31. True Purpose
Chapter 31
True Purpose
B ellagio - Las Vegas, Nevada
April 18, 2018
(3 Days Before Death)
Tristan stumbled through the panicked crowd. People ran in every direction. Some searched for friends and loved ones. Others rushed toward an exit. The announcement over the casino speakers promised that the power outage would soon be corrected but had now spread throughout the strip. The casino had descended into chaos.
Security teams swarmed the terrified tourists and Gamer-Con attendees like SWAT. Doors were locked while other uniformed personnel cleared the gaming floors. It was futile. The real reason for the chaos and piles of ash from dead supernatural’s wasn’t some grid going out. It was her. It was her. It was Liora.
The pain over the loss of her was severe. He clutched his chest and tried to maintain focus as he headed for the men’s bathroom. Tristan couldn’t reach the stall and instead vomited in the closest urinal. Dark blood spewed from him uncontrollably as his Draca fought to resist the synergy between him and Charmaine.
The two men at the urinals zipped up their pants and walked fast to the door. Dizzy, Tristan went to his knees. Slowly, he began to self-heal. Still, her essence had a stranglehold on his Draca, and his Draca fought back. The battle within him made sure he remained on all fours.
Liora, the Guardian, Protector of the Light, resist! The Draca roared into his psyche. Resist! Resist! Resist! Resist!
Never in his mortal life had he adored a woman so deeply.
Never in his afterlife had he craved a woman so completely.
“Resist,” he said with a deep sigh.
The Draca retreated. The strangling ceased. Tristan could breathe. After a moment of stabilizing, he could stand. He went to his feet and returned to the sink, drinking and rinsing from the faucet. Something had come over him.
Since his mortal death, he had never felt the light of love and hope. He truly believed that all was dead in him forever. When his Draca went feral and on the hunt for the Guardian, he tried to put it under control so that Lucio’s plans for Dolly’s escape could be done. He won that war but lost the battle. When freed from the Draca twice as it went on the attack, he was drawn to her. First the kiss, then the bite, both an act of desperation to have her. He mated with her. The one thing Phoenix warned him never to do. He should have listened to the Draca and resisted .
Vatican, Rome - Italia
April 21, 1958 (Death of Padre Santiago)
The il malvagio walked the streets of the Vatican. A name whispered about him since the vampire Lucio took him. In Italian, the name meant “the wicked one”. It was rare he got a chance at the liberty to do as he pleased, hunt as he pleased. And though his soul was damned, he found comfort along the empty cobblestone streets and residents. With a half-moon glowering above him, the night agreed with his prowl.
As a vampire new to his skills, he learned quickly and adapted better in the darkness. The morning sun was the only real threat to him. He had no idea how Lucio could stand it, and he could only endure minutes uncovered.
In the homes behind their crucifixion-barred doors, people retreated. Tristan had to admit that initially, he did not take well to his curse. He had no formal training and lost control of his Draca often. He terrorized and devoured those who once came to him for penance and absolution. In his depression, he had given up on the Draca more than once.
A shadow moved out of sight.
It happened so fast he would have missed it if the shadow movement weren’t so close. It was to his right. The air smelled of malevolence. Of predatory dark energy. It smelled like him. When Tristan turned to pursue, the shadows came for him in a flash. A grapefruit-sized hole was punched through his chest. His belly exploded in gut-ripping pain. Then Tristan was grabbed by a dark stranger’s hand at the throat and thrown nearly a mile down the street. Tristan folded into himself and stopped his slide over the dank road. He recovered. He was up and flying.
The attacker swept in again. Someone met him with such ferocity and mastery that he nearly ripped him to shreds this time. Dropping in a bloody heap to the ground, Tristan had to heal for several minutes before he could look up.
A slow walk of the assassin began, his footfalls echoed and rebounded in the night. The smoke became a man. Darkly dressed in a long cloak with his head covered under a large hood, Tristan worried that Lucio had caught up with him.
When Tristan’s vision was restored, he looked up into a face he didn’t know. The vampire lowered his hood. He was tall, strongly built, with hair fiery red as if its texture carried the flaming heat of the sun. He had piercing green eyes, and a face chiseled to perfection. The vampire stared down at him with the face of an angel.
Then came the extended hand of mercy.
