Snarling, Cardinal Fracesco di Medici stormed through the Vatican’s elaborate gardens, his robes appearing almost as black as his mood in the light of the full moon, He had just heard that a few more of the bishops had been swayed to Cardinal Catarina Sforza, his half sister’s side thus depriving him of those allies. Ever since that incident with the Silent Noise Machine and Archbishop Alfonso D’Este, their uncle, Francesco had been desperately trying to regain the political power he had lost by backing the Archbishop against Catarina.

But now, Catarina was gaining even more support since her precious agents had returned from the Empire, not only bringing back the grateful thanks of the Empress Agusta Vradica but various information needed to start down the path towards peaceful talks between the human kingdoms and the Empire.

Even His Holiness, Pope Alessandro XVIII, was looking more and more towards their half sister than to him for advice.

“How *dare* she take what is mine by right!” Francesco snarled, pacing the small clearing isolated by tall hedges covered in roses. Located near the outside wall of the Inner Grounds, it was too far away from the Main Building for casual strolls, and the perfect place to plan his moves against Catarina in peace. “I have fought and clawed my way to my position, gathering allies who are willing to look to me for leadership and guidance, but she just *waltzes* in and starts taking my power away.”

“You know, it’s not entirely her fault,” remarked a deep, gentle voice from above him, and Francesco whirled around, his gray eyes searching for the intruder even as his hand dropped to the gun hidden at his waist loaded with the silver bullets. Just because vampires couldn’t make it on to the Vatican Grounds did not mean he was foolish enough to wander around unarmed after sunset.

Instead of an intruder standing on top of the hedge, Francesco found a man clad entirely in white robes descending from the star filled sky on four wings composed of white feathers while his shoulder length blond hair glowed in the full moon light.

Falling to his knees before the angelic being, Francesco bowed his head, all thoughts of fighting vanishing from his mind. “My Lord Angel,” he breathed in a worshipful tone.

Gentle fingers brushed over his short brown hair. “Rise my child, and we will talk.”

“My Lord Angel, what did you mean that it was not entirely Cardinal Sforza’s fault?” asked Francesco as he climbed to his feet. He did not know why God had sent one of His messengers to him, but if this was a sign that the Vatican was in more trouble than he originally thought, then Francesco would do anything and everything possible to do as the angel instructed.

That unearthly beautiful face tilted to gaze at him from behind the blond hair that had fallen into eyes as blue as sapphires. “Your sister is under the influence of the Fallen One, an angel banished from His Paradise,” the angel remarked, his voice hard. “Thought Cardinal Sforza, he is manipulating the minds of those around you to take away your power because he fears you and what you can do. He has also set up the events to cause you to fall out of favor with His Holiness.”

Someone with the powers of an angel corrupting the minds and souls of those around him, turning them from Francesco’s guidance and leadership. It was such a simple explanation that the Cardinal wondered why he hadn’t realized it before. Straightening up, he squared his shoulders and met that sapphire gaze with a spine of steel, knowing what he must do to free the Vatican and its people from the grip of the Fallen One. “How do I find this Fallen One and stop him?”

Smiling, the angel held out his hand, and Francesco gingerly took the syringe, staring in fascination at the glowing blue liquid it contained. “This is a sedative to knock him out. To stop him, you must break him, body and spirit. Only then will his influence on this Holy Place be destroyed.”

Break him? Was it even possible to break an angel, even a fallen one? How would Francesco even start on such a project?

“You must break him like you would break one of the cursed ones that are called vampires,” remarked the angel, and Francesco started. He had not realized that he had spoken out loud and a faint blush stained his cheeks. It must have sounded like he was questioning the angel’s instructions, which he would never do. “As to find the Fallen One, his wings were blackened to show his exiled status, and he would be someone close to your sister. We also, unfortunately, bear a strong resemblance to each other.”

Francesco studied the angel, his eyes flickering over the sharp and beautiful features, the blond hair bleached almost silver in the moonlight, and he felt a growl start in his chest as a name slipped past his lips. “Father Abel Nightroad.”

It had to be the bumbling but gentle priest from the Department of Foreign Affairs. He was the only one that fit the description even if Francesco had never seen his wings. With as bulky as the AX robes were, it would be possible to hide the feathered appendages with no sign that they were actually there. The bumbling attitude would make it easy for people to confide in Nightroad while allowing him to dispense advice that they would listen to with his gentle nature. How could Francesco have been so blind to the deceptive nature of the priest?

The rustling of feathers pulled him out of his building fury, and he looked up to find the angel had spread his wings, ready to depart. Hesitantly, Francesco took a step towards the angel, his empty hand outstretched in an attempt to keep the Heavenly Messenger there as doubt clouded his mind. Could he truly stop a Fallen Angel and save the Vatican? It seemed like too large of a job for just him as it settled across his shoulders, making him feel like Atlas with the world on his back.

“Believe in yourself and your mission and you cannot fail, my child,” advised the angel, before he sprung into the air and vanished into the night with a mighty flap of his wings.

For a few moments, Francesco stared after the angel, unable to completely believe that the Heavenly Messenger had truly been there, but a gentle warmth bled through his glove, drawing his gray eyes down to the faintly glowing needle, the only proof that it had not been a vision or a dream. Righteous fire burned in his veins as he gently closed his fingers around the syringe. He had been charged by God to stop this evil before it corrupted His House permanently, and he would not fail at this task. To do so would condemn not only his soul, but the souls of the truly faithful.

Turning, Francesco swept back to his quarters, his robes billowing about him as he began to carefully plan his moves against Father Abel Nightroad of the AX.

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Landing near a desolate building in Rome, only a few blocks away from the Vatican, the angel folded his white wings and sighed in relief as they were absorbed into his body. He bowed his head as if suddenly weary, but his shoulders were shaking, and he threw back his head, his laughter echoing through the night. As if summoned by the noise, two young men, one still a teenager, emerged from the shadows and patiently waited for the blond to regain enough composure to speak to them.

“Was the fool that easily to manipulate, Mein Herr?” inquired the man with the knee long ebony hair, his words emerging on a cloud of clove scented smoke.

“I knew he was a jealous idiot, but to discover he was a zealot as well was an unexpected bonus,” remarked the blond. He was Mein Herr Contra Mundi, leader of the Rosen Kruenz Order, and no more an angel or angelic being than the two standing before him were.

“The Vatican seems to breed them stupid,” agreed the teen, an amused smile on his face as a stray breeze ruffled his short brown hair. “It’s almost too easy to play with them. Isn’t it, Panzer Magier?”

“Unfortunately, but they are amusing creatures, Puppeteer,” replied Isaak Fernand von Kämpfer, his clove cigarillo delicately held between two fingers. His pale eyes turned to their leader, who had finally managed to rein in his laughter. “Now what, Mein Herr?”

The Contra Mundi smirked, a cold and calculating look on his beautiful face. “Now that fool will dispose of my annoying brother, and we start moving out people into position to move against those that would oppose us.”

This time, his laughter was joined by his followers before the shadows swept forward to swallow them, leaving only their laughter echoing through the darkness.

@@@

Slowly, Father Abel Nightroad walked through the elaborate rose hedges, not truly paying attention to where he was going as his thoughts spun circles in his head. It had been almost two months since he had helped stop the Rosen Kruenz Order with Sister Esther Blanchett, Earl Ion Fortuna, and Viscountess Astharoche Asran and returned with the information needed to start the ball rolling towards possible peace between the humans and the Methuselans. A few weeks after their return, Sister Esther’s true family had finally located her and asked that she return to them to take her rightful place. It was a surprise to everyone to discover that she was the Crown Princess of Albion, and with tearful good-byes, Sister Esther had left for Londinium with her grandmother.

But it wasn’t the loss of the young redhead that drove Abel into the garden on the sunny day. What was bothering him was that the Rosen Kruenz Order and the Contra Mundi, his brother Cain Nightlord, had been silent since their defeat in the Empire. While the rest of the AX Department was enjoying the unexpected lag in missions dealing with rogue vampires, Abel was waiting for the other shoe to drop even as he tried to puzzle out where Cain was most likely to strike next. Catarina had teased him about worrying his hair gray, and Abel had laughed while fingering his naturally silver hair before promising to relax.

Only he couldn’t because he was the only person who could stop Cain from destroying the world. Seth Nightlord, their sister, was tied up running the Methuselah Empire as she had for the past 900 years as Empress Vradica, and Lilith was dead, killed by Cain’s own hands. It might be possible for a combination of highly trained and skilled humans and Methuselans to take down a Crusnik, but Abel felt that it was highly unlikely due to their military training and their status as a superior predator to the Methuselah.

Suddenly, there was a sharp prick in the back of his neck, and Abel gasped in surprise and pain as fire raced through his veins, sweeping consciousness away beneath its onslaught.

@@@

Francesco let out a small sight of relief as the Fallen One collapsed to the ground, silent and as unmoving as a shadow. He had been watching and planning for nearly a month since the Heavenly Angel had charged him with the destruction of the Fallen One, and he had finally discovered the opportunity to strike when the Fallen One had wandered deeper into the garden away from prying eyes.

Kneeling next to the motionless figure, the Cardinal quickly removed the glasses and ear cuffs that doubled as communicators with Sister Kate Scott of the Iron Maiden battleship before throwing them and the empty syringe into the thorny hedges, hiding them from sight. He reached out to run a gentle finger down the pale face, and he couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty before him.

“It is no wonder you were able to entrap Catarina with this face,” Francesco murmured, a bitter smile on his face. Beautiful the Fallen One was, but the Angel was more so. “For all her training, faith and dedication, she is yet a female, and they are led astray by their basic nature.”

He would enjoy breaking this one.

Quickly, he gathered the Fallen One up and started for the door leading to the dungeons belonging to the Inquisitorial Department.

@@@

The dripping of water echoed off of stone and finally managed to rouse Abel to consciousness, who barely managed to bite back a moan as his brain decided to inform him that his skull was too small. His shoulders and wrists ached, and he could feel himself moving slightly with each labored breath he took, indicating that he was hanging. Which also explained why his arms hurt as they were supporting his weight. The foul taste of boiled boot leather combined with the lingering fire in his blood told him louder than anything that he had been drugged by someone familiar with his strange physiology. But who and why? Was this Cain’s next move? He remembered walking in the Vatican’s garden, and then the distinct prick of a needle. How had Cain’s agent gained access to the grounds this time?

The sloshing of water was Abel’s only warning before a bucket of ice cold water was thrown into his face, and he gasped in surprise and pain as he jerked his head up, his eyes flying open. He was expecting to see Isaak or Dietrich von Lohengrin or even Cain himself standing before him, ready to gloat over how easily Abel had fallen into their hands. Instead, Cardinal Francesco di Medici stood there, a bucket in his hand and a smirk of triumph on his face.

What was going on?

“Glad to see you are finally awake, Fallen One,” growled Francesco, his gray eyes alight with a righteous fury that only the true zealots seem to possess. “I grew tired of waiting for you to regain consciousness.”

“Your Eminence, I don’t understand. What is going on?” asked Abel as his thoughts centered on the title Francesco had addressed him with. Only one person had ever called him “Fallen One” as a joke before everything went wrong. Cain had teased him enough times during Armageddon that if he was an angel with his white wings and blond hair then Abel must be a fallen one with black wings and silver hair.

A sharp slap across the face sent his head screaming at him, and Abel tasted blood from his newly split lip. “Do not play coy with me, foul tempter! Your plans have been revealed to me by one of God’s Own Heavenly Messengers, and I will not allow you to corrupt this Sacred Place any longer!”

It was all Abel could do not to groan and find the nearest surface to bang his head against. Apparently Cain had somehow met Francesco in his Crusnik form and had convinced the Cardinal that *Abel* was the one who was a danger to everyone. Cain must have also given Francesco the sedative, meaning it was one that the military had developed to actually take down a Crusnik for a while despite the training they had undergone to build up their resistance to various drugs. Add to the fact that he couldn’t feel the familiar weight of his earcuffs and his glasses were gone meant that he was going to be Francesco’s guest until either the Cardinal grew tired of him, or he managed to get free after the drug had burned itself out in his system.

