The First Vampire Part 4

They made short work of the rebels, with the exception of their leader and one small band who took refuge in a nearly impregnable location. The Sogdian Rock was a natural phenomenon that rose over two miles into the air. At that time of year, it was covered in ice and snow from base to summit.

When they arrived, Alexander had demanded the rebels surrender, but they had laughed at him, asking where he planned to get winged soldiers. So Alexander sent a call through his ranks for men brave enough and strong enough to attempt to scale the ice in a night assault. Alexander promised a king's ransom to the first 12 to make it to the top, and 300 men, including Samson, volunteered. Each of them was given a strip of red cloth to wave as a way to signal their successful ascent.

Samson had conducted night raids with many of the men who volunteered for this mission. They knew his strength, and he and 11 others were chosen to go first. The others would follow in their steps, up their lines.

It was not an easy ascent, even for him. At that time, he wasn't yet able to fly, so he was left to pull himself up the sheer wall of ice with the rest. He was luckier than most, though, because the cold affected him less. He could leave his hands ungloved, and his strength was not sorely tested. Still, a careless handhold could have sent him plummeting to the valley floor, as it did at least 30 of the others. He hadn't known at that point whether such an injury would kill him.

He was first to reach the top, where he unfurled his red banner. Down below, Alexander waited for night to fully fall and then moved the rest of his force into hiding.

In the morning, Alexander rode out and summoned the stronghold's messengers. He told them he'd found soldiers with wings, and the several hundred men at the top unfurled their banners, to the dismay of the rebels. Not knowing how many of Alexander's men had managed to do the impossible, the rebel leader surrendered immediately.

Ash and his men were allowed some amount of pillage and plunder, but not as much as usual because Alexander intended to take a bride here and secure these lands through political alliance instead of fear. The men fed, raped, and stole with varying degrees of success and enthusiasm. Many of them merely demanded a fire and a meal.

Ash found a ramshackle lean-to that served as a sentry tower at the outer rim of the rampart. He knocked its lone occupant unconscious and dragged him inside, so he could feed and shelter his body from the few hours of sun that were approaching.

He was finishing off the unconscious rebel when Memnon happened across his hiding place. Memnon was one of the Shield Bearers, an elite fighting force built by Alexander's father, Phillip. He was a valiant warrior, and Ash had admired his skill and his loyalty to Alexander.

Nevertheless, when he saw the horror of what he'd become reflected in Memnon's shocked eyes, Ash lunged at him full force, fangs bared. Memnon managed to draw his sword, but it only hit a glancing blow across Ash's chest and shoulder. Ash knocked the sword away, grabbed Memnon, held him, and drained him almost dry.

When he felt Memnon's pulse beat tire, saw his many valiant, even heroic deeds, Ash was overcome with horror at himself. He'd never allowed himself to develop close ties, even before he became a blood-drinker. Now he'd killed the one person he might have called friend in several hundred years. He'd killed someone who deserved to live.

Ash bent to lay the man's body on the floor, and a drop of blood from the wound in his shoulder fell onto Memnon's lips. They twitched. It was almost imperceptible, but Ash was certain he'd seen it.

Not sure what he was doing or why, he slid his dagger out of its sheath and cut his own wrist. More blood flowed over the fallen hero, who eventually began to drink. Ash had saved him-and become aware of another terrible power that he possessed.

Memnon never forgave him, of course. Ash had robbed him of his hero's death and cursed him with a weakness that rivaled even his new strength.

From then on, the two of them had existed in an uneasy disharmony, like reverse-polarity magnets at either end of a short tether. They were each nomads, but being the only two of their kind, they tended to wander in close orbit to each other, not companions, but co-habitants of their dark world.

A final, unfortunate choice of resting place had buried Memnon under the hot ash of Vesuvius. Ash had been training gladiators in Pompeii, but Memnon hated the debauchery of that city and had chosen to spend his days in one of the white-washed crypts outside Herculaneum, a city just to the north of Pompeii and on the less-fortunate side of the volcano.

