Fratelli: Eternal Bloodlines (The Vampire Cartel #2)

41. The Force Within

Chapter 41

The Force Within

M ojave Camp Ground Zero

April 19, 2018

(2 Days Before Death)

Shakespeare descended with a feral roar; his fangs sank deep into Tristan’s throat. The sheer force of his attack sent the two vampires hurtling through the air, bodies entwined in a vicious struggle for dominance. Sonya barely had time to react. Her mind reeled from the raw power and brutal way Shakespeare hit the car. She expected he’d be a formidable opponent, but this—this was different. He was a beast unleashed, a dark force fueled by nothing human or kind.

The vampires hit the ground, their impact sending tremors through the earth. Shakespeare was relentless, his claws raking across Tristan’s chest, ripping flesh from bone with a sickening tear. Blood sprayed in all directions, darkening the sand beneath them. Sonya could feel the agony radiating from Tristan, a deep, visceral pain that echoed through her own soul. But it was Shakespeare’s rage that shook her to her core—a rage so consuming it threatened to take her next.

Tristan fought back with everything he had, but he was weakened, his strength drained by the mating bond with Sonya’s sister Charmaine. His eyes, once so defiant, now flickered with the growing fear of imminent death. Shakespeare, however, was beyond reason. His grip tightened around Tristan’s torn and hemorrhaging, bloody throat. Shakespeare’s eyes burned with a hatred that seemed to consume him entirely. With a guttural snarl, he plunged his hand into Tristan’s chest, fingers wrapping around his ribs, bones cracking under the force of his grip. Sonya watched in horror as Shakespeare tore Tristan’s ribcage open, his hand inches away from Tristan’s heart.

Sonya had seen Shakespeare’s fury before, but nothing as wild and untamed as this. The sheer brutality of it stoked a fear she had never known. These were creatures of the night. Monsters. How could she have forgotten that? Tristan was barely conscious, his chest a gaping wound, ribs shattered and exposed. And Shakespeare…he had lost himself entirely, a beast feeding on the blood and suffering of his prey. The sight of him, drenched in Tristan’s blood, gnawing at the exposed heart, sent a shudder of emotion through her.

But it was not just fear—it was also an overwhelming surge of empathy. Sonya could feel Shakespeare’s suffering as well. It was as if it were her own, the years of torment that had led him to this moment. He was a man driven to the edge of madness, consumed by his need for vengeance. If she did not intervene, he would kill Tristan and lose whatever shred of humanity he had left.

“ Kaida , I need you more than ever. I need…” Sonya whimpered. She closed her eyes, summoning the ancient power within her.

I am with you. Kaida’s voice echoed in her mind, a soothing presence amidst the chaos. It was her own voice. Of course, Kaida was her, and she was her. But she needed the reassurance.

Sonya opened her eyes just as Shakespeare was about to deliver the final blow. Tristan was slipping away, his heart seconds from being ripped out. Without hesitation, Sonya stepped forward, her voice cutting through the carnage.

“You want me, vampire!” she shouted, her body radiating with a fiery dark energy that crackled through the air like her voice. A ring of flames erupted around her. It burned bright against the darkness. Shakespeare’s head snapped up. Blood dripped from his lips, his eyes wild with the thrill of the kill. But something in Sonya’s voice, in the force of her will, gave him pause.

Shakespeare had unleashed his Draca. He had quit. What was before her was the darkest, most vile creature to ever exist. His chest heaved as he stared at her. Tristan’s blood stained his mouth, and his teeth. Sonya searched his eyes for the man beneath the monster—the man who had once loved, who had once believed in love, who had suffered.

Sonya’s heart clenched at the sight of Tristan’s lifeless body, his chest caved in, ribs exposed. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes and reached deep into the power within her. She channeled the realm from the core of her being. She sent a wave of healing energy toward Tristan, her soul reaching out to him, knitting together the shattered pieces of his body and spirit.

A blast of dark, fiery energy erupted from her. It knocked the two vampires apart. Tristan gasped for air, his chest slowly mending as the energy worked its way through him. Shakespeare, however, was not done. He came at her with the speed of a tornado, a blur of fury and rage. But Sonya was ready. She did not need a weapon; she had his pain and Tristan’s suffering as her shield.

As the Defender of Pain, a disciple of the Great Guardian Kaida, Sonya harnessed not only her power but theirs as well. She spun a cocoon of light and fire around them, trapping them together in a world of energy and emotion. Shakespeare’s hands seized her, his grip bruising, but she did not resist. Instead, she let him take her, let him bite into her neck, and as his fangs pierced her skin, she entered his heart.

Their bodies tangled together, their souls entwined in a cosmic dance of suffering and redemption. She felt every ounce of his torment, every moment of his loss, the darkness that had hardened him into the beast he was now. But beneath it all, she found Beaux—the man he used to be. The husband who had once loved with all his heart, who had lost everything in a moment of greed and selfishness.

As he drank from her, Sonya reached into Beaux, healing him, soothing the wounds that had festered for decades. They spun together in the cocoon of light, their bodies merging into a lovers’ embrace, their souls touching in a way that transcended the physical. Their clothes fell away, their skin pressed together, slick with sweat and blood. His lips left her neck, finding her mouth as her thighs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in deeper.