Casually, Francesco removed his robes, leaving him clad only in a shirt, slacks and his shoes, and he draped the robes of state over a chair set near the wall. Abel watched as the other man approached a table displaying various instruments of torture and knew exactly what the power mad Cardinal had in store for him. He admitted he was a bit surprise to find himself still clad in his black priest’s robes since he would have thought Francesco would have removed his clothes to gain better access to his skin, but when Francesco picked up a sharp knife edged with silver, Abel realized just why he had been allowed to keep his clothes.

“You are fortunate, monster. I have never personally broken any guests of the Inquisition,” remarked Francesco, turning the blade to catch the light coming from both lit braziers and lights recessed into the high ceiling. He approached Abel, who watched with wary blue eyes, and slid the blade up Abel’s right pant leg, the sharp blade cutting through the fabric with hardly a whisper even as it left a trail of pain on the silver haired man’s leg. The process was repeated on the other leg, from ankle to hip, until the black pants fluttered to the ground. A few quick minutes and Abel’s socks and boots joined the sliced fabric.

Lashing out with a foot, Abel caught Francesco across the jaw and sent the man stumbling backwards, the knife clattering to the floor. Glancing up, Abel saw that his wrists were tied to the heavy oak beam with cured leather straps, and he yanked on them, determined to get free before Francesco had a chance to recover.

Just as he felt the leather starting to give, the knife was buried in his stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs with the force, and Abel gasped, unable to do anything but hang there as Francesco twisted the knife. “Nice try, monster, but you’ve failed and did nothing more than earn an even more painful existence before I end your pitiful life.”

Choking out a laugh, Abel grinned at him, his blue eyes mocking even as a trickle of blood slipped down his chin. “Better men than you have tried, di Medici, yet I live still. All you are doing is dancing to another’s tune, and in the end, you will find yourself nothing more than a pawn and puppet to a master who despises your kind even more than I do.”

“Brave words for someone with a silvered knife in his gut,” drawled Francesco, before grabbing a second knife and cutting the rest of Abel’s clothes off, leaving the first knife sticking in his belly and trailing shallow cuts that bled across his skin. Francesco must have angled the knife up slightly to nick Abel’s diaphragm since he was laboring for every breath around the pain in his abdomen, but it didn’t hurt enough to be a punctured lung.

Francesco kicked the pile of cloth off to one side before walking over to the wall, and Abel was lowered to the floor. Between the knife and the drug still in his blood, his legs collapsed under him, the stone floor digging into his knees, and Francesco continued lowering the beam until it was across Abel’s shoulders. Pausing briefly at a bowl, he extracted two long strips of leather, and Abel could only watch with an unreadable expression as Francesco wrapped the wet leather around his arms, binding his biceps to the oak beam. Abel knew that when the leather dried, it had a good chance of breaking his arms, preventing him from using them to escape. A few more minutes and Abel’s ankles were tied together tight enough to risk cutting off his circulation while the leather was wet.

“You know, that is a good look for you, monster,” remarked Francesco, sounding almost reasonable despite the slight slurring of his words that told Abel he had at least injured the Cardinal’s jaw, perhaps even knocked a few teeth out with his kick. “On your knees, begging for forgiveness and mercy.”

He reached out a hand and trailed his fingers down Abel’s face before tightly gripping his chin, forcing him to meet blazing blue eyes filled with lust. “Or perhaps begging for a different kind of release perhaps?”

“Get your tiny dick anywhere near me, and I’ll make it even smaller,” taunted Abel, snapping his teeth at Francesco who slapped him across the face again, this time on the opposite cheek. “Is that all you can do? Slap me like a girl?”

Francesco gripped Abel’s jaw, his fingers digging into the sore muscles. With the drug still in his blood, it was taking longer than normal for Abel to heal. “There will come a time when you will beg me for gentle slaps but only feel the bite of leather. Enjoy your peace while you can, monster.”

Abel snorted. “Small threats from a small mind.”

This time the blow rocked his head to one side, and the elephants with the cleats and congo drums in his head reminded Abel that antagonizing Francesco had been a bad idea as they struck up a lively tango. The knife was ripped from his stomach, causing him to gasp in pain again, before Francesco did his best to replace his fist in the wound, driving all the air out of Abel’s lungs. Gasping, Abel hung there, unable to curl around the injured muscles as he tried to regain his lost breath, and blood trailed down his abdomen to his legs, slowly puddling around him on the stone floor.

“If you think by infuriating me you will receive a speedy death, you are sadly mistaken,” remarked Francesco, reaching up to smooth his hair off his forehead. “I have yet to loose my tempter in the dungeon.”

“Good, I love a challenge,” gasped Abel, grinning as annoyingly as he can as he did his best to ignore his injuries. He was slipping back into the habits he had developed during the training he had undergone by the human military’s hands to resist breaking under torture. One of them was act like nothing was bothering him even if his guts were lying at his feet on the floor and treat everything like a joke.

Reaching out, Francesco grabbed his silver hair and pulled his head back, baring Abel’s throat, a thoughtful look on his face, causing the pounding in his head to increase in tempo. “Your hair, while quite beautiful, is long enough for me to immobilize your head in this position.”

He released Abel only long enough to grab another stip of leather, and before Abel knew it, his hair was tied to the oak beam, effectively trapping his head and baring his throat to the room. The only way he would be able to get free of that tie would be to either free his hands and get a knife to cut the leather or his hair, or rip himself bald. Francesco hauled Abel back up so his feet were dangling off the ground by a few inches, and then picked up a long bull whip, a smirk on his face.

“Let’s begin,” he purred, unfurling the whip with a practiced flick of his wrist. Abel closed his eyes and braced himself for the first blow, praying that someone would find him and soon.

@@@

It had been three months since Cardinal Sforza had seen Father Abel, and she was worried for her friend. He never just up and vanished before, not without at least telling her where he was going and when he expected to be back. Before the AX and her position as Cardinal, it had been meant to keep a scared girl from panicking and becoming even more frightened, and then it grew into habit.

The only clue to Abel’s disappearance had been the mostly empty hypodermic needle hidden in the rose hedge with his glasses and earcuffs, traced there by Sister Kate who had been trying to raise Abel for Catarina. There had been a tiny amount of strangely glowing blue liquid in the syringe, and the Professor had instantly bustled it off to his lab to identify it, being extra careful after hearing that it was linked to Abel vanishing. What he had reported back had been disturbing to say the least. There had been blood on the tip of the needle that had been a match for Abel’s since it contained the Crusnik virus, but the mysterious liquid had been a combination of natural herbs and manmade chemicals specifically designed to effect the Crusnik system. In a human, it would have been a painful and deadly poison, but for Abel, it would have been a strong sedative that only made him *wish* he was dead upon regaining consciousness.

Catarina had used every available resource at her disposal and had called in numerous favors in an attempt to locate her missing friend, but everything had turned up a dead end.

Abel had vanished as abruptly as he had entered her life.

A solid knock on her office door pulled her out of her thoughts, and Catarina turned away from the window to call for the person to come in. Father Leon Garcia de Asturias opened the door and quickly entered the office after making sure that it was empty except for her, but the figure behind him was a complete surprise. Brother Petros, the Inquisitional Department’s Knight of Destruction, slipped in before the door was firmly shut behind the two me. It was usually Francesco she dealt with when having to deal with that group of zealots, having only truly come in contact with any of the agents when Sister Paula had saved her in Carthago.

“What can I help you gentlemen with today?” she inquired, raising a blond eyebrow as if having the head Inquisitor in her office was an everyday thing.

Leon continued glancing around. “I hate to sound paranoid, Your Eminence, but is there somewhere we can talk in *private*?”

The emphasis on the word “private” told Catarina that Leon knew of Francesco’s habit of bugging her office in an attempt to one up her in the political struggle, and she nodded her head, gesturing for them to follow her. She turned to the large French doors that led out into the expansive garden, and casually strolled towards the one place that she knew Francesco would never think to spy on her.

Lilith’s tomb.

Reaching the iron gate that acted as a door, Catarina pulled a small key out of her robes and slid it into the lock, ignoring Petros’ gasp of surprise. The roses hanging from the vines that covered the tomb brushed against her large hat as she unlocked the gate, gently pushing it open. Gesturing for them to follow her, she glided down the stairs into the darkness, pausing long enough to light a torch that was placed there just for her. The solid clang of the gate closing behind them echoed down into the darkness, but Catarina wasn’t afraid. She had visited Lilith several times both with Abel and by herself and knew what was here. Leon and Petros were in for a surprise.

It didn’t take long for her to reach the bottom, Petros’ armored feet heavy on the stone steps, and she moved around the room, lighting the braziers with her torch even as she skirted the large item in the center of the room. Petros’ second gasp of surprise and Leon’s muttered swearing informed her of when it was bright enough for them to make out the escape pod with the gorgeous woman apparently sleeping inside.

“What is this place? Who is she?” asked Petros, gazing at the large scarlet cross emblazoned on the nose of the pod. His voice was hushed, out of respect Catarina figured, and she smiled softly as she placed the torch in the holder.

“That is Lilith Stahl, Abel’s mother,” Catarina remarked, laying a hand on the pod as she smiled down at the red haired beauty. “Or as much of a mother as anyone can be to him. As for this place, it’s the last place Francesco would think to find any of us.”

“Good,” Leon stated before jerking a thumb at Petros, the fire flashing off of the silver bangle like cuff around his wrist. “The good Brother here has information about Father Four Eyes to share with us both.”

She gazed at Petros with pleading gray eyes. “You know where Abel is? Please, tell me. I’ve had people searching everywhere for him, and we haven’t found anything.”

Petros sighed like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. “It is with a torn heart that I tell you of this,” he began, his dark eyes filled with shadows. “Back in Carthago, Father Abel saved my life despite revealing his true nature to the nun and myself.”

“And he thought you were unconscious when you never mentioned anything about it,” remarked Catarina with a small smile. “Go on please.”

Taking a breath, Petros seemed to steel himself for his next words. “Cardinal di Medici has been acting strange for the past four months. At first, he was watchful, tense, as if waiting for some event to happen, and now, he is frustrated, as if whatever project he is working on fails at whatever he is trying to accomplish. Last week, I noticed some blood on the hem of his robe where it would have been dragged through a puddle. That made me suspicious as there have been no new prisoners brought to the Inquisition’s dungeons, and the Cardinal has never broken any prisoners himself, preferring to allow us to do it for him. Following him into the dungeons, I found your lost one.”

Catarina felt her blood run cold at the thought of her kind friend in the hands of a sadistic bastard like Francesco for three months. Part of her wanted to rush down to those dungeons, guns blazing, and sweep him out of that dark place, while the more logical part pointed that Abel would be vulnerable to Francesco if he remained at the Vatican. She closed her eyes, dreading the answer to her next question but needing to know all the same. “How badly injured is he?”

“Both arms have been broken between shoulder and elbow along with both ankles using wet leather straps,” Petros reported, a sick note in his voice. “There are numerous cuts, burns, and the floor under him is practically dyed red with his blood. A lesser being would have either died or been driven mad by such injuries, but sanity is still prevalent in his eyes.”

“What I don’t get is what prompted Cardinal Crazy to go after Abel like that,” Leon said, speaking for the first time since they had descended into the tomb. “I mean, he usually targets Her Eminence in the political arena, not the AX agents themselves. And if this was about Abel being what he is, then why didn’t he get snagged before this?”

The Knight of Destruction cleared his throat, embarrassed. “I placed a remote camera in the cell to record the Cardinal’s behavior while assuring Father Abel that he would be rescued as soon as possible,” he stated. “I will not show you for the brutality that the Father was able to endure is nothing short of horrifying, but during the Cardinal’s ravings, he seemed to brag about an angel instructing him to break the Fallen One and this Fallen One’s corrupted grip on the Vatican. And ‘Fallen One’ is how the Cardinal continued to address Father Abel.”

