38. More Truth
Chapter 38
More Truth
B ellagio / Las Vegas - Nevada
April 19, 2018
(2 Days Before Death)
Shakespeare’s grip tightened on the handlebars of his Kawasaki. The engine’s roar barely drowned out the voice in his mind. He felt the compulsion to respond, an irresistible pull from his Master. But anger burned within him, a fury that made him want to defy Domencio’s command. Sophie’s fate haunted him, and Domencio—Sophie’s creator—hadn’t uttered a single word about her. How could he stay silent?
Where are you?
Sophie is dead, Shakespeare replied, his thoughts of vengeance extending to everything and everyone.
Where are you? Domencio repeated, his voice colder now.
Did you not hear me? Shakespeare’s response seethed with frustration. I said Sophie is gone… not dead. Worse, she’s something else.
Silence. The telepathic link buzzed with dark energy, a void that amplified Shakespeare’s pain. Blood tears welled in his eyes, and he blinked them away as he leaned into his motorcycle. He remained reckless. He pushed it faster through the night. He needed distance—from Tristan, from everything. But vengeance drove him, and it couldn’t be denied.
How did she die?
What do you mean, ‘how’? You know how! Shakespeare’s mind recoiled from the mere thought of accessing the memory of Sophie’s death. Beyond his control, he was forced to tell Domencio the events of the evening that his master should have been able to extract from his mind.
The Guardian came to the club. She attacked me, and Sophie… Sophie wanted to protect me. It’s our fault, Domencio. She warned us. She had visions, and we ignored her. You cursed her. I never asked for it. I didn’t ask either you or Lucio for any of this! And now she’s in the vaults in the Venetian. Her body didn’t turn to ash. She didn’t resurrect. She’s not dead, but she’s not undead… She’s eroding because of the guardians’ magic.
Domencio’s pause was as sharp as a blade.
Where are you?
I am hunting him.
Hunting who?
Tristan! Tristan! Tristan! Shakespeare’s mental voice cracked with rage. You can feel me. You can see me! Why are you asking where I am?
And where is Tristan headed?
He’s escaped with the Guardian. He’s headed to the desert. Shakespeare’s thoughts were a tempest of emotion. He could feel Domencio’s presence and could sense the dark power that his sire wielded with little effort, a power that should have prevented all of it.
You chose not to inform me of these events? You choose to act without my approval. You chose vengeance over loyalty. Look at what happened because of it. Sophie was yours to protect, but once again, your pride became the ruler of your choices. What choice are you going to make now?
Shakespeare’s silence was heavy, laden with guilt and sorrow. Sophie’s death had struck deeper than he had ever imagined. Their history was tangled and painful. He remembered the past. How he met Sophie and Camille. Two half-sisters divided by race. Same father, different mothers. Sophie’s mother was Cajun like him. Camille’s mother was black creole, and her birth father was never mentioned or recognized. Shakespeare grew up in the bayou where secrets and sins ran deep.
1940 – Houma, Louisiana
Sophie had been little more than a pretend sister to Shakespeare when they were kids, her crush on him a sweet nuisance he’d tolerated with a kind heart. But everything changed the day Sophie snuck him into the Manchac swamp to meet her sister and the Creole musicians starting their own band. It was the day he met Camille.
Camille lived with the other colored folk outside the Manchac swampland, where the land hummed with old songs and secrets carried on the wind. She was their songbird, her voice spellbinding, the heart of their gatherings.
In one of his poems, Shakespeare had written:
Her voice drifted through the humid night…
Carried on the bayou’s breath by her eternal light…
Driving away all things forbidden in the night…
When she sang, they all were free…
Everyone could just be…
The best part of the jubilee.
It was true: when Camille sang on the Chitlin Circuit with her brother’s band, the universe itself seemed to pause and listen. Before he became “Shakespeare” to the world, he was simply “Beaux.” They were both young when they fell in love—Beaux, with his worn overalls and bare feet; Camille, with her colorful dress cut from a feed sack, swaying as she sang. Their bond was deep and unbreakable, a wound to Sophie’s heart. Before Beaux came between them, the sisters had been inseparable, bound by secrets of their creation. But Beaux’s love for Camille shattered that, driving Sophie to a jealous fury he couldn’t have foreseen. For Beaux, it didn’t matter; he needed Camille. That they came from different worlds only heightened their passion—he, a Cajun boy who loved poetry and the saxophone; she, a Creole with caramel skin, a voice that could break hearts, and a spirit that burned with a rare magic.