Tristan summoned his strength and accepted the help to stand.
“ Chi sei? ” Tristan asked.
“Speak English,” demanded the vampire, who towered over him.
“Who are you? What… are you?” Tristan asked, now fully healed. He knew who the brothers were. He’d seen Don Vittorio. This one he’d never met.
“Consiglieri. Like you,” the vampire replied with his left brow arched. “Walk with me, priest.”
Tristan frowned. He’d escaped Lucio twice. This was his third and final time. The time he would not return. He had planned to scale the top of Cappella Redemptoris Mater with a large can of oil. He’d sit in the tower of the bells. And then he’d wait for the sun. When his body began to overheat from the exposure, he’d use the oil and a match to end it all. He’d let his death happen for all, as a stark warning to those who turn from God.
Tristan thought of fleeing, outrunning the stranger, and hiding until dawn. Nothing would prevent his suicide.
“You can kill yourself when we are done, baby vampire. I’ll do it for you if you wish. Now walk with me,” said Phoenix.
Confused, but a bit mystified by the dark angel, he obeyed. Phoenix walked with power and grace. His hood over his head, his strides long and powerful. He cut corners in a swift motion that Tristan tried to mirror. Everything about his prowess was commanding and confident.
They slipped between the alleys of buildings and homes inside of the Vatican and then down steps to a door. It was a door he had never seen before, and he’d spent most of his adult life in the chapels. Though it was locked, Phoenix blasted it open without a touch. Stunned, Tristan looked at his hands and wondered if he would one day have the same power.
“So, you are Lucio’s new pet? One he can’t tame?” Phoenix asked.
“I’m no one’s pet,” Tristan replied.
“Well then, you’re just a misbehaving slave. You are the third one he has tried to convert. Your death means nothing to him and will give you no salvation. Darkness awake, or darkness asleep, is still darkness,” said Phoenix.
“I have lost my way. I was a holy man,” Tristan said.
“Yes, priest, a holy man who counseled vampires,” Phoenix chuckled.
“How do you know so much about me?” Tristan asked. He fell in step at the vampire’s side as they descended stone stairs that went so deep beneath the Vatican’s crypts that they had to be several miles long. The walls were lit by torches, and the air was dank, stale, rank with an old stench of something floral, rotting.
“I am Phoenix. I am the first. You are consiglieri, so you are my responsibility. Marcello has decided you are worthy of my time,” replied Phoenix.
“Marcello? Lucio’s brother?” Tristan asked.
“You’re learning. Not fast enough, priest, but you’re learning,” said Phoenix.
“Why did Lucio do this to me? Take from God and destroy sacred vows by turning me. Fed me to this devil dragon then curse me with possession? Why! I want to understand why. He does not explain himself. He doesn’t say anything to me now. Just keeps me trapped.”
“We all have a destiny. Lucio and Domencio have destroyed many men and women like you in their war. Marcello needs his brothers. And I serve Marcello. When Lucio finds the right consiglieri, he will be served well too. Simple,” said Phoenix.
“I’m not him,” Tristan said.
“He has decided that you are, and Don Vittorio agreed. Lucio’s selection of a priest this time may be the best choice for his destiny. He is a sensitive vampire. Out of the four, he is special.”
“I don’t agree,” mumbled Tristan.
Phoenix smirked. “No one asked for your agreement. Lucio lets you run and stumble through the night. It is Lucio’s weakness that he is impulsive and unable to manage the damage that he causes as a Master Vampire. It is your burden that you were selected. You are consiglieri. Padre Santiago is dead. You will live up to your promise or I will ensure you meet the true death you wish for. And you have no idea how creative and prolonged that death would be.”
There was no point in asking for any further explanation. Lucio had made him, then cast him aside. He just walked away. When Tristan fled. Lucio hunted him down and dropped him into his father’s lair and again walked away. It was far too confusing for Tristan to understand his curse. He never saw Don Vittorio in the old castle in Sicily, but he felt watched. And he hunted and wept over bodies for a year. Phoenix seemed disciplined, poised, and knowledgeable. And Phoenix had access to the crypts of the Vatican. A place he had heard of whispers of but never truly believed existed.