Reaching up, Catarina massaged her forehead as she paced next to the pod, her skirts whispering across the stone floor. They would have to plan this carefully to not only get Abel away from Francesco and the Vatican to safety, but also to do it in such a way that Francesco wouldn’t be able to trace it back to any of them and take his insane notions out on anyone else. Which meant going down when Francesco wasn’t there or was due to be down there any time soon. “Does Francesco go into the dungeon at night or during the day?”

“He prefers to go during the day when he is not in his office working,” Petros announced. “Usually in the afternoons to evenings, before Vespers.”

The blonde woman nodded before turning to Leon with a heavy heart. “I hate to ask this of you...”

“Abel’s my friend, and one of the few people willing to find out why those thirty priests died in Hispania with my wife,” the Spaniard interrupted, his dark eyes flashing. “If going to Hell for him is the only thing asked of me, I’ll make sure the Devil regrets my stay.”

“Thank you,” she said, her voice filled with all the gratitude in her heart. “You will have to leave your robes behind, but take my personal craft to escape with Abel tonight after Francesco has gone to bed.”

Leon ran a hand through his shoulder length hair. “Where should we go? He’s gonna need medical attention and some place to recover from his trip thought Francesco’s twisted mind.”

Smiling, Catarina pulled a gold locket out from under her robes, and opened the oval locket, ignoring the startled looks she was receiving as she extracted a tightly folded piece of paper. She dropped it in Leon’s hand and folded his fingers over it. “Head east towards the Empire. When you get close to the border, transmit this and safety should be waiting for you.” She shrugged a shoulder as she released his hand. “That’s what Abel told me when he gave that to me over a decade ago, and he told me to follow those directions should anything happen to him and I was left surrounded by enemies.”

“Can you watch over my daughter until I come back?” requested Leon. “She’s at the Saint Gerolamo Emiliani Orphanage here in Rome.”

She nodded. “I will. Take care of Abel for me. I wish I could go with you, but if Francesco has slipped this far, then there’s no telling what he might do next.”

The Spaniard nodded, his dark curls bouncing around his shoulders as he tucked the paper into his own locket, next to a picture of a beautiful little girl with his dark curls and pale eyes. Then he knelt before her on one knee with his fist resting over his heart and his head bowed. “Cardinal Catarina Sforza, Duchess of Milan, I swear to get Abel Nightroad to safety even if it should mean my life. This is my pledge to you.”

It was an archaic pledge, used only in the most serious of circumstances by knights to their lords, and it touched Catarina that Leon held her in such regard. Snagging the crucifix that dangled at her waist, she pressed the tiny button that released the silver blade it hid, and she cut off a small lock of her hair before pressing the golden strands into Leon’s hand as she placed a kiss on his forehead. “Take with you my blessing and my favor to always know you are both beloved of me.”

Petros clasped a hand on Leon’s should as the Spaniard rose to his feet. “I have patrol this eve and will come for you to escort you to Father Abel,” the armored man stated. “After that, you will have to fly hard and fast to reach freedom.”

Leon nodded again before glancing around at the fire lit stone. “We should get out of here before someone notices that we’re not where we should be.”

“I will see you this eve.” With that, Petros climbed the stairs, vanishing into the darkness, and Leon walked over to the silver pod to gaze down at the motionless redhead inside.

“She must have been one hell of a woman to have raised Abel so well,” he murmured, reaching out to place his hand on the thick glass. “I think I would have liked to know her.”

Catarina smiled as she stood next to him, her own hands folded before her. “To hear Abel speak about her, she was a wonderful woman and mother to them even if she never gave birth to any of them.”

The Spaniard patted the glass one last time before turning to leave. “We’ll see you around, Your Eminence,” he called back over his shoulder before he vanished up the stairs as well.

The crackling of fire filled the air as Catarina stared at Lilith before reaching out and placing her hand on the glass. “Please watch out for Abel. He still needs you.” With that, she turned, leaving the tomb and the silver pod with its scarlet cross glowing brightly in the firelight.

@@@

Tense and jumpy as he strained to hear every little sound around him, Leon followed Brother Petros deep into a part of the Vatican he had hoped never to enter. The dungeons belonging to the Department of the Inquisition. But he wasn’t going to be down here long, only as long as it took to get Abel and get out again. A thick blanket was slung over his shoulder while his silver cuffs that were also his throwing disks were hidden under the long sleeved black shirt he wore, and his long hair was pulled back in a short tail at the base of his neck. At his waist, Leon had a knife and a gun loaded with silvered bullets that were the common ammunition of the AX Department, both he was proficient with after his time as a soldier, but his skills were rusty.

The armored form leading him was strangely silent for all of Brother Petros’ massive bulk, and Leon admired that skill about the blue haired man. After all, it couldn’t have been easy to be that quite while wearing about one hundred pounds of pure metal and machinery.

Suddenly, Petros stopped and every nerve in Leon’s body screamed for attention as the Spaniard started looking around for the reason they had stopped moving forward to find Petros was quietly opening the door they were standing beside. “Hurry. I will watch the hall.”

“Right,” Leon breathed, slipping inside and wincing as he caught sight of Abel for the first time. He was suspended from a thick oak plank that his broken arms had been lashed to and there was barely any skin that wasn’t bruised, cut , burnt or covered in blood. His head was tied back, forcing him to stare at the ceiling, and Leon hurried over to where the chain keeping Abel suspended was tied off to the wall.

“Anyone call for a check out?” Leon greeted, somehow managing to keep the horror from the sight of his friend in such a state out of his voice. He gently lowered Abel towards the floor until the injured man was just barely brushing the wet crimson stones with his toes, and then Leon fastened the chain off.

He drew his knife as he approached Abel before kneeling to gently slice the leather straps off of the broken ankles. As he stood, he found Abel’s mouth working but no sound was emerging from the cracked and dried lips. “Easy, Abel. Let me get you out of here and then you can complain to the manager about the accommodations.”

Moving behind Abel, Leon eyed the leather strap wrapped around the silver hair, pinning the lank mass to the beam before carefully slicing through the strap. Abel whimpered in pain as the strain on his neck was released but didn’t tilt his head forward, unable to after having his head immobilized for such a long time. Sheathing the knife, Leon reached up and gently massaged the locked muscles until they relaxed enough for Abel to move his head with ease again, and Leon cupped Abel’s face until those crystal blue eyes managed to focus on him. They were much more intense without the glasses to hide behind, but Leon discovered that they suited Abel better.

“Leon?” His name was croaked out, and Petros hurried over with a waterskin of all things, gently tipping the clear water past Abel’s cracked lips as Leon went to work on the straps holding him to the beam. The leather was easy to cut through, but the metal shackles were a bit more work before they gave beneath the slender picks Leon was manipulating. Abel collapsed to the floor only to be caught by Petros before he struck the stone, and Leon hurried to grab the blanket.

“Straighten breaks,” gasped Abel, gently cradled in Petros’ arms as the dropped waterskin spilled its precious cargo across the floor, washing a small path through the blood, and Leon bit his lip.

“It’s gonna hurt, Father Four-Eyes, and I don’t have anything to use as splints,” the Spaniard stated in a soft voice. Abel only looked at Leon with eyes glowing with trust, and Leon took a breath before motioning Petros to place the injured man on the floor. Once Abel was stretched out, Leon quickly set the arms before examining his ankles only to shake his head. “There’s nothing I can do for your ankles. You’ll have to wait until we get to the Empire.”

Instead of replying, Abel closed his eyes and inhaled, his back arching slightly. Leon yelped as something dark slithered across the floor only to yelp again when he realized it was blood, returning to the one who had lost it in the first place. Twin cracks, like something snapping back into place, filled the air as Abel’s arms shivered before two more cracks sounded, this time his feet jerked. A low growl, an almost feral sound, echoed through the air as blood red eyes flickered open to gaze around with a deep hunger that Leon had only seen on a starving man, and black lips peeled back to reveal elongated fangs.

“Father Nightroad, I suggest you gain control because Father de Asturias is trying to get you out of here to safety,” murmured Pertos, and Abel raised his arms to cover his face with hands tipped in lethal looking claws. A few deep breaths and the claws shrank to normal human nails, and when Abel dropped his arms, the red eyes had been replaced with exhausted blue and the fangs were normal teeth again.

Leon wrapped the blanket tightly around Abel before lifting the still injured man into his arms. He tossed a grin at Petros before starting towards the door. “Brother, it’s been a pleasure and keep an eye on Cardinal Crazy for us.”

Petros slipped a small data disk into Leon’s pocket. “For you to show to the doctor,” he offered. “It is what was recorded here in case it was needed. I have another copy.” The Spaniard nodded and slipped out into the darkened hallway, Abel completely covered by the thick blanket.

It was several tense minutes before Leon slid the door of Catarina’s personal craft shut behind him and carefully strapped Abel into the co-pilot’s chair. He had been expecting a small winged plane, but instead he found a ship with thick armor and more controls than he truly knew what to do with. However, the basic system of this advanced craft was the same as the planes he was use to flying, so he hoped he wouldn’t have any problems with it.

“Hope to Heaven I don’t have to mess with any of those fancy buttons,” muttered Leon as he started the engine, and in a few minutes they were air born and heading east. Dark eyes flickered over to Abel to discover that he had mercifully passed out, and Leon reached over to tuck the blanket back around pale shoulders. “It should take us about five hours to get to the Empire and then I’ll start broadcasting whatever it was that you gave Catarina. Hopefully whatever is suppose to happen happens so some trigger happy Methuselah guard doesn’t shoot us down ‘cause I don’t know half of what this thing has and it would really ruin our day to have this thing explode.”

Shivers wracked Abel’s body, and he whimpered faintly, his brow wrinkling with whatever horrors were dancing behind closed eyes. Reaching over, Leon brushed matted hair off of Abel’s face, caressing the soft cheek in a soothing manner, and Abel leaned slightly into the touch before apparently slipping deeper into sleep. Smiling, Leon returned his attention to piloting the craft as the landscape changed from hills and farms to forests. He swore as he dug the paper out of his locket one handed, and he noticed Abel flinched in his sleep at the strong word.

“Ya know, Catarina had everyone at AX out looking for you when we weren’t on missions,” Leon remarked, his voice upbeat and filled with his usual good natured charm as he managed to unfold the tightly folded piece of paper and frowned at the series of numbers printed on it in a neat hand. It didn’t make any sense to Leon as he split his attention between the paper and the craft. “She didn’t think you vanished for a minute, not like Hughes who couldn’t stay in one place for a second if it meant he missed out on killing vampires, and that was reinforced when Sister Kate found your glasses and ear cuffs next to an empty syringe. The Professor had a field day analyzing what was left in that before his Albion sensibilities were properly horrified on your behalf. How do you read this thing anyway? Catarina never said, just repeated whatever you told her about transmitting it and safety should be waiting for us at the Empire.”

A shaky, bloodstained hand emerged from the blanket and fiddled with the radio for a few minutes before a steady signal started transmitting. Leon looked over to find Abel curling back up in the thick and now bloodstained blanket, and smiled at the silver haired man. “Thanks. Don’t have a clue what it will do or who will be waiting for us, but it can’t be worse than Cardinal Crazy.”

“Seth will get it and wait for us,” Abel murmured, his eyes drooping shut again. “Can you talk to me? Please? About anything?”

Leon nodded. “Sure, I’ll babble your ear off, Abel,” he agreed, folding the paper back up and replacing it in his locket. He closed the lid, his fingers automatically caressing the smooth gold before both hands were back on the controls. “Wendy and Peter have been writing to me, and I just got their latest letter a few weeks ago. The last of the Lost Boys were adopted, and only they remain, but no one wants to adopt two children together. Too much trouble. People are willing to adopt one or the other, but they don’t wanna leave each other. Not too surprising really. Those two are going to be great together when they grow up.”

He chuckled, one hand coming up to touch his locket. “I’d probably take them in if I wasn’t a convicted felon and could claim my daughter as well. Sophia would like Peter and Wendy, and they’d get along once they got use to each other. Did I ever tell you about my Sophia? A beautiful little girl, she’s turning eight this year. She’s got my hair but her mother’s beauty. Gentle and kind, she wouldn’t hurt a fly if she could see it. My only regret is that she was born blind, never saw her papa or mama and unfortunately, never will. But she never let that get her down, said it made playing hide and seek more fun because she never had to close her eyes to count. Never could keep her down, my little beauty.”