When the eruption came, debris from the spewing mountain had blocked out the sun. Ash escaped Pompeii by swimming, underwater, across the Bay of Naples. Only later did he learn that Herculaneum had been completely destroyed, buried under so much ash and rock that no attempt would be made to resurrect it.

He'd not heard from Memnon since that day.

Ash sighed and returned his attention to his newest addition to the vampire race. "You're right, James. It's time for you to leave here. Tonight you will go out to feed, and what you do afterwards is up to you."

James rose from the couch. "When do we leave?"

"Not for a few hours yet," Ash explained. "Toria will be back for you later, after she's gotten your room set up at Council House."

"Toria?" James asked, his distaste obvious. "I thought the whole point of this imprisonment was to keep me from turning out like her."

"Not exactly," Ash said, hesitating. "Well, yes, but she'll be a fine chaperone for one night. She knows perfectly well how to feed without killing, and she respects my views on that point. The fact that she chooses not to follow them..." Ash shrugged. "Well, that is a choice you, too, will have to make. I just want it to be your choice and not something your cravings or lack of instruction force you into."

"That's noble of you," James commented. "And just where will you be during this trial run of your new pupil?"

Ash frowned, not liking that he actually felt a little guilty. "I have dinner plans," he replied.

"Hot date?" James queried.

Ash felt the knife turn. He'd grown to like James in their few weeks together.

"No," he said brusquely. "Business dinner."

CHAPTER 10.

Ariana sat alone at a small outdoor table at an Italian restaurant on Manhattan's Upper West Side. Red-checked tablecloths and the rich aromas of bread and wine should have made her feel at home, but she laid her fork across her full plate of pasta and wondered why she was here.

She and James had come here together. Not in many months, it was true, but since his disappearance, she'd felt his absence more strongly than before. Tonight it weighed on her, and she didn't understand why.

She and James had been growing apart for a long time before the separation, even before her miscarriage. That was the moment she had known it was over, though-when the doctor had told them she could never have any more children. She'd seen the light go out of James' eyes then, and knew she would never be able to bring that light back.

Now, instead of accepting the fact that her husband was leaving her, which she'd only sort of gotten used to, she was supposed to accept that he was dead. Her mind told her it was true. It had to be. Grown men, especially predictable, reliable men like James, did not go missing for weeks on end and suddenly reappear.

Something terrible had happened to him, something so terrible that he would not be coming back. She shuddered at the thought and felt tears well again beneath her eyelids. She tried very hard not to dwell on what the "something" might have been. It was hard not to know, but it was worse to speculate.

Like a dripping faucet in a nearby room, the low sound of conversation from the table behind her began to intrude on her melancholy. At first she tried not to listen; then she just tried to hide the fact that she was listening. She still couldn't make out any actual words, but the voice that spoke them held her attention because it was the richest, deepest voice she had ever heard. Each time the man spoke, it rolled over her like warm thunder, as if his voice vibrated on the same frequency as her skin.

Finally, her curiosity got the better of her, and Ariana left her table and made her way toward the ladies room. After checking her makeup and waiting an appropriate interval, she returned the same way she had come.

From this direction, she had a full view of the Voice and he of her. She met his gaze and the rest of the room seemed to shift out of focus. For a long moment, there was nothing but black eyes meeting eyes that were blacker still. Ariana had never met anyone with eyes as dark as hers, but the Voice's eyes were blazingly dark.

Hello, lovely one. The Voice again. Only this time it was in her head. His lips never moved. And what lips they were, Ariana noted. Sculpted was the right word, but she had never longed to touch sculpture the way she longed to know the feel of those lips.

Then she was standing at his table, though she didn't remember walking over. Something told her she should be alarmed, but alarm was not the emotion she felt.