He entered her with a fierce, desperate need, his body moving against hers in a whirlwind of dark and light energy. Their connection was raw, primal, fueled by the suffering they both carried and the need to be healed. As they moved together, their bodies locked in a rhythm that was as old as time, Sonya felt the darkness within him begin to lift. The shadows receded as the light of their union grew brighter.

Mating with a consiglieri differed from anything she had ever known. It was not just a physical connection; it was the merging of souls, the sharing of pain, and the desperation was intense.

They climaxed together, their release a burst of energy that rippled through the cocoon, sending electrified waves through the desert night. Beaux’s eyes met hers as they lay together, their bodies still entwined. For the first time in decades, he did not see Camille when he looked at the woman in his arms. He did not see Sophie. He saw Sonya, and the forgiveness in her eyes, the strange glow that radiated from her, healed something deep within him.

“I am sorry,” Beaux whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Sonya smiled, and her hand reached up to caress his face. “I know,” she replied, soft and gentle. She pulled him down for a final, tender kiss.

As their lips met, the cocoon of light and darkness around them shattered, and they both collapsed onto the desert floor, their clothes somehow restored, as if they had never been stripped away. Beaux stared at her in disbelief, his hand trembled as he touched his face, the scar that had marred his features for so long now gone. The Draca within him was silent, the blood on his soul washed clean. But as Sonya looked away, lowering her gaze in shame, he could sense the turmoil within her.

She had enjoyed it—the mating, the union, the raw intimacy of it all. But she was not supposed to. She did not even know the man she had just healed, the man she had just loved.

Tristan stepped forward. He offered a hand to Shakespeare, who was still gazing at Sonya with a newfound appreciation. Something pure and unfiltered in his eyes. “I know, bro. It’s what they are. Congratulations, you’re married,” Tristan said.

Shakespeare tore his gaze from Sonya. He took Tristan’s hand and stood, still trying to process what had transpired. But when Sonya tried to stand, he was at her side in an instant. His hands reached out to help her.

“Don’t touch me!” she warned, her voice sharp.

He hesitated, his hands dropped to his sides as he struggled to resist the urge to comfort her, to hold her.

“Stay back,” she said, her voice softer but still firm as she stood on her own.

“But…?” Shakespeare’s voice faltered.

“We are in dark times,” Sonya interrupted. Her eyes locked with his as she spoke. “I would have never done that with you if it weren’t important. I’m not here to be your wife. We have a greater purpose. I must save Darlene. Charmaine must protect Dolly. You two are the only magistrates we can trust. You must help us get to Lucio before it’s too late.”

“I… I need to understand what has happened to me. Am I still a vampire? Am I… are we? What is happening?” Shakespeare stammered; his body reeled from the transformation he felt within.

“You studied nothing Phoenix taught us, did you?” Tristan said with a wry smile.

Shakespeare frowned, shaking his head. “No, I didn’t give a shit.”

“Well, too bad. The short answer is your Draca is just drunk and asleep. He’ll wake and you’ll be the same asshole as before. Yes. You are a vampire. Now. We have other problems. Look!” Tristan pointed to the membrane of pulsating light that now dominated the horizon. It stretched impossibly wide, left to right, and towered nearly to the clouds, a surreal and ominous barrier that shimmered with an otherworldly glow.

“The sisters are in there. My sister is in there,” Sonya said. “We have to get to them.”

Shakespeare stared at the glowing wall of light and tried to make sense of everything. The rage that had fueled him for so long was gone, replaced by a strange calm, a clarity he had not felt in centuries. His thirst for vengeance against Lucio, his guilt over his wife’s death, all of it had been wiped away in the whirlwind of his union with Sonya. But now, something else had taken its place—a commitment, a deep-seated resolve to serve the woman who had healed him, to protect her with everything he had.

“Who has them?” Shakespeare asked. He struggled to piece together his thoughts, but one thing was clear: his loyalty to Sonya. She had awakened something in him, something he could not fully understand but was compelled to follow.

“The First People,” Tristan replied, his tone grim. “They’ve been waiting for this moment. I’m guessing to exploit it. We’re running out of time.”

Shakespeare clenched his fists, feeling the unfamiliar sensation of control, of purpose. He considered what Sonya had said. The ancient curse, the chosen ones, the Guardians—none of it had mattered to him before. But now, after what had just transpired, it was all he could think about.

“I don’t fully understand what this curse is or what it means,” Shakespeare said, his voice steady, “but I know one thing: I’m with you, Sonya. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

Sonya’s eyes met his, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. She found sincerity in his gaze, the transformation that had occurred within him. The relentless beast was still there, but now it was tempered with something new—a devotion that could only come from a soul that had been healed and redeemed.

She nodded, acknowledging the bond that had been forged between them. “We’ll need all the strength we can muster,” she said, her voice resolute. “Lucio won’t stop until he’s destroyed us all, but we won’t let him. We’ll save the sisters, we’ll protect the ones we can, and we’ll end this curse once and for all.”

As the three of them turned their attention to the towering membrane of light, the weight of the task ahead settled over them. They were bound by blood, by pain, and now by purpose. The desert night was silent around them, the stars bearing witness to the vow they had made.

“Let’s go.”