A quick glance showed Abel had dozed off again, and Leon nodded. Abel would need to sleep to heal, and a friendly voice would be needed to keep the nightmares at bay. Besides, hearing a friendly voice would remind Abel that he wasn’t alone nor was he back in that hell hole. With that thought firmly in his mind, Leon opened his mouth and began rambling about anything he could think of, talking about whatever crossed his mind, even if it was only to grumble about the advanced craft he was flying.

Five hours later, Leon’s voice was scratchy from all the talking but he continued as the landscape changed again to mountains and thick, old forests that had been there since Armageddon. Abel hadn’t stirred since he had asked Leon to talk, and the Spaniard wished he would wake up, despite Abel’s need for healing sleep, to tell him what to do next because honestly, Leon didn’t have a clue. He knew that they had either passed the Empire’s border or were about to because only the Empire had truly old trees like the ones passing below them. Humans had destroyed many of their old forests centuries ago to make room for more farms or to take away the spots where vampires and weres could hide during the day.

“It’s truly a shame about human ignorance, ya know?” Leon mused, his dark eyes drinking in the beautiful old trees slipping away beneath them. “If we don’t understand it, we destroy it. If we fear it, we destroy it. If we’re suspicious of it, we watch it with unequaled paranoia before finding something that will justify destroying it. At least the Methuselah aren’t like that, if the forests they still have are anything to go by. Maybe it’s because they live so much longer than we do, they have time to get over those fears and distrusts. I’ve wondered what it would be like to live as long as a Methuselah, watch the years roll by and see the world change yet remain the same in so many ways.”

Dark eyes rose from the trees to focus on the stars scattered across the black velvet sky. “What would it be like to eventually be up there and look down on the earth? How different would it look? I bet it’s gorgeous without all the tension and strife that’s found down here.”

Off to one side, a shimmering dome of sapphire caught his attention, and Leon turned the craft to start in that direction. He had heard stories about the Byzantium Capital of the Empire, but to see it was truly a marvel. They were truly deep into the Empire at this point if he could see the Sapphire Wall of the capital, and he only hoped that this Seth was there or someone knew who this Seth was since Abel wasn’t talking.

Suddenly, an alarm shrieked on the panel and, he looked around, trying to find out what was going on when an explosion rocked the ship. Swearing, Leon fought the controls as the ship started to descend towards the forest below them, the alarm still shrieking before they crashed through branches, slowing their descent before slamming into the ground. Leon screamed as metal crumpled around them, arms flying to protect his face from the glass as it shattered, and in seconds, they had come to a stop, half buried in the ground from where their craft had slid across the grass.

Raising his head, Leon looked over at Abel who was blinking his eyes in confusion as he stared back at Leon. “I don’t know who we pissed off, but we gotta get going before they come back with help,” Leon stated, unfastening the harness even as slivers of glass fell from his dark hair. Rising to his feet, he hissed as his knee protested the movement, throbbing angrily as he rested some weight on it, before Leon shoved the pain aside with the rest of his injuries and moved over to Abel. “Sorry, but you’re in no shape to walk out of here. Hope you don’t mind if I carry you. Of course I have no idea what to do now or where your Seth is.”

“Empress... Sanctuary....” gasped Abel as Leon swung him up into the Spaniard’s arms before going completely limp as he passed out again.

Leon nodded as he made his way towards the door that had been ripped open during his less than perfect landing. “Right. We’ll go see the Empress and beg Sanctuary from her. Which means we have to get through a city of Methuselah, into the palace, and into her throne room without the person who knocked us down finding us first or even any unfriendly Methuselah.” He snorted. “Piece of cake.”

Shaking his head, Leon slipped out of the craft and into the darkness, hoping to loose any pursuers. It wasn’t going to be easy with his injuries and Abel’s, but Leon was nothing if not persistent. He juggled Abel slightly as he made sure his weapons were in easy reach, and he dug his throwing bracelets out from under his shirt sleeves. “Come on, Abel. Let’s blow this pop stand.”

Quietly, he slipped through the trees, ignoring the massive throbbing that was his right knee as he forced his body to move despite any injuries he had sustained in the crash. His ears strained for any sound of pursuit, and he jumped at each little sound as his skin crawled. He could hear night animals moving around the forest around him before the subtle hum of an approaching craft sent him deeper into the forest, towards the city and away from the broken craft that had brought them so far.

“I feel like I’m back in Hispania, fighting the Albion army,” he grumbled, quietly, as he squinted into the darkness. “But I was the best at what I did, so you’re in great hands.”

Abel didn’t reply but Leon wasn’t expecting him to as they moved deeper into the forest. A few hours later, they were at the shimmering blue dome and the thick stone wall that prevented them from advancing any further, and Leon growled as he studied the wall. It was tall, nearly three stories, and made of rough stone that was tightly fitted together, not giving much in the way of hand and foot holds. Leon might have been willing to attempt it if he had equipment and if Abel was in any shape to help, but neither was possible at the moment, forcing him to locate another way into the Imperial City.

Slowly, he made his way along the wall, looking for either a break in the wall or something that would let them get over the wall itself, when the clopping of hooves reached his ears, and Leon edged closer to the sound to find a cart coming up a dirt road that led right through the wall via an arch guarded by two armored soldiers. A blond woman was sitting in the driver’s seat, controlling the beautiful black horse that was pulling the hay filled cart. Her clothes were simple wool spun and her hair was pulled back in an intricate braid that was pinned up, keeping it clean and out of the way as she worked. But Leon’s eyes were drawn to the hay in the back once more. It was thick enough and piled high enough to hide both him and Abel, and all they had to do was get in it without knocking it all out of the cart.

Suddenly, the horse squealed and hopped sideways, causing the woman to stop the cart far enough away from the guards to not seem suspicious and climb down from the seat to see what was wrong with her animal. It was the perfect opportunity, and the second her sight was blocked by the huge horse, Leon was carrying Abel out of the trees and across the short distance that separated them from the wagon. With a bit of difficulty, Leon managed to get Abel hauled up into the cart without aggravating any of the silver haired man’s still healing injuries while his own knee screamed in protest. He could hear the woman cooing at the horse, soothing it while trying to find out what was wrong, as he scrunched as far down into the hay as he could with Abel and pulled more of the itchy, dusty hay on top of them, covering them completely from sight. There were a few more murmurs from the woman before the cart rocked as she resumed her spot, and in seconds, the cart was moving towards the wall again.

Leon breathed shallowly, doing his best not to inhale too much dust and sneeze at the wrong time, as the cart stopped a second time and there were soft voices as words were exchanged between the woman and the soldiers. He couldn’t hear what was being said through the hay, but apparently the woman passed inspection because they were moving again after only a few minutes. The clopping of the horses hooves changed in pitch, indicating that they were now on the cobble stones that covered the streets of civilized towns, and Leon carefully poked through the hay until he could make out their surroundings.

They were passing through old buildings that were well cared for, white walls peeking out between dark beams of wood, and twisting his head around, Leon could just make out the lightening sky, announcing that sunrise was on the way and people were going to be waking up and start moving around, making it harder for them to sneak anywhere, not with Abel still covered in blood and a trickle of the Spaniard’s own blood painting his face where a shard of glass had cut him.

The woman turned the horse into a small yard before hopping off again. There was a rattling of buckles and a creaking of leather as she unhitched the horse, and the clopping of hooves announced that she was leading it away. Raising his head out of the hay, Leon looked around to find that they were in a deserted yard with the stable doors laying open, indicating where the woman had gone, and he climbed out, pulling Abel back into his arms before slipping out of the yard, not noticing the blonde woman who watched them from the hayloft with dark eyes and a small smile on her face.

Slowly, Leon made his way through the strange streets towards the huge palace he could see towering over the other buildings, ducking into dark allies when soldiers or the now awake civilians appeared, his various injuries protesting loudly as he forced his body to move faster while carrying the unconscious form of his friend. Each minute they were out in the city was another minute they were closer to being discovered by whomever had shot their craft down, and while Leon could fight if needed, he didn’t know if Abel could hold on long enough for him to fight any enemy that found them.

After what seemed like an eternity, they were at the ornate walls that surrounded the palace itself, but despite being inside the city itself, these walls were even more impossible to scale. The stones were polished smooth with no sign of wear or corrosion from being out in the elements with each stone flowing almost seamlessly into the next.

“These Methuselah really know how to build something to make it impossible to get into,” Leon muttered, glaring at the wall. Maybe if he found a servants’ entrance, he could sneak them in that way...

There was a clattering of wheels along with the clopping of horses, and Leon turned, crouching behind a decorative shrub as he held Abel close. An ornate carriage bearing a crest of some noble came up, apparently in no hurry to get where it was going, and Leon said a silent prayer of thanks as it slowed down to turn towards an ornate gate in the wall that he could just make out. Someone was looking out for them, and now all he had to do was get Abel over there to hitch a ride through this wall under the carriage since there was no hay to hide in. After all, it had worked the first time, and this time they didn’t have as far to go.

Sneaking closer despite the shrieking his twisted knee was making, Leon made out one guard on the other side of the carriage, talking with the driver as the curtains were tightly shut in the carriage, making it impossible for someone to see out even with a Methuselah’s sharp eyesight. Somehow, Leon managed to slip under the carriage with Abel, and using his own body as a sling, he cradled the taller man as he clung to the underside of the carriage. He gritted his teeth at the strain being put on his limbs, digging his fingernails into the iron bars in determination to hang on, as the driver exchanged a few more pleasantries with the guard before the carriage pulled through the gate.

The carriage moved up the cobble stone drive, each bounce jarring Leon’s arms and legs and threatening to dislodge Abel from his precarious perch on top of Leon, and it curved around to stop in front of a huge expanse of marbled steps. The carriage shifted above him as the passenger disembarked, and he watched as slender legs encased in black leather pants and heeled boots while partially obscured by a long black cloak turned towards the driver.

“Park by the stable and see to the horses,” instructed a female voice, a slight harried edge to her words. “I will send for you when I am ready to depart.”

“Yes, Duchess,” replied the driver before the carriage was pulling away, and Leon managed keep from crying out as the carriage hit a deep mud puddle, splashing him with the muddy water, as it passed into what had to be the stable yard. It had felt like his twisted knee had been dislocated from the jar and he hoped it hadn’t because it would be impossible to walk on it if it was. It was hard enough with it twisted, but dislocated meant that they would be at the mercy of anyone who happened by, and frankly, Leon was not in the mood to tour the Empire’s dungeon.

“Greetings,” called out a friendly voice as someone approached the carriage just as it was pulled to a stop again, and now Leon could make out study leather boots that belonged to someone who worked all day. “The Duchess reporting to Her Majesty?”

“Yeah, and I’m stuck here until she calls for me,” the driver grumbled, climbing down. “Something big’s going on ‘cause she was called out in the middle of the night, and I don’t think either of us had a chance to eat before all the brouhaha started.”

Hearty laughter broke out. “Then let Andrei and Ivan deal with your black beasties while I talk the kitchen maid into getting us both breakfast,” the first man announced before he bellowed for the two boys to come for the horses as he led the driver off. Twisting around as much as he could, Leon watched as two teens raced up, unhitched the horses and led them off, leaving the yard deserted and nothing between him and the door he could just see. With a groan of relief, Leon gently lowered them to the ground and took a few seconds to get some feeling back into his arms before he scooped Abel back up and started for the door.

Whatever power was watching out for them apparently decided to blink at that moment because just as he reached for the door, it opened to reveal a young pretty teenage girl in a maid’s uniform, and her eyes widened at the sight of him standing there. Leon could only imagine the sight he must be, hair tangled with hay, blood painting his face a macabre mask, dark mud stained clothes, and carrying a body wrapped in a stained blanket. Her pretty blue eyes widened as she opened her mouth to scream when Leon, quickly slapped his hand across her mouth, somehow managing to keep a hold on Abel, and backed her into the hallway behind the door even as he let the door swing shut behind him.