After the long walk, they arrived at a door that was already ajar. Phoenix entered. Several priests were up in the late hour. They stood and sat before tables with enormous books and candlelight. They read pages of weathered papers under microscopes. When Phoenix walked past them, they all lowered their gaze. None dared look at the vampire.
Tristan was led through the final door into a room he’d never envisioned existed. The large stone library had rows and rows of ancient scrolls on top of shelves that stretched so high they disappeared into the ceiling darkness. There were huge leather-bound tomes placed on tables. There was a chair and table that he could sit at.
He did not. How could he? Amongst the remnants of the black Madonna were treasures that had to be stolen from the heart of Africa. Gold, ivory, statues carved out of onyx, and precious metals. So much treasure his head swam. Portraits that were painted by artists. Beautiful women, warrior women from ancient times with skin of bronze and deepest shade of melanin.
“When Marcello was a boy, Don Vittorio gave him to me to train. He spent his rearing here, reading every book you see. While his brother Sebastiano played with animals, he caught, and Domenico and Lucio waged wars against each other. This is where Marcello was reared,” said Phoenix.
“I can’t believe this exists. There were rumors, but I can’t believe it.” Tristan replied.
“Have a seat, priest. Your lesson begins today,” said Phoenix.
“Who are they?” Tristan pointed up at two women who stood side by side in a portrait.
“Guardians,” Phoenix said. “That is the Protector of the Light. Her name is Liora. And the other one, she is The Defender of the Pain, her name is Kaida. They serve the mother of realms. The Chosen One. The true embodiment of darkness and light.”
Tristan stepped to the portrait and stared up at Liora’s beautiful face. “Is that her, or an artist's depiction of her? Did she really look… so beautiful?”
“She has visited this realm several times. The last time was during the fall of ancient Rome. The Senate of Master Vampires hunted and waged war for the Draca, and blood spilled for several centuries. All but Vittorio and a few of the servants to the dark were left. We hunted the Guardians and their First People. Then he took over the realm and gave it to the Draquria. So that painting is preserved from that time. And that is how the artist saw her before she fell.”
“She is magnificent,” Tristan said.
“Look away, baby vampire. Even staring into the eyes of that portrait, you fall under her spell,” Phoenix warned.
He could not look away.
“ Resist! ” Phoenix commanded.
The blast of energy that hit him fractured his skull. He grabbed his head and stumbled back. He looked up at Phoenix in horror.
“They say you will fall in love if you get close. Guardians are no more, but if they do return, you are to never touch them. Ever,” Phoenix warned.
“Why?” Tristan asked.
“Because if you do, she will become your mate. And mating with a guardian will be the death or permanent enslavement of your Draca. You don’t know hell like the hell of loving a woman who is superior to you.”
“That doesn’t sound like hell to me. I live in hell now,” said Tristan.
“That’s because you are a fool,” said Phoenix.
“You speak from experience?” Tristan asked.
Phoenix pointed to the other corner. A portrait of another goddess. Phoenix looked away. “She was my mate. I drove the dagger into her heart to free my Draca and myself. Now she is my curse.”
“What is her name?” Tristan asked.
“Never ask me that question again,” Phoenix said. “Just know that she is the mother of Liora and Kaida. And she is gone.
Tristan wanted to ask. He burned for knowledge of the women guardians. He ached to look at Liora just once more, but he did not.
Phoenix pointed to the chair and the table. “Sit, your lessons begin now. And then you will have a choice to make. Serve Lucio and become consiglieri or die. You decide under the half moon tonight, Priest.”
Tristan turned off the running water in the sink. He looked up at his reflection in the mirror. Liora had returned. He’d fought with her, danced with her. He kissed her. The most wonderful kiss of his soul. And when she turned to leave, he could not part from her. He knew better. His Draca roared and fought its restraints to stop him, but he could not be denied. He seized her and did the unthinkable. She was his mate. What would that mean now?
Where are you?
Phoenix had spoken. “In the lobby,” he replied.
We have a guardian. We are taking her to the vault.
“I’m on my way,” he said.
Tristan let go a deep sigh. He inhaled slowly and settled himself. Phoenix could never know of his actions. He’d defied the coven, broken a seal, and forced his Draca to drink the light of a Guardian. What he did was punishable by death. But he had no regrets. He and Liora were far from done.
He dried and walked out of the bathroom.