With Camille, Beaux found his purpose. They built a life together, running a juke joint near the Manchac swamp, hosting shows and wild moonshine dances under the stars. Their love was the soul of that place. They became legends in the swamp, names whispered with envy and admiration. Even the authorities, who would’ve shut down any other joint, turned a blind eye. Camille had that effect on people.
But Sophie was always there, watching, waiting, her love for Beaux hidden behind a brittle smile. She’d kept her desire to be her sister’s equal, if not her replacement, locked away. Then, under a moonlit night, she met Lucio, a vampire lurking in the shadows of the juke joint. She was drawn to his darkness, the loneliness he wore like armor. Lucio’s allure was too powerful, his magnetic pull too strong. So Sophie introduced him to Beaux and Camille, hoping to unsettle their happiness, to spark jealousy in Beaux. But in the end, it was Beaux’s own ambition—his hunger for fame, for more than their simple life—that spelled Camille’s doom. Lucio’s offer of power and fame held a seduction that Camille couldn’t break. She was, after all, his greatest prize.
Sophie realized her mistake too late. A hoodoo priestess had warned of a dark force coming to claim the bloodline of Julia Brown, the ancestors of Camille’s family. But Lucio’s influence already wrapped itself around Camille and Beaux, blinding them. The night Lucio finally claimed Camille was the night everything changed. His brothers—Sebastiano and Domencio—descended on the swamp like a plague, and Camille was their prize, the key to breaking an ancient curse. One by one, Camille’s family members fell, each taken by one of the vampire brothers. Beaux woke to the horror too late; the truth struck him like a storm. Desperate for revenge, he tried to fight Lucio, but the vampire only laughed, allowing him to strike. Beaux’s counter blows were met with amusement.
Lucio explained the Draca, the dragon that lived within him, compelling him to do what he did. It was the Draca that left Beaux scarred, gouged out his eye, and tore his throat open, leaving him to bleed out in the swamp where he and Camille had once danced under the stars.
Beaux welcomed death then, hoping to join Camille in whatever peace lay beyond. But Lucio denied him even that. Instead, he forced his blood into Beaux’s body, binding him to life, enslaving him. He renamed him “Shakespeare,” stripping away his past, and turned him into his creature, a loyal hound bound by pain and blood. Sophie, shattered by guilt and heartbreak, chased rumors of him across the world, desperate to believe he was still alive somewhere in the dark.
Domencio was the one who found her, and he used her heartbreak like a blade. He stoked the embers of vengeance within Shakespeare, promising they could destroy Lucio together. But Shakespeare hesitated, wary of Domencio’s true motives. In response, Domencio brought Sophie to him, offering her as a lifeline and a curse. He warned that if Shakespeare did not claim Sophie as his mate, the Draca would consume her, her mind unraveling into madness, a fate even crueler than Camille’s.
Sophie was all that remained of his old life, his last tie to the boy he had once been. But that love was twisted by loss, by his inability to let go of Camille. He punished Sophie for not being her sister, for being a reminder of everything he had lost. And Sophie, though heartbroken, stayed. She endured his anger, even as her own Draca drove her to madness, giving her visions and tearing her mind apart. The guilt settled heavy on Shakespeare’s soul, a curse that grew more unbearable with each passing year.
Finally, at Shakespeare’s request, Domencio turned Sophie, binding her to him for eternity. Yet that bond became his own undoing. Camille and Sophie—both their deaths stained his soul, a burden he could never escape. Now, as he sped through the night on his motorcycle, Camille’s voice haunted him, a ghostly melody woven into his mind, a song he would never be free of.
Answer me. Domencio’s voice was more insistent, like a tightening noose.
But Shakespeare’s focus was on the road ahead, on the hunt. I saw it. I saw you kill Lucio.
The connection severed abruptly, leaving Shakespeare alone with his thoughts. He braced for the inevitable command, the order to stand down, to obey. But it never came. Instead, there was only silence.
A dark satisfaction curled in Shakespeare’s chest. He would have his final revenge. Lucio was dead, and now he wanted to see his squire Tristan one last time and drag him to hell with him, force him to strip and welcome the morning sunlight with him, to end it all. The priest and the witch had stolen what was left of his heart, and he would see them pay with blood.
The Caravan - First People
Earlier – In the Van
“How close are we?” Greenlee asked from the back of the van, her voice taut with anticipation.