“Please, senorita, don’t scream,” Leon begged, his eyes pleading as he spoke softly. “We are not here to harm anyone. We only wish to seek sanctuary with Her Imperial Majesty.”

Her eyes calmed enough that fear was replaced with caution as she gently reached up with one hand to remove Leon’s hand from her mouth, her other hand still holding the wash basket on her hip. “How do I know you are not fugitives, here to impose on Her Majesty’s kindness and mercy only to get her in trouble when your own people come looking for you?”

“We are fugitives, but not in the way you think, senorita hermosa,” pleaded Leon, his voice still soft as he peeled back part of the blanket to show Abel’s unconscious face and part of the injuries on his chest. She gasped at the sight of the deliberate cuts and burns, her blue eyes large. “You see, I rescued him from an evil man who delighted in torturing him and hurting him when he was helpless, and now that man and his allies are hunting us.”

Carefully tucking the blanket back around Abel’s body and concealing him from sight again, Leon gazed at the maid, waiting for her to come to a decision. She stood there for a few moments, golden braids shining in the light as she bit her bottom lip, thinking furiously before she nodded once, stubborn chin raising as fiery blue eyes met hopeful brown.

“I will help, but if this turns out to be a trick that hurts Her Majesty, I will take care of you myself, *senorita*,” she stated, shaking a finger in his face in warning, and he smiled, bowing slightly. She sniffed, whirling around with her skirts flaring and started down the hallway with Leon following.

Quietly, they managed to slip through the lavishly decorated halls, and the maid seemed to know when the guards were approaching because every so often, she would turn down another hallway and a few minutes later, Leon would hear the heavy tread of armored feet passing. With the pretty maid as a guide, they managed to avoid even other servants and petty bureaucrats that always seemed to fill the hallways of the Vatican at least and cause people to trip over them when they least wanted to. It was almost amazing how many times the Pope had managed to avoid everyone long enough to slip away for some time alone.

Finally, she stopped in front of a door, and turned back to face him. “This is the servants’ entrance to the Throne Room,” she stated, gesturing for him to follow her. She led him into what looked like a plain antechamber with no decorations save for a simple chair and a torch lit in the wall. Reaching up, she pulled on the torch, and part of the stone wall swung outward, revealing a large room lit on the other side, and Leon could just make out quiet voices talking.

The maid gave him a small push. “Go,” she whispered. “Her Majesty is over there. I will watch your actions.”

With that warning, she pushed him a bit harder towards the open door, and taking a breath, Leon forced his legs to carry him forward.

@@@

Sitting on her throne, Empress Agusta Vradica, Ageless Mother of the Methuselan Empire, listened as Astharoshe Asran, Viscountess of Odessa and Duchess of Kiev, reported on her latest mission which had been a simple search and rescue. Late last night, the Empress, who was known to a select few as Seth Nightlord, had received an emergency signal from a long dormant satellite, the message a simple SOS from the one person she trusted most in this world.

Her brother, Abel Nightroad.

Tracing the signal back, she found that it was coming from one location, and she had sent Astha out to find Abel and bring him back to the safety of the palace. But apparently, the only thing Astha had found was a wrecked personal craft with some traces of human blood where the survivor had been injured and a few long strands of silver hair. The only indication Abel had been in the craft at all.

“I searched as long as I could, Majesty, but was unable to find any further traces before the sun drove me to seek shelter,” concluded Astha, kneeling on one knee as her head was bowed. She was still dressed in her black leathers instead of the more decorative Court dress she wore when reporting to the Empress, and her Spear of Gae Bolg rested on the floor beside her.

“You did well, Astha,” replied Seth, propping her head up on a fist. “I only wish I knew where Abel was and what trouble he’s in to send that signal.” She ignored Astha’s startled look before the Methuselan Noble remembered herself enough to look down again, and she shook her head, frustrated. “Abel, where *are* you?”

There was the sound of footsteps from the servants’ entrance, but instead of being the almost silent steps her servants were trained to have, these were heavy. Labored, as if the person was injured and carrying a heavy load. Seth turned her head, one hand poised over the button to summon the guards if it turned out to be more than her or Astha could handle, when she saw a man staggering towards them, each step carefully placed as if unsure of his greeting. His shoulder length dark hair was tangled with hay and mud while mud stained his clothes and blood painted his face in a garish light. Large silver bangles glinted off his wrists while a gun and a knife were at his waist. In his arms, he carried a large figure wrapped completely in a dull gray blanket that had become soaked with the blood of the hidden person. Seth was aware of Astha gripping her spear, ready to jump between her and the man if needed.

“Your Majesty, we seek sanctuary,” began the man, a slight Spanish flavor to his words as if his dark coloring wasn’t enough to mark his heritage as from Hispania, when his words cut off in a startled and pained yelp as his one leg collapsed beneath him, sending him sprawling on the floor with the bundle falling from his arms. The blanket caught on part of his clothes, opening to spill a very familiar form out on the floor, and Seth cried out as she stumbled over to where her brother was sprawled on the floor, injured in a way she had hoped never to see again, as she ripped off the veil and voice modifier she was wearing.

“Abel,” gasped Astha, but Seth had already gathered Abel in her arms.

She raised her green eyes to meet pain filled brown. “Sanctuary granted,” she stated, lifting Abel as if he were the child instead of her. “Astha, bring him. He has much to tell us.” Turning, she slipped out of the Throne Room via a door hidden behind some tapestries even as the man yelped behind her. A quick glance showed that Astha had simply scooped him up in her arms and was carrying him before Seth started up the stairs.

Emerging into a large lush suite, she carried Abel into the richly decorated bathroom and gently laid him on the floor before motioning for Astha to place the stranger next to the shower as she ran a critical eye over him. The cloth was stretched tight around one knee, indicating at least a twisted knee with swelling and one of them would have to cut his pants off. “Astha, go into the next room and send a servant for more towels and my physician. Then get the scissors off my desk and the comb off my dresser.”

“Yes, Majesty,” replied Astha with a bow before she slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Seth started filling the tub with hot water before turning to gaze at the man with her hands on her hips, completely ignoring the blood that stained her silk clothes. “Who are you and what happened to my brother?”

“Father Leon Garcia de Asturias, codename Dandelion, of the AX Department. Call me Leon,” the man replied with a charming smile. “As to Father Four Eyes, I mean Father Abel, Cardinal di Medici has started slipping away from sanity and Father Abel was his target.” He suddenly snapped his fingers and dug into a pocket, coming out with a miraculously unharmed disk before holding it out to her. “One of the Inquisitorial Department grew suspicious of di Medici’s activities after Father Abel had been missing for three months and followed him into the dungeon where he found Abel and also set up a camera to record what was going on when he realized that he couldn’t rescue him alone.” He nodded to the disk. “That’s a recording. He said to show it to the doctor, but I think you might need to see it more. It’s not going to be pleasant if what his injuries say. He already healed his broken arms and ankles by having me set his arms, and then he seemed to suck his spilled blood *back* as his eyes turned red. Brother Petros managed to get Abel calmed down and then he passed out.”

Nodding, Seth turned back to Abel, gently lifting him into the warm water, before slipping out of her own bloodied garments, unconcerned about her nudity. “Well, Leon, get out of all the clothes you can because someone’s gonna have to cut your pants off with your knee that bad, and then Astha can help you shower the rest of the blood and grime off of you. I’ll tend to Abel as I doubt either you or Astha can handle him should he slip into full Crusnik mode.”

Leon ran a hand through his hair and grimaced at the tangles there. “Look, Your Majesty, I really don’t understand that much about Abel or what he can do or even what his connection to you is,” he stated, his voice soft and a bit lost. “All I know is that he’s my friend, and he told me to come here after we crashed and his Seth never showed up.”

She smiled as she brushed a tangled lock of grimy silver hair out of Abel’s peaceful face. “He is my brother in every way that counts,” she announced, grabbing a washcloth and the soap, carefully washing the blood off of his motionless form to reveal the extent of Abel’s injuries. Knife cuts battled for space with whip lashes and burns on the pale skin, and Seth did her best to push aside her growing anger for the one who did this to her kind and gentle brother so she could concentrate on Abel. She glanced over at him and raised an eyebrow. “I do not see you disrobing, Senor de Asturias. Do you wish for me to cut all of your clothes off?”

He snorted and started tugging at the shirt. “You look young enough to be my daughter, Empress, no matter what your true age might be,” he replied, finally pulling the shirt off over his head. “Don’t make me turn you over my lap and spank you.”

Her laughter rang out just as Astha returned with an arm full of towels with the comb and scissors balanced on top of the pile. She carefully placed the towels on a nearby chair before handing the scissors and the comb to Seth. “Your physician will be here in about five minutes.”

“Thank you, Astha,” replied Seth before waving off the scissors and gesturing towards Leon. “You’ll have to cut his pants off since his knee is too swollen to get them off the normal way, and if you could then help him into the shower.”

For a few seconds, it looked like the blonde Methuselah was going to protest before she nodded and walked over to kneel before Leon who had placed his silver bracelets and his weapons off to one side. “Don’t get use to this, human,” she stated, her voice hard as she gently worked his boots off. “If you hadn’t helped my tovarash, I wouldn’t even give you the time of day.”

Leon snorted and winced when Astha accidentally jarred his injured leg. “I don’t like having women at my feet,” he retorted, peeling the blood stained fingerless gloves from his hands. “I prefer my women willing to stand up for themselves instead of simper and cower.” He smirked. “You don’t strike me as the sort to simper, Duchess.”

Seth bit her lip at the startled look on Astha’s face before the blonde ducked her head and paid attention to what the scissors were cutting, before Seth turned back to Abel and gently washed his hair until it gleamed again. Then she picked up the comb and began to gently remove the tangles, teasing the cut leather strap out of a particularly nasty knot before tossing it aside. It was easy to figure out what the strap had done and despite the healing he would get after ingesting the blood of a Methuselah, he would be sore for days.

The sound of the shower starting had her glance over to find Astha supporting Leon in the shower while her leathers were tossed off to one side, and Seth couldn’t help but giggle. Between the clothes scattered across various surfaces and a couple in both the bath and the shower, anyone entering the room would wonder why an orgy was starting in the Empress’ personal bathroom.

It took two refills of the water before Abel was completely clean of dirt, grime and blood and his hair shimmered like the spun silver it resembled. The only thing that bothered Seth was that Abel hadn’t stirred or even twitched once since he had been brought into her throne room. Climbing into the tub, she cradled him to her, his ear resting over her heart as his long hair floated around them in the water, and she only hoped her presence was enough to reassure him that he wasn’t alone.

Now only if he would wake up for her.

@@@

The room was hot, too hot for a normal human to withstand it for long periods of time, but that was how the Master preferred it. Made it harder for someone to lie to him when they were close to roasting in their own skin. The Master didn’t mind the heat and therefor he didn’t either. Why should he care about something as insignificant as the temperature of a room when he was one of his Master’s prized War Dogs, one the Master had taken in and broken to his hand before showing what pleasures awaited at his feet, like the other War Dog. Part of him objected to being treated like a bed slave and a creature of slaughter, whispering that he had been an individual person once, a good man who had done good things that hadn’t resulted in bodies being broken and blood running like water, but it was a small part that the rest of him couldn’t remember even the name that part belonged to.

He lay half sprawled next to the imposing throne his Master sat on, a gold chain running from the sapphire collar around his neck to the arm of the throne, keeping him close enough for his Master to pet and caress at his leisure. Black feathered wings were folded against his back while sapphire encrusted cuffs encircled his wrists and ankles, and the only other things he wore were gold rings piercing his nipples and a golden ring around his cock, the three rings connected by delicate gold chains. He knew the other War Dog was decorated the same way, her stones emeralds and a ring through her clit as her emerald wings flexed in the hot air. They were their Master’s obedient slaves, something not even the harem slaves could claim.