She looked down at the stranger as he sipped his wine. Easily more than six feet, he should have looked ill at ease in the restaurant's delicate wicker chair, but his almost unnatural grace made it seem protected rather than burdened by his muscular frame.

Ariana watched his strong, smooth hand uncurl from the stem of the wine glass and arc into his hair. No, it wasn't fear that was making her breath come faster. She started when another voice said her name.

"Ariana," the other man said, "we were just talking about you. Funny that you should be here."

Ariana turned to see who the Voice's companion was. "Roger," she said, more than a little surprised to find her boss sitting there. "What are you doing here?"

She realized how dumb that question sounded just half a second too late to stop it. "I mean, it's great to see you outside the office for a change."

Roger smiled. "Ariana, meet Ash Samson."

Ash Samson. She should know that name.

Suddenly the Voice was standing at her side, and there was a shock of recognition, both of the name and of the man. The name she now recognized as belonging to one of Tailwind's newest and largest investors. As for the man himself, she couldn't say how she recognized him, but she had the unmistakable sensation of having seen him before. More than that, of knowing him somehow.

"Mr. Samson, what a pleasant surprise." Ariana said, extending her hand. "I'm Ariana Chambers."

"Ariana." His voice was low and hard, his face enigmatic. "That suits you." He bent and took her hand in his, kissing it lightly, but his eyes never left her face. Ariana sucked in a ragged breath and jerked her hand away.

Luckily, her back was toward her boss, she thought. He would undoubtedly have put her reaction down to pure rudeness. She looked at Ash Samson. His mysterious smile had turned into a smirk, and the look in his eyes was even more predatory than before. He hadn't mistaken it for rudeness.

"Won't you join us?" Roger asked. "Our discussion actually concerns you."

"Ah, no, I'm afraid I can't. I'm here with a friend." The lie came without effort because she was suddenly desperate to get away. Her senses and defenses weren't ready for the likes of Ash Samson.

"Your friend can join us as well," Ash said. "We'll all have dessert."

"No, no," Roger chimed in, inadvertently saving her. "That won't be necessary. Tomorrow is soon enough to talk business, Ariana. You enjoy the rest of your evening, but let's plan to meet in my office first thing."

Thank you, Roger, she thought.

Ash frowned for a moment. "I won't be able to join you then, I'm afraid. I have a prior commitment." The frown cleared. "Roger, you can fill Ariana in first thing tomorrow, and I will send a car for you both at 7:00 so we can clear up any last details over dinner."

"That sounds fine to me. Ariana?" Roger's question was polite, but Ariana knew she wasn't expected to have plans more important than coddling a big client.

"I look forward to it," she said, giving Mr. Samson her most award-winning smile. "It was nice meeting you Mr. Samson, but now, if you'll excuse me..." She let her voice trail off to avoid repeating the lie that she wasn't alone.

"Of course. And please call me Ash."

"Ash, then. It's been a pleasure." Ariana turned. "Roger, I'll see you in the morning."

"Good night, Ariana."

Ariana made her way around Ash Samson and some large potted plants to get back to her table. She quickly paid her check and left, thanking providence she didn't have to pass them to leave the restaurant.

He hadn't been prepared to see her in person yet, Ash thought. That was supposed to come later. Tomorrow, perhaps, after he'd persuaded Roger to go along with his plans.

No matter. Even if she'd noticed his reaction to her, she would not have understood it. He wasn't sure he understood it himself. It was almost as if nothing had changed.

The first time he'd seen her had been in Sorek. She had been in charge of laying the banquet for his entourage, while he discussed trade with her stepfather. He couldn't remember if he'd ever had that discussion. All he remembered was her.

She'd worn a dress the color of sapphires, with gold bands at her waist, her temple, and around her upper arms. Then as now, though, her dark eyes were what drew him. That night there had been an invitation in them. He'd never suspected it could be a trap.

Making his way to her room once the house was asleep, he'd opened the door to find her brushing her long dark hair by candlelight.