“Almost there,” Arlene replied, eyes fixed on the road. Beside her, Nzinga sat silent and vigilant. Ahead, on the back of a pickup truck, Charmaine had now joined the professor. Greenlee and Macy Lynn felt it best. Neither felt comfortable being in closed proximity to the guardian. On the truck the professor kept a watchful eye on the “chosen one,” who lay unconscious, her power temporarily dormant. They needed to get her into camp before she awoke and fully claimed her abilities.
Greenlee’s gaze shifted to Macy Lynn, deep in a trance, her focus fixed on the talisman hovering before her, casting her face in golden light.
The talisman—a golden amulet encrusted with ancient jewels—spun with an eerie, otherworldly glow, pulsing with the power of the Egyptian crypts from which it had been taken. A relic of immense power, it channeled the magic of the First People, linking them to forces beyond mortal comprehension.
Suddenly, Macy Lynn gasped. Her eyes snapped open as the talisman clattered to the floor like a fallen coin, its glow extinguished.
“Are you okay?” Greenlee asked, reacting faster than her battered body should allow.
“Yes... Yes. It worked,” Macy Lynn panted, her voice trembled with exhaustion and triumph. “Just like the professor said it would.”
“And?” Greenlee prompted; her battle-worn face etched with curiosity.
Both women bore scars from their near-death escape in the Cajun swamp, where they had barely survived the guardians’ wrath. The memory still haunted them, but the knowledge gained was worth every drop of blood spilled.
“The consiglieri , Shakespeare,” Macy Lynn began, her voice steadying. “He thought he was speaking to Domencio. He answered all my questions. Sophie, the vampire concubine, is dead. And… Tristan is on his way with Kaida. Shakespeare’s following.”
Greenlee’s eyes widened with delight. “Interesting.”
“That’s not all,” Macy Lynn continued, lowering her voice so Nzinga and Arlene couldn’t hear.
“Oh?” Greenlee’s curiosity sharpened.
“Lucio. Shakespeare said he watched him die. You were wrong—he’s not alive.”
Greenlee’s expression tightened. “That can’t be true. I don’t make mistakes like this.”
Macy Lynn shook her head, her eyes gleaming with certainty. “It’s true. Shakespeare confirmed it. Hell, Dolly and Darlene nearly blew the desert off the map because of it.”
Greenlee’s gaze darkened. “I’m telling you, if Lucio were dead, we’d all know. He’s alive, somehow. And he’ll stay that way…long enough.”
“Then we have to make sure this plan does not fail,” Macy Lynn said and smiled, a predatory glint in her eyes. “We are so close, sister. So close.”
Greenlee reached out and took Macy Lynn’s hand. She squeezed it tightly. A silent vow passed between them. They had harnessed the ancient magic of the First People and woven it into a web of deception and power. With the talisman, they had tricked Shakespeare into revealing everything they needed to know. The vampires believed they were the hunters, but they were walking into a trap carefully laid by those who had mastered the mystic arts long before the vampires ever walked the earth.
Their plan was in motion, and nothing—neither vampire nor guardian—would stand in their way.
The Bellagio
Marcello’s team of scientists and paranormal experts couldn’t explain the sudden disappearance of Tristan and the Guardian, nor the power outage that had surged through the impenetrable vaults beneath the Bellagio. Domencio’s rage simmered just beneath the surface, barely contained by his cold exterior. The devastation of their war and Lucio’s uncertain fate had shaken him to his core. What should have been a victory felt hollow, the weight of grief and anguish pressing down on him. Not because he possessed a heart or soul—he was far beyond such things—but because Lucio was his twin, born of the same sac. Lucio’s demise would be his own, a severing of something vital within him. And only now had he realized this dark truth. Marcello had preached it for years. They should never turn on each other. They were united and had to be. He never believed it. Hell, the prophecy selected only one of them. What if that selection could only be made possible if there was betrayal between the four?
Domencio continued to stare at his hands. They felt numb, tingling as if they were disappearing. He felt empty, as though a part of him were dying. And for the first time in centuries, the little boy he carried inside of him had pushed past his Draca to remind him of the fear. The reasons to be afraid.
“Where is Shakespeare? Why can’t I feel him? Have you seen him?” Domencio demanded. His eyes narrowed as his attention turned to Phoenix. “And Sophie... I don’t feel her either...”
Raven opened his mouth to respond, but Phoenix silenced him with a sharp gaze, one that spoke volumes. Raven, cowed, held his tongue and Phoenix addressed Domencio.
“Shakespeare and Sophie are preparing everything per Marcello’s orders,” Phoenix replied smoothly. “They’re both headed to Rome.”
Domencio paced, frustration mounted. “Where the fuck is Tristan? Is he with the Guardian?”
“Possibly stuck between floors, trying to get here. Security has sealed off many entrances,” Phoenix said with calculated calm.
“We were able to get here,” Raven interjected. “They should be here by now. I think he’s taken her.”
“What?” Domencio’s voice was a low growl, suspicion flared in his nostrils.
Phoenix sighed, a sound of exasperation that bordered on contempt. Raven’s concern was valid, but Phoenix had no patience for such distractions. The truth was malleable in his hands, and he wielded it with care. Lying to the brothers was a dangerous game, for their senses were honed to detect deceit. Yet Domencio, in his grief and disarray, seemed oblivious. With Lucio in distress, Domencio’s powers were weakening.
Phoenix’s eyes locked with Raven’s until the younger vampire lowered his gaze, his doubts buried deep, his voice silenced.
“I’ll pursue them,” Phoenix offered, his tone deceptively respectful. “Raven and I will locate the Guardian.”
“Lucio is fine,” Domencio mumbled, almost to himself, as he scratched his brow. “He’ll be fine.”
Neither consiglieri dared speak. Before them, they saw Domencio being uncertain and distressed. One minute he was in the conversation with them, the next he was out of his mind and lost in emotion.
Domencio stopped pacing, a frantic edge in his voice. “We must find Dolly and Darlene. Now!”
“May I be heard? Truly heard?” Phoenix asked.
“You want to tell me what to do? I’m not a child anymore, Phoenix. I don’t answer to you. Know your place—I gave you an order,” Domencio said.
Phoenix bowed his head with a show of deference, though his eyes gleamed with something darker. “I’m not overstepping, Domencio. But as you know, I’m the only one among us who has faced the Guardians and lived. I know their power and their weaknesses.”
Domencio leaned against the wall. The facts silenced him. Phoenix had tutored them all and had shaped them from the start. He was made by their father, once a magistrate in the Roman Senate, a figure of equal power to Domencio and his brothers. In their youth, Phoenix had been their surrogate father, their guide. Now, even Domencio found it difficult to dismiss his words.
“Speak,” Domencio commanded.
“You must go to Sicilia,” Phoenix said, his tone confident, almost persuasive.
Domencio’s brow furrowed. “Father?”
“He’s in danger. Everything I know about these Guardians and the twins, who may indeed be the Chosen, points to him as the target. If Tristan and the Guardian are missing, it’s because they’re being used as leverage. These Guardians are irresistible to us—consiglieri, magistrate, and Fratelli alike. The hour is past dark for us all.”
Raven nodded in agreement, his earlier doubts about Phoenix swept away. “I felt her power. Even when she was trapped in the trunk, she whispered to me, called to me. I was tempted to let her go many times. To mate with her.”
Domencio sighed. The weight of Phoenix’s words settled within. “Father... I’ve been avoiding seeing him. I don’t want to see him like this.”
“Go. Protect him. Guard him,” Phoenix urged, his voice smooth as silk. “Leave the consiglieri to hunt the women down—we will find them. I know how to defeat the guardians, and I will chase the twins to you. And you must be there when the twins arrive.”
Domencio reluctantly agreed with a nod of resignation. “Fine. Then I have to warn Marcello.”
But as he tried to reach out to his brothers telepathically, he found himself cut off. His connection to them was erratic, one moment clear, and the next veiled in fog. It was as if something was interfering, a strange energy pulsing through him. He looked at his hands. Unease crept into his mind. “What is happening to me, Phoenix?”
Phoenix’s face remained unreadable, his voice soft and enigmatic. “I don’t know. But I suspect your father’s weakening is affecting us all. If his Draca dies, we all die with him. That is Julia Brown curse, but not the law of the realm. The Supreme Draquria could take Lucio, and we could become his magistrates. The only cure is the women, and we have little time to debate it. Go and leave Raven and me to our duty.”
Domencio glanced at Raven, who simply shrugged, and offered no comfort.
With a nod, Domencio walked out. The chill of uncertainty clung to him like a second skin. He tried to connect with Shakespeare once more, but the void that met him was as cold and empty as the grave. For the first time in centuries, a sliver of fear pierced his barren heart.
As Domencio’s footsteps faded, Phoenix allowed a faint smile to play over his lips.