His ruby eyes drifted over to where the harem slaves were sitting in a pile on the blankets and pillows that had been tossed down for their comfort. They were decorated similarly to the War Dogs, but their collars and cuffs didn’t have jewels encrusted in them, and each had a chain leading from an ankle cuff to a large ring sunk into the floor. The blond Methuselah boy with his red eyes stared around with a blank look, not seeming to care what happened to him anymore while the slender young man with gray eyes no longer huddled in an embarrassed and horrified ball behind the curvy blonde woman with matching eyes. The only other woman in the harem now was the blonde Methuselah with the red streak in her bangs, and both women looked at the War Dogs with sorrow in their eyes. There had been a red haired girl as part of the harem, but his Master had gifted her to the Puppet Man to do with as he pleased. It had been quite amusing to watch the Puppet Man make her dance to his tune before taking her right there for his Master’s pleasure.

Strong fingers stroked through his hair, and he looked up into beloved blue eyes as blond hair framed the beautiful face of his Master.

And he smiled in delight as his Master beckoned him into his Master’s lap.

Screaming in denial, Abel thrashed against the hands he could still feel on his skin, desperate to break out of the dream he hoped it was while part of him feared that it was the truth. The truth that he had failed in stopping Cain and both the world and his friends had paid the ultimate price for his failure while he himself was broken by Cain for his own sadistic pleasure.

“Yo! Father Four Eyes!” A voice cut through the nightmare, chasing the last bits of it away, and Abel opened his eyes to find himself being held not by Cain but by Leon, Seth and Astha, all three of whom were naked and soaking wet. A shaky but relieved smile spread across Leon’s face. “Welcome back to the land of the living, Abel.”

He tried to talk but his throat locked up on him, and he grimaced in pain as his hands flew to his throat. Seth reached out of his line of sight and brought a glass of cool water to his lips, and he greedily drank it, sighing as the water refreshed his parched throat. As he swallowed, he could feel gentle fingers on his throat, massaging the still tight muscles there, and finally, he pushed the glass away with a shaking hand as he tried talking again.

“What happened? How long was I out?” Abel croaked, blinking up at them.

“You were out for about eight hours, Father Four Eyes,” teased Leon as he jerked a head towards Seth and Astha. “Of course, I’m not surprised you woke up with a pair of lovely ladies like these taking care of you.”

Seth only shook her head and gently helped Abel sit up, and he winced as various pains reminded him that he was not only low on blood but had been put through the wringer by Francesco. “Easy, brother. You’re going to be hurting for a while, Crusnik healing beside the point.”

He smiled and ran the back of his hand down her cheek, ignoring the way it trembled with the effort. “With a doctor like you, I’ll be up and bothering Astha in no time.”

“But first, you need to replace all that blood that you lost thanks to Cardinal Crazy,” retorted Seth, running a critical eye over his battered body. “I wouldn’t risk shifting yet because you’re going to be ravenous when you do, and Astha’s the closest source of blood, which means that I’m going to have to mummify you for now.”

“Then I am at your mercy, my dear sister,” teased Abel, holding his arms out a bit even as he tried to ignore the twisting cramps in his lower abdomen. He didn’t want to think about what had caused his various injuries, not yet. He would deal with the memories later, because unlike last time, he wasn’t in the middle of a war and the torture he had undergone wasn’t just considered a different aspect of his training.

Apparently, he wasn’t able to fool Seth completely from the way she eyed him, but she didn’t say anything as she retrieved some bandages from a cabinet along with some ointment before kneeling next to Abel. After smearing the ointment over the worst of the injuries, she started wrapping the bandages around his torso. “Astha, you and Leon might want to get dried before my physician shows up to treat Leon’s injuries.”

Leaning in close to pass the bandages around Abel’s back, Seth placed her mouth right next to his ear so the other two in the room wouldn’t hear the question Abel knew she was about to ask. “Did he tear you inside?”

He closed his eyes and rested his hands on his sister’s slender hips as he buried his nose in her throat, letting her scent calm his nerves and steady him. Even though he didn’t want to think about what had happened until he was more steady, he knew Seth wasn’t asking to be cruel but because she needed to know to treat all of his injuries.

“Probably,” he confessed, his breath not even stirring her short, black hair. “He liked cutting, whipping and burning.” His eyes opened briefly to glance at Astha and Leon who were busy getting dried and back into leather clothes with damp skin in Astha’s case. “How much does Astha know about us?”

Seth giggled, her green eyes dancing mischievously as she continued wrapping the bandage around his chest, her voice returning to its previous volume. “Just that we both require the blood of Methuselah the way she requires the blood of humans, we’re not gods no matter what Cain thinks, and that you’re my beloved brother and the Crown Prince of the Empire.”

Abel had been absently nodding his head in agreement as Seth talked only to stare at her last announcement with wide blue eyes, and she tapped his shoulders. “Arms up please,” she chirped as if she hadn’t just announced that she was going to declare him the Crown Prince of her Empire.

“Well, at least this time it isn’t the Imperial Consort,” Abel remarked, dryly, sending Leon into a coughing fit.

“What do you expect from me? I have always had the biggest crush on my silver brother,” she stated with a sniff. “Especially after we found that abandoned music store and spent the better part of a month doing nothing but listening to the different music there.”

That memory startled laughter out of Abel, and he grinned at Seth. “Old Ironhide wasn’t happy with us when he found out, despite the fact that we’d already killed that Methuselah leader and were just waiting for our pick up date,” he replied, shaking his head at the memory of the gray haired general who had bellowed at them for hours for wasting valuable time that could have been better used to combat the vampiric threat. Later Lilith had told both of them she was proud that they had found the music store and that had started an hours long discussion about different music and artists. “The generals had no sense of humor at all.”

“You’re a prince?” Leon’s voice echoed through the room, an octave higher than he usually talked, and Abel looked over at him, having forgotten Leon was there for a few minutes. The Spaniard waved a hand in his general direction. “If you’re the Crown Prince of the Empire, why are you working for the Vatican and broke all the time?”

The silver haired man smiled gently at his friend. It wasn’t Leon’s fault that Seth hadn’t told Abel her plans to make him her Crown Prince. “Because I wasn’t the Crown Prince before Seth stated it a few minutes ago, and I was working not so much for the Vatican but for Catarina, helping protect humanity,” he stated before clasping his hands before him in a dramatic manner and gazing at the ceiling as if in prayer as his voice took on the faint whine he normally used around others. “And the accounting department has *no* idea how much food costs anymore! I’m lucky to be able to afford a cup of tea with thirteen sugars in it to silence my empty stomach’s growls.”

“I don’t understand, tovarash,” began Astha, and Abel dropped the silly priest act to look at her with serious blue eyes. “If you are not the foolish priest, why do you act like it? More often than not, your enemies will not fear you and your allies will not listen to what you say until it is nearly too late.” She bowed her head, apparently remembering when they had first met in Venice and she had refused to listen to him, resulting in several humans dead or seriously injured.

Abel sighed and closed his eyes, not willing to answer that question without revealing more secrets that were between he and Seth, but he knew how much it cost the proud Noblewoman to ask such a question. “When you are feared, then it is hard to know who is fighting on your side out of loyalty and who is waiting to get close enough to remove the threat you represent,” he stated, deciding on that explanation. It was the truth, but not the entire explanation which would require much more explaining to make any sense. “When I started working with Catarina, I decided that I would be looked upon as foolish instead of feared.”

Just then, there was a loud knock on the outer room’s door, and Seth casually grabbed a robe, wrapping the terry cloth around her body as she moved out to answer the door with Astha right behind her, leaving Abel and Leon sitting in the warm bathroom. Abel shifted slightly and winced as the twisting cramps decided to remind him of his internal injuries since his external ones were bandaged. Hearing more voices than just Astha and Seth, he tossed a towel to Leon before wriggling one around his own waist, ignoring the flares of pain that flashed through his battered body.

He had just gotten the towel fastened around his waist as he sat on it, when the door opened to reveal two additional figures being led in by Seth as Astha brought up the rear. The one was a familiar apparently teenage boy with short blond hair and red eyes while the other was a less familiar blonde woman that was no less regal than Seth herself. Abel briefly wondered why Mirka Fortuna, Duchess of Moldova, was here with her grandson, Ion Fortuna, the Earl of Memphis.

“Abel, I’m sure you remember the Duchess of Moldova and her grandson, the Earl of Memphis,” began Seth, gesturing to the Methuselah as she spoke. “Mirka is my physician, trained by me and with a PhD from the Medical University as well to treat any important guest of my kingdom.”

“Hey! You’re the lady with the wagon!” Leon burst out, pointing a finger at Mirka, and everyone looked at him, Abel the most confused of all. A faint blush stained Leon’s cheeks but he kept his head high. “We crashed outside of the Sapphire Dome, and I was trying to find a way past the guards to get over the wall when she drives up with a wagon full of hay. Then her horse suddenly shies, forcing her to stop the wagon, so I figure why waste a perfectly good opportunity and hitch us a ride buried in the hay.”

Ion turned to face his grandmother with surprised red eyes. “Why did you do such a thing, Grandmother? And how did you know?”

Mirka smiled mysteriously. “I just knew,” she replied with a faint shrug. “The same as I knew you would be needed here but not in the way you believe you are needed.” The young Methuselah continued to look at her confused, but Abel realized from that cryptic statement that Mirka must have a touch of precognition or foresight that gave her ‘hunches’ about certain events.

The regal woman walked over and knelt before Leon, taking his swollen knee in gentle hands. Leon hissed as she carefully prodded it before nodding. “You have badly twisted it and then strained it further with your activities,” she announced. “You’re going to have to stay off of it for it to heal. I will make you several compresses to help reduce the soreness and swelling along with a willow bark tea for any pain you are feeling. Do not put any weight on this leg until after either Her Imperial Majesty or I have verified that you are in no danger of injuring yourself again.”

Leon nodded his understanding, his eyes a bit large at the sight of the regal woman still kneeling at his feet, and Abel snickered before wincing as his injured ribs reminded him that it wasn’t a good idea to irritate them too much. He winced again as a hand unexpectedly touched his shoulder, and he looked up to find Seth standing next to him.

“We should move into the sitting room,” she announced. “Astha, if you will assist Leon while Mirka and Ion prepare the tea and compresses, I’ll finish with Abel.”

Ion looked like he was about to start asking questions when Mirka casually pushed him out of the room as Astha slung Leon’s arm across her shoulders, helping him hop out of the room. When the door closed behind them, Seth turned to Abel and held out a hand, waiting with an eyebrow raised as if daring him not to accept it.

“I suppose now that the others are out of the room, you will want to know the full extent of my injuries and won’t be satisfied until you do,” sighed Abel, reluctantly taking his sister’s hand and allowing her to pull him to his feet. He knew she was going to be furious at Cardinal di Medici once she found out what all the Cardinal had done to him, but apparently it couldn’t be avoided any longer.

“Of course,” she purred in a dangerous voice, a flicker of red in her green eyes the only betrayal of her temper. “I need to know how much flesh to take in payment out of his hide.”

Bowing his head, Abel rested his hands against the vanity placed against one wall and began to talk. The words were hesitant at first, not wanting to emerge, bringing with them the deliberate agony he had suffered into the bright light of day where they were made all the more real. After a few minutes, it was as if a dam had broken inside Abel, and the words came pouring out, almost tripping over each other in their mad rush to be heard. He spoke of feeling the leather tighten around his arms as it dried until he finally couldn’t take the pain on his bones any longer and had deliberately broke his arms to relieve the creaking pressure, the fire of the whips as flesh gave way beneath leather, the searing agony mixed with the scent of his own flesh burning when Francesco grew tired of carving his skin and decided to apply red hot metal to him instead. Finally, he spoke about how Francesco has drawn the blood that had stained his thighs, using the other end of the whips to hurt him, all while telling him that he had failed.

Soft hands stroked Abel’s silver hair before gentle kisses were pressed over the bandages the entire time he talked, and Seth finished treating his various injuries before wrapping her arms around his waist to just hold him as his words ran out. For a few minutes, they stood there, Seth offering comfort and Abel greedily accepting it as he tried to push aside the feeling of helplessness his imprisonment had infused in him, before Seth pulled back long enough to wrap a large bath sheet around Abel’s shoulders. “Come on. The other’s are waiting for us, and you need blood.”