"Come in," she said, never turning to look at him.

He did as she asked, closing the door behind him. She turned, and for a moment they just stared at each other, rooted to their spots on either side of the room. With one accord they moved closer, coming to stand within arm's reach, but not touching.

Delilah was tall for a woman, but her gaze came only to the level of his throat. He put a finger under her chin to raise her eyes to meet his, but he was the first to look away. Her gaze unnerved him-but that was why he had come. "I can tell you see me for what I am," he said, surprised that it was true. So many people could not. They saw only the judge or only the warrior, seldom the man.

Without a word, she stepped forward and put a hand on his chest, causing him to draw in his breath. He remembered he'd wanted to talk with her, but then she'd parted her lips, and the time for soul-searching was over. He'd brought his lips down onto hers, and Delilah had returned his kiss, pressing her body against his, sending him the message that she saw everything he was and still welcomed him to her bed. His mouth went from tentative to ravaging, taking hers in an act of possession almost as fierce as lovemaking.

And what lovemaking it had been. On that night and all the nights that followed, they had thrilled to each other's touch, reaching heights he'd not seen before or since.

How she must have laughed at him, he thought. He'd been such a fool to be taken in by her, never guessing the truth, even when it was staring him in the face months later in the form of a Philistine soldier.

Ash shook his head to try to clear it. All that mattered now was that he'd finally been given the opportunity to make things right.

As the night wore on, he plied Roger with food and drink at several of the finest-and some not so fine-establishments in the city. By the time he put Roger into a cab, he had the man eating out of his hand. Money talked in this town, and he had more than enough to convince Roger to part with Ariana for a while.

CHAPTER 11.

Outside his posh prison, James felt newly powerful. Just walking down the sidewalk gave him a sense of his strength that he'd never felt while locked up in Ash's townhouse. Indeed, he felt stronger now than he ever had. He lengthened his stride, and Toria fell effortlessly in step.

"Where are we going?" James asked, turning to face her and marveling at how quickly he'd gotten used to the idea of what they were about to do.

Toria laughed. "As you know, I like to hunt Central Park."

James' taste of freedom turned sour. "Not there," he said.

Toria ignored his baleful glare. "I figured you'd say that. Don't worry. There's another spot I think will do."

She turned right onto 51st Street, and James followed. As usual, Toria was all in black. This time it was a short, body-hugging leather dress paired with knee-high, black patent leather boots with silver eyes and black satin laces. Her dark hair hung in long, loose curls down her back. James watched her hips sway as she walked and couldn't decide whether she looked more beautiful or more deadly.

He, on the other hand, still looked like a regular guy. He didn't particularly like Toria's sense of style, but his khaki pants and button-up oxford didn't seem appropriate either. He looked more like a stock boy at Best Buy than one of the undead.

Putting his wardrobe concerns aside, James tried to take in all the sights, sounds and smells of his beloved city. This was his home, but, seeing it for the first time through non-human eyes, it was completely new. Each tiny detail assaulted him.

He might have been bothered by that, except that he knew he had an eternity to explore each one if he chose. Exhilaration blossomed in his mind. He'd already been giving some thought as to what he'd do with his new lease on life.

Toria turned into a small park lodged between two tall glass buildings. Actually, "park" was an overstatement. It was mostly concrete, with a few trees planted among the chairs and tables. Most of the lights were out.

Toria went only a few short steps past the gate and took James' hand. She leaned against the concrete wall and pulled him close. He stiffened, but didn't pull away. "Toria," he jibed, "I didn't know you cared."

"Don't be a wise guy," she whispered. "I'm just trying to be inconspicuous."

"Why?" he asked.

"There are two boys at the other end of the park."

James turned to search out their shapes in the darkness.

Toria leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. Search for them with your mind, James, not your eyes.

James turned to be certain she hadn't spoken out loud. He still wasn't used to vampire telepathy.

Chapter end