a well-known secret.
Ayelet shook her head. “I don’t know the specifics. I don’t think any of us do. The eleven of us have lived together, fought alongside one another for centuries, for some of us, millennia. Besides Xandros, I might say I know Valerius the best. And even then I can’t own to knowing him very well. All I can say is that he is deeply troubled by his past. And sometimes…” Ayelet closed her eyes as if her heart ached.
“Sometimes I see shadows of anguish and torment in his eyes.”
“Why did he put himself in such a position?” Aella asked, sounding rather frustrated at Valerius for pushing himself too hard.
“I’d guess because he found something more important to focus on than his own substantial pain,” Ayelet answered. “Though the Healer can only cure our bodily wounds, perhaps in this instance she can work her magic on the Protector’s soul as well.” *** *** *** ***
Valerius gunned his Hayabusa around a sharp corner then swerved at the last second to avoid an oncoming truck, barely missing the sixteen wheeler as it blared its horn at him in passing.
Tristan struggled to keep up in his Lamborghini Murciélago, the twists and turns of the mountainous roads lending advantage to the adroit Hayabusa.
The Champion cursed beneath his breath as Valerius took another sharp turn without any regard for safety, riding the edge of the single lane, a foot away from opposite traffic to pass the slower car in front of him. If Tristan got into an accident or got stopped by cops because of Tron Legacy wannabe over there, he was going to drag the Roman off his bike and pound him into mincemeat for making Ayelet worry.
If Tristan could catch the suicidal maniac that was.
They were on their way back to the Shield from a full day’s hunt and search for Leonidas. Tristan was surprised at first that Valerius was accompanying him instead of Dalair or Aella, as the Consort seldom left the Healer’s side in order to best Service her needs. At least, that was what Tristan understood from past Consorts – which included each of the male Elite except himself since he was Mated to Ayelet shortly after his revival.
Duty and Service aside, Tristan assumed any fullblooded warrior male would prefer to stay with the female who required his Nourishment just for the sex and release this small loophole in the Sacred Laws provided. Having had more than his fair share of women in his human life, and then having his days and nights full with Ayelet, Tristan considered himself extremely fortunate, ridiculously fortunate, to not have had to live out even a year of celibacy. He’d like to think he wasn’t a weak man, a man without some semblance of self-control, but where sex was concerned, well, he was a male of voracious appetites. The Goddess, in Her infinite wisdom, blessed him with Ayelet who was every bit his match, and then some.
So having the Protector partner him on this day was deeply perplexing to the medieval knight. It was as if Valerius was purposely avoiding his duty as Consort, which just didn’t make a lick of sense to Tristan.
Tristan flashed his fog lights at the crazy bastard when Valerius pulled another kamikaze maneuver that made Tristan struggle to prevent his Murciélago from heading into a tail spin as he spun the wheels away from a Tahoe that had swerved into his lane to avoid the Haybusa.
In response, he saw Valerius hold up a middle finger, then gun the Hayabusa into a roar that left Tristan to eat up his dust.
Oh yeah, there was going to be some serious throw down in the training room tonight. Tristan cracked his knuckles with anticipation.
*** *** *** ***
Ayelet stood before two giant digital monitors with the Scribe and Seer on either side.
She pulled up the first image from her final search compilation and recited, “Name, Cloud Drako. Current residence, Lushui County, Nujiang Lisu Autonomous Prefecture in the Southwestern border of China, Yunnan Province. Current occupation, local artist and calligrapher. Probably around two thousand years old. Took some digging and calling on favors to find him. He certainly doesn’t seem like he wants to be found.”
“By any chance is he related to Rain?” Orion asked with a straight face.
Ayelet shot him a quick glance and realized that he wasn’t jesting. She suspected he wouldn’t know sarcasm if it bit him in the ass. The Scribe was as serious and as dry as they came.
She answered him with a similar expression of solemnity. “Not that I am aware. Cloud is just his chosen name as a Pure One. I haven’t been able to determine his real name.”
“Then how can you be sure he’s of warrior class?” Eveline inquired.
Ayelet often wondered why the Scribe and Seer didn’t get together. They seemed so well suited for each other. On the other hand, their personalities were so similar they could also pass for siblings.
“My sources tell me there are legends about him throughout China, or at least, about the human warrior he used to be. In fact, those legends have spread widely around the world, though how much is truth and how much fiction I can’t say.”
Ayelet clicked the mouse to open a video showing the warrior in question concentrating on forming a particular work of Chinese calligraphy art.
“This was shot a few days ago by one of my human sources posing as a tourist in Kunming. Apparently, there was an annual art fair and Cloud’s work was one of the main attractions. Rarely does he venture out of his village in the mountains, but for this fair, he decided to make an exception. You see the way he holds the brush?”
Orion and Eveline peered at the display closely, noticing the leanly muscular forearm that strained gracefully beneath the thin fabric of the warrior’s sleeve as he held a long, large calligraphy brush whose head was as big as a fist. The way he stroked the brush down the floor-length scroll was deceptive in its power, graceful and fluid in well-practiced technique, and somehow militaristic in style.
Ayelet clicked on another video that opened beside the previous one. “This was taken by the same tourist early the next morning. Drako apparently rode to Kunming on horseback, eschewing modern modes of transportation. They say his horse, a distinctive white stallion, is also immortal and is his constant
companion.”
She zoomed in on the video image. “You see how he sits astride the horse? As if he were born atop it? As if their bodies were one? That is not something a calligraphy artist hidden in the remote hills of Lushui County should know how to do. That posture and power can only be achieved from years of riding, and from the alertness of his body language, years of riding into war.”
As they watched, the warrior turned towards the hidden camera and looked straight at them. They could almost feel the intensity of his gaze from within the display monitor.
“Does he know we’re searching for him?” Eveline whispered, mesmerized by the startling laser blue eyes, a shock to see in an Asian face. The image was taken too far away for them to see his face clearly, but she could still
feel
his spell-binding eyes.
‘I’m sure he does,” Ayelet replied. “Don’t stare too long.” She abruptly closed the videos, and Orion and Eveline had to blink rapidly as if to clear the
descending fog in their heads.
“Even though it’s only a video capture, his power is so great the intent behind his gaze can still be felt,” Ayelet explained. “I believe his Gift is one of telepathy. When I first watched the video and came to this frame, I stared blankly at the screen for several minutes before Tristan shook me awake. Then I felt like I wanted to erase the images and the file entirely and almost did except for Tristan’s help. He pulled me away from the monitor and traced back with me what I was doing and thinking before I watched the video, and I realized that this warrior had been trying to convince me to stop searching for him with his gaze.”
“I felt it too,” Orion said, still shaking the cobwebs from his head. “He is incredibly strong if he can force his will upon us from just a video that was taken days ago. This will make our efforts to recruit him far more difficult than we expected.”
“Indeed,” Ayelet agreed. “But he is my first choice to…” she hesitated with a pang of sadness, but plunged on resolutely, “to replace the Sentinel.”
She read the expressions on the Scribe and Seer’s faces. “Looks like you both would agree with me?”
Orion and Eveline nodded in chorus. “This warrior definitely fits the description from the Zodiac Scrolls and Prophesies,” Orion said, “but show us the others you have discovered. We must ensure we consider all possibilities.”
Ayelet proceeded to show them the files on a Viking warrior residing in Sweden as a university professor on Norse mythology and history and a Russian living in St. Petersburg as the CEO of a local oil and gas company.
They agreed in the end that they needed to hasten the recruitment process, with not a moment to delay. The Seer and Scribe would depart immediately for Europe while Aella would take Rain and Valerius to China, given Rain’s familiarity with the landscape and people.
It was a risky move since the Shield would only be left with four Elite guards, one still recovering from his extensive injuries, one handmaiden on whose small shoulders rested the health of an entire encampment, and the Seer and Scribe would travel without protective escort.
But Orion and Eveline insisted that their skills were not simply limited to the cerebral. The Scribe had the power of telekinesis and the Seer had the ability to see events five minutes before they happened. Though untrained in combat, they had strong survival instincts and could take care of themselves and each other.
And so it was decided. On the morrow they would embark on their journey.
*** *** *** ***
Valerius rammed his left shoulder into Tristan’s taut belly and ground his right fist into the Champion’s ribs, pushing him into the wall with bone-jarring force.
Tristan took the impact with a grunt but didn’t lose a beat. He jack-knifed his knee into Valerius’ sternum and stabbed the warrior’s neck where it joined his shoulder with a well-aimed elbow, making him step back half a pace to twist out of range.
They carried on in a blur of sharp fists, elbows, knees and feet. Tristan’s brute strength was staggering when he landed a blow, while Valerius’ more agile maneuvers delivered hits where it counted the most. Finally, both males paused in their noholds-barred fight to regard each other warily, chest heaving and sweat running in rivers down their faces and bodies.
“Fuck,” Tristan ground out, shaking his head like a wet dog, sending bullets of sweat in all directions. “Who taught you to fight like that? I’m pretty sure those moves aren’t legal. At least Xandros and Leo never pulled any like that when we sparred.”
“Necessity,” Valerius answered grimly. “There are no rules in the gladiator arena.” Or when you were trying to escape over a decade’s worth of brutality and imprisonment.
Tristan nodded with respect. “More power to you, my brother. You gotta teach me some of those moves.” He then promptly descended onto his ass, sprawling against the wall in sheer exhaustion. Valerius eyed him for a moment, decided they’d worked out their frustrations enough for one day, and joined the Champion against the wall, keeping a foot of distance between them.
“So you wanna tell me why you’re hell-bent on suicide?” Tristan asked without preamble.
“I know how far I can push myself,” Valerius replied in a low voice that vibrated with the message “back the fuck off.”