Abel allowed Seth to gently escort him out into the sitting room where Leon had been placed sideways on the couch, his injured leg stretched out before him on the cushions while his swollen knee was wrapped in towels as Mirka poured a cup of tea. Ion stood nearby, fidgeting with his fingers as he tried to appear uninterested in what was going on around him and failing, and Astha perched in a nearby chair, her long blond hair twisted up in a towel to keep it from dripping water everywhere.

“You will stay off that leg as often as possible, and I will have a set of crutches found for you to use to get around,” Mirka announced as Seth situated Abel in the other couch, and he pulled the bath sheet a bit tighter around him, not wanting the others to know how badly he was injured. Leon and Astha were his only friends in this place, and the last thing he wanted was their pity, something he knew Seth would never give him.

Astha rose to walk over and stand in front of Abel, her golden eyes gazing at him with trust. “How much blood will you need, tovarash?”

“What?” squeaked Ion, his red eyes wide, and Abel flinched backwards, unable to help his automatic response. He had spent so long trying to blend in with humans so as not to be seen as a monster that he couldn’t help but flinch at any negative responses towards the fact that he might be different from everyone else. It was bad enough he had already tasted Ion’s blood back in Carthage when the young Methuselah had been unconscious when Radu Barvon, Baron of Luxor and the Rosen Kruenz Order’s Flamberg, had used the Goliath tank from the Inquisitorial Department to blow off his left arm and wing. It had been ridiculously easy to reform both with Ion’s blood mixed with his own, and Abel absently licked his lips as he remembered how sweet and young it tasted.

His eyes were drawn up Astha’s slender form to her pale neck where her blood ran closest and strongest beneath her skin, and he released his iron control on the nanotechnology in his blood that controlled the Crusnik virus, feeling new strength sweep through his body, washing the aches and pains away even as it brought a sharp hunger with it. A low growl rumbled in his chest as his hair rose above his head from the static electricity his body was generating, waiting to be released against those that would hurt him again, and he stood, the bath sheet falling away to reveal the numerous bandages that enveloped him, but Abel wasn’t concerned with that, not any more. No one in the room could hurt him when he was like this, and he reveled in the strength that now filled him.

Abel held out his hand, the black claws he now sported glinting in the sunlight, and Astha slid her hand into his almost in a daze. Gently wrapping his fingers around her hand, he pulled her closer as he encircled her waist with his arm and placed a kiss on her wrist before his fangs slid through her skin, releasing a river of hot blood that slid over his tongue like a caress before sweeping through his body, much like the strength had earlier. A deep purring growl echoed in his chest as he felt the skin on his back split to allow his raven black wings to unfold even as the sharp feathers cut through the bandages wrapped around his torso, sending them slithering to the carpet.

Vaguely, he heard a tisking sound nearby, but didn’t break off his feeding until Astha moaned weakly and swayed against him, forcing Abel to hold her up. Reluctantly, he pulled his mouth away from her wrist, licking the twin puncture wounds as they healed before he turned to lay her down on the couch, his wings absently flexing against his back as the last of the bandages fell to the floor. There were startled gasps from behind him, but Abel ignored them as he straightened up, stretching his rapidly healing body and glorifying in the lack of pain for the first time in months.

@@@

Leon had heard a bit about Abel and his abilities from a few of the others in the AX but no one seemed to know the full extent of the silver haired man’s talents. He was goofy, clumsy, and a bit whiny, but there was no better person to have on your side or at your back. The fact that he had survived three months of torture spoke a great deal to Leon, and he had seen a part of Abel’s abilities when he had healed his broken bones in the dungeon, the red eyes adding to the sense of danger that had been an almost palatable aura around the silver haired man.

But watching deliberately inflicted injuries heal right before his startled gaze as Abel stood there, wearing nothing but the ebony wings that had sprouted from his back, Leon was starting to understand just how much had been hidden from everyone. The aura of danger was still there but it was subdued to the feeling of *power* that stood there, a god wearing the form of a man, and yet Leon knew that he was as safe as anyone in this room.

Then, the powerful figure turned, the ebony wings folding against his back with a slight twitch, and Leon watched in stunned silence as Abel - no the Crusnik - again held out a hand tipped in black claws, much like a Methuselah’s razor sharp nails, to Ion. The young looking Methuselah shrank back from the outstretched hand, as if it were a poisonous viper instead of a hand, and the Crusnik flinched as if struck, his hand hastily withdrawing to curl against his chest. Glowing crimson eyes widened in that beautifully pale face as dark lips parted as if to say something, fangs flashing briefly, before his wings twitched and he vanished in a gust of wind.

A very unladylike snarl came from the tiny Empress before her green eyes were replaced with crimson and she vanished as well, probably after Abel. Snorting, Leon folded his arms across his chest and glared at Ion. “I hope you’re happy.”

Red eyes turned to look at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

Leon pointed in the direction of the swaying curtains, the only indication of any direction that the siblings had gone. “You couldn’t have hurt him more than if you had driven a silver knife into his chest,” he growled, his dark eyes flashing, and he was almost grateful that his throwing bracelets, knife and gun were all in the bathroom still or he would have been tempted to use them on the young noble. “I thought you were at least an ally if not friend of Abel’s.”

“That wasn’t Father Nightroad!” The boy’s voice actually broke about halfway through his exclamation, and Leon had to wonder just how old he truly was. “Father Nightroad is a kind man! That was some sort of.... of... monster!”

The sound of a hand hitting flesh echoed through the air, and Leon looked at Astha, who was standing there with her hand still raised even as she managed to remain upright from her sudden rising off the couch.

“Do not *ever* call my tovarash a monster again, do you hear me, Earl of Memphis?” she growled, her golden eyes flashing dangerously as one of Ion’s hands came up to cradle his bruised cheek. “Or next time, I will personally call insult against you and show you why I am a Special Investigator for Her Majesty.”

Leon leveled a finger at Ion, glaring at the younger Methuselah. “That *man* has gone through the nine levels of Hell and more at the hands of a sadistic creature that is not even remotely human in my book any more,” he snarled, levering himself up to tower over Ion. “Now listen and listen good, hibrido [bastard], because I’m only gonna say this once and the next time, you’ll find yourself over my knee with your butt as red as Esther’s hair when I’m done. Entienda [Understand]?” Ion could only nod, his eyes huge in his pale face as his hand continued to cover the red bruise on his cheek. “Good. Now, Abel Nightroad is a good man who can’t help the circumstances of his birth any more than you can. If he was even a fraction of the monster you think he is, then I doubt Catarina would have been his friend for so long or even let him near her brother, the Pope. He also would have just attacked you for the blood he needs to heal instead of asking, and judging from the speed he just displayed, you wouldn’t have had time to squeak much less fight back if he had been that monster.”

Mirka appeared from out of the bathroom and handed Leon a towel that contained his weapons along with a large tunic like shirt. “You’ll find them both in the garden outside,” she remarked. “It’s a private garden for Her Majesty.”

“Thanks,” he replied before looking up at Astha after pulling on the tunic and the bracelets. “How ‘bout a lift out to talk some common sense into Abel?” He fastened the belt around his waist and felt a bit of tension leave at the familiar weight of weapons again. He knew he was safe from the Methuselah in the room, but he had spent too long in the AX with rogue vampires breathing down his neck to be completely comfortable without weapons when around Methuselah. It would take some time, he knew, to get use to the idea of being around friendly Methuselah, but until then, he’d keep his weapons close to settle his nerves.

Astha carefully scooped him up, making sure to keep the compress around his knee before she nodded to Mirka and walked towards the balcony. Leon swallowed hard as he stared down the almost two stories to the late blooming garden below and wrapped his arms a bit tighter around Astha’s shoulders, making sure that the towel was between his bracelets and her skin so the silver wouldn’t burn her. With a quick hop, they were in the garden and Astha put him down long enough for him to get his feet under him, and together, they walked over to where Seth was sitting under the tree with a ball of misery in her lap, black feathered wings almost hiding the pale figure.

“Yo! Father Four-Eyes!” Leon called as he hobbled over to the tree and flopped down on the ground near Seth and Abel, and wary red eyes peeked above a black wing, reminding Leon of a dog that had been treated so cruelly that it only expected to be abused instead of treated with kindness. “Ya know, I gotta admit out of everything I’ve seen at the AX, the ability to grow wings is the one I’m most jealous of.”

Whatever Abel had been expecting him to say, that hadn’t been it if the confused expression was anything to go by. The wing closest to the Spaniard twitched as if to reach out to him before it was firmly folded against Abel’s back.

“I don’t understand,” confessed Abel, his voice deeper than it usually was and it sent a shiver of delight down Leon’s back before the Spaniard told his libido to knock it off until *much* later. No sense pulling Abel out of his shell only to scare him back into it. “Why are you here and not acting like Ion did?” Ruby eyes looked away as a sneer crossed Abel’s face. “I’m the Vatican’s monster after all.”

Snarling, Leon reached out and grabbed the back of Abel’s neck, pulling the silver haired man over to him before claiming those dark lips with his own. If Abel wouldn’t listen to words, then actions would shout so loud that he’d have to listen. A startled gasp slipped out of Abel, allowing Leon to deepen the kiss and the Spaniard moaned at his first taste of the beautiful man. The strongest was the metallic tang of the blood Abel had recently ingested, but underneath was a strange wildness that could only be described as Abel.

“You are *not* a monster,” growled Leon, finally breaking off the kiss and pulling back far enough to stare into dazed red eyes. “A monster wouldn’t have helped Wendy, Peter and the other orphans vanish quietly into Albion instead of destroying them. A monster wouldn’t have protected little Elise from Gunslinger when he had orders to terminate, thus putting his own neck on the line.” Leon’s voice softened as his hand came up to stroke the silver hair that seemed to float around Abel’s head and he was delighted to discover that it was as soft as it looked. “A monster wouldn’t have had Catarina so worried about him that she was walking the halls of the Vatican at night.”

“A monster wouldn’t have taken the time to teach others the error of their ways and open their eyes,” agreed Astha before leaning over and placing a gentle kiss on Abel’s cheek. “And I certainly wouldn’t call a monster my tovarash.”

Abel shook his head, his confusion still evident. “I don’t understand,” he repeated, one hand coming up to bury itself in his hair as his wings twitched against his back. “No one likes the Crusnik, and only like Father Abel when he’s goofy. Everyone turns their back on the Crusnik when they find out I’m him. Why haven’t you? And why did you kiss me?”

Reaching out again, Leon pulled Abel over to him to rest their foreheads together and stared into those sad and confused crimson eyes. No one should wonder why someone liked them or even why they were kissed. “Why should I turn my back on someone whose worst habit is drinking tea with way too much sugar in it? Especially when I have feelings for him that stretch just beyond friendship and brotherhood.”

*That* got a startled look before a faint blush stained Abel’s cheeks as he looked away, embarrassed, and Leon chuckled as he leaned back against the tree next to Seth. He idly glanced around, noting the neatly tended bushes and flowers that were blooming in the warm May sunshine. “Lovely garden, Empress. Wendy would love it here.”

Seth somehow got Abel to turn his back on her, and she started preening his wings, carefully straightening the feathers and smoothing them back into place. “When’s the last time you preened your wings, Abel? Armageddon?” she asked before glancing at Leon with a faint smile on her face. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned a Wendy, Leon. Who is she?”

“To understand who Wendy, Peter and the Lost Boys are, I need to give you a bit of background on the mission,” began Leon before looking at both Seth and Astha. “But both of you have to promise *never* to tell anyone else about them.”

After both had promised, swearing on their honor, Leon folded his hands across his stomach and gazed around as Abel curled forward, wrapping his arms around his up drawn knees while his wings relaxed under Seth’s gentle touches. “There had been reports of freighters being attacked by what they thought were fairies or vampires. It was hard to tell because of conflicting reports and the only clue was the dead body of a boy who had been artificially created into a fairy vampire. So, Father Four Eyes and I are dispatched to this island where a Professor James Barrie, a Methuselah Nobel from Albion, was suppose to have lived with a bunch of orphans he took in, because this looked fishy all around especially since all attacks took place near that island.”

“You never did mention where you got that airplane that nearly killed both of us,” mumbled Abel, his head on his knees and his eyes closed, and he looked like he was seconds from falling asleep.

Leon sniffed and ran a hand through his dark curls. “It was perfectly fine to get us to that island,” he retorted. “Not my fault the guy hadn’t changed the filter in forever, and it took the engine with it.” He shook his head and returned to his story. “So, we’re on this island with these kids who appear to hate adults, and it turns out that almost all of them are these artificial vampire fairies. Peter was one of the ‘failures’ and tried to help us only to get stabbed by Wendy whom he turns around to keep me from shooting her after her and the others attack both Abel and myself. After everything’s been settled and injuries tended, we charter a ship to Londinium where Abel takes them to the Ghetto and an orphanage that is run by this guy he knows. Even before we leave, three of them have been adopted by the workers at the orphanage and the word has gone out about the others.”

A sleepy chuckle came from Abel. “I slipped Peter your address because he was afraid you’d forget and he still wants to grow up to be just as strong as you for Wendy.”

“Wondered how he was getting letters to me,” remarked Leon with an absent grin before it faded from his face. “He and Wendy are the only two left at the orphanage and that’s ‘cause they refuse to be separated. Only, no one wants to adopt *two* children with one of them partially grown.” He wondered again if there ever would be a time when he’d have enough control over his own life to be able to do simple things like hold his daughter or even adopt Peter and Wendy. He wouldn’t mind being their father, even though he has no idea how to raise any vampire, but they could figure it out together. He sighed and amended that to ‘some day’.

“Why such a deep sigh, Dandelion?” inquired Astha in a soft voice, breaking Leon out of his thoughts, and he glanced up to find her and Seth watching him both with curious eyes. A quick glance at Abel showed that he was asleep, burning eyes shut as dark lashes fanned across pale cheeks and his wings stretched out in the sun to warm, all the feathers neat and tidy again.

He shrugged a shoulder. “I miss my daughter and having control over my life,” he confessed, wondering why he was talking about this here in this peaceful garden before deciding that he was talking *because* it was peaceful and safe. “See, there was this incident about three years ago in Hispania where thirty clergy ended up dead along with my wife, and I got blamed for all if it. Only, the officials didn’t want it to get out that a vampire had decided to take over the church, and had killed the clergymen who had congregated there because they had been trying to figure out what to do about the very vampire that killed them. My wife had gone in for Confession and had been unlucky enough to get caught. I had heard the screams and raced in to help only to kill the vampire and get framed for the other murders.”

One hand drifted up to caress the golden locket, and he closed his eyes against the helplessness that threatened to choke him along with the memories of his wife’s mutilated body, lying in a pool of her own blood like a broken doll. “My little Sophia’s turning eight this year, and I haven’t seen her since that day. The Vatican swept her off to an orphanage in Rome even as they were throwing me into jail. Wanted to bury the incident as quickly as possible before the locals raised a fuss I guess.”

“Wasn’t there an investigation?” Astha inquired, a confused frown on her face.

Leon shrugged a shoulder. “Why should they? They had the person responsible and that was that.” He didn’t want to add that only Abel had ever asked him the full story, curious to know the events that had led to Leon being in jail, and he had even brought some alcohol to help with the memories. He didn’t remember really what happened after about half of the bottle had vanished, but the next morning, he woke up in his own bed with clean clothes on and a pitcher of orange juice sitting next to a bottle of aspirins. Even the curtains had been drawn in his room. Now *that* was the sign of a true friend.

“A highly sloppy way of closing a case,” sniffed Astha, her arms folded over the black leather bustier she was wearing again, and Leon spent a few seconds admiring the pale flesh she was showing off before she moved, turning towards the small Empress who had a thoughtful look on her young face. “Your Majesty?”

“I think I should extend an olive branch towards Albion now that there’s a new queen on the throne,” remarked Seth with a thoughtful frown. “The Vatican’s willing to listen to a possible peace accord, and the Germanic Kingdoms will follow wherever the Vatican goes, but the old queen didn’t return any of my missives, so I’ll have to send one to the new queen.” She smirked at them, an impish gleam in her eyes. “And if my messenger happens to return with two more people than they left, well, I’m sure it wouldn’t be too much of a problem to find a place for two children to stay here.”

Those mischievous eyes turned to Leon. “You will have to write a letter of introduction for my ambassador so Wendy and Peter trust them enough to accompany them, but I think it would do all of you to have them around.” She glanced down to where her brother was sleeping, curled up so the sun was warming his back. “Maybe it will finally help him heal too.”

Leon shifted a bit in the grass, trying to think of how to word his question before mentally shrugging. “Excuse me, I don’t want to be rude, but what’s your history with Abel? I mean, you saw his injuries and took everything in stride as if you’d seen him like that before. Plus you mentioned something about a military getting angry at you for listening to music after killing a Methuselah leader.”

It was all part of the puzzle that made up Abel, and Leon wanted to know more about his friend. Leon had cried into his cups, but he had never been the shoulder for Abel to lean on, and he wanted to change that. Especially if he decided to listen to his libido and court Abel into a more serious relationship. His dark eyes glanced over at Astha who was watching Abel sleep with a soft look on her face, and he amended his plans to include her as well. Besides, his Theresa would come back and beat him on the head until he moved on, and he always did like his ladies feisty.

Seth glanced at Abel before looking around. “That is a conversation to be had over drinks at night,” she remarked, rising to her feet and brushing her robe off. “We should get inside before the gardener stumbles over us and demands to know what we’re doing out here.” She reached out and stroked a hand down Abel’s arm. “Abel, we need to get inside. Can you wake up for me?”

Ruby eyes slowly blinked open before Abel yawned, his fangs flashing in the sunlight as he raised his head. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice even huskier with sleep.

She giggled and stroked a hand through his hair. “Nothing’s wrong. I just thought you’d like to sleep in a bed instead of on the hard ground.” She grinned and leaned a bit closer. “Besides, my gardener might get the wrong idea if he finds you out here, sleeping like a cat in the sun.” She giggled again at the blush that raced across Abel’s face, and even Leon chuckled softly at his friend’s embarrassment.

Abel was going to be fine here, and Leon would make sure of it.

@@@

Rising to his feet, Abel’s wings twitched as he caught his balance and tried to ignore the fact that he wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing. Seth at least had a bathrobe on while someone had gotten Leon a large tunic and Astha was clad in her leathers, but all Abel had was his wings. True, he had been naked in the dungeon for the past three months, and if necessary, he could go longer without clothing and not embarrass himself, but now that he had the option to wear clothing, he would prefer it. He glanced around for the door inside only to discover that there weren’t any doors on this side of the palace.

At least, no doors at ground level.

“Um, Seth, how did we get down here?” he asked, glancing down at his sister in confusion. He could remember Ion backing away from him with terror on his young face and then being in the garden, but how Abel got here was a mystery.

She giggled, her voice taking on a faint echoing quality as she shifted into her Crusnik form and spread her emerald wings. “How we normally get around, Sweet Prince.”

Shaking his head, Abel folded his arms across his chest as he smirked down at her. “Quoting Hamlet now, dear sister?”

Laughing again, she scooped up Astha who yelped in surprise before jumping into the air, easily flying up to a balcony on the second story. Abel snickered at his sister’s antics before walking over to scoop Leon up, being careful not to jar the wrapped knee, and he followed them, noticing for the first time that the balcony was large enough to encompass what looked to be a second suite of rooms.

As he placed Leon back onto the couch, Abel found his thoughts drifting back to that possible second suite, and after a quick glance showed that neither of the Fortunas were there, he started towards the balcony to look at that second suite. It wasn’t like his sister to have a second set of rooms that wouldn’t be used, unless that’s where Mirka stayed while pretending to be the Empress. That made sense because then no one would question why the ‘Empress’ was going into another set of rooms.

“Abel, will you sit down and rest.” A strong hand caught his arm and pulled him over to the couch where a blanket was tucked around him, forcing him to absorb his wings, and he blinked at Seth, startled, as she stood there with her hands on her hips. “You can go investigate your rooms after I’ve had a maid clean up in there.”

“My rooms?” Abel could only stare at Seth in surprise. She had a suite made up for him before he even knew that he was going to be here? Did she have a bit of precognition too? But that wasn’t possible since she had never shown the ability during Armageddon and a person was either born with it or they weren’t.

“Yes, your rooms. The ones I had built into the palace for whenever you got around to returning to me with Lilith,” she said, reaching up to lay a hand against his face, and he turned into the touch. “There’s also a mausoleum waiting for Lilith.”

She dropped a quick kiss on his forehead. “Now you wait here while I get dressed because the servants can’t see their Empress in a bathrobe. It’s just not done.” Before Abel could protest the rooms, she was gone, vanishing through another set of doors that looked like they led to a bedroom.

Leon shook his head. “I don’t understand something,” he began, and Abel looked at him, waiting for the question. “If she’s the Empress, why does she hide behind a voice modifier and a veil? Is it because she’s so young looking?”

“Not entirely,” began Abel, carefully choosing his words for this explanation. He didn’t want to reveal too many secrets that weren’t his to tell, but on the other hand, he was going to have to do some serious explaining, and if anyone deserved an explanation, it was these two. “It’s more to hide her identity because if someone knew that she had been ruling for the past nine hundred years, it would raise too many questions. But if no one knew who was beneath the veil, then it would be easy to assume that it was being passed from mother to daughter without anyone being the wiser.”

That got a pair of dropped jaws and incredulous stares from both of them. “You mean, you saw the end of Armageddon?” gasped Leon, his eyes bulging out of his head.

The familiar feeling of grief swept over Abel as he was reminded of the massive amount of lives ended by his hands, and he closed his eyes against the tears that would no longer fall. “It was our fault that Armageddon lasted as long as it did.”

“What?” The word slipped out of two throats, and Abel smiled bitterly as he opened his eyes.

“Let me start at the beginning,” he requested, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders and he curled up on the couch. “No one was sure what happened, but countries started fighting each other, determined to wipe out their enemies, and soon the fighting spread to every corner of the globe, leaving no one isolated. Then, somewhere in the middle of all this fighting, human against human, a new player enters the game. Vampires. Now it’s not so much about fighting someone because they’re beliefs are different than yours or their skin is different. Now it was a fight for survival against a superior predator.”

His red eyes opened to gaze at them. “Military scientists manage to isolate the reason behind the vampires, a blood born pathogen, when something *truly* unexpected happens in one of their labs. The virus, for lack of a better name, mutates, twisting into something that feeds on the vampiric strain the way the vampiric strain fed on human blood.”

“Crusniks,” agreed Leon with a nod of his head.

Abel shook his head. “Not at first, because they discovered that without a way to control the Crusnik virus, it would run unchecked and create something that not even the vampires could face. Thus, they turned to nanotechnology, but something was wrong. Every volunteer who was implanted with the virus and the nanites was either eaten from the inside out, went insane, or died a horrible death as their blood turned against them. Until one. Sargent Lilith Stahl of the United Nations Aerospace Forces.”

His gaze grew distant as he saw Lilith standing there in the sun of the space station, laughing with them at spending almost a month listening to music. “Once it was determined that she was able to withstand the virus and nanites, she was promoted and made an officer before she was used to create three more Crusniks in test tubes. Three children and Lilith were the only ones to survive. Two males and two females. Breeding pairs should anything happen.”

Leon muttered a few unkind things under his breath. “So, what? If Armageddon had continued, they would have expected both pairs to start popping out babies to be the next army?”

“Possibly,” agreed Abel, looking at both of them. Astha was paler than normal for a Methuselah, but Leon looked almost furious. “The three children were grown to various ages, the boys to their teenage years and the girl to about ten, and all four were trained to be the ultimate weapons against vampires. They were trained against torture, drugs, anything imaginable, and they were expected to be perfect little soldiers, going out to kill vampires for the good of humanity.”

“What happened?” The two words were whispered by Astha, and Abel turned his flat gaze towards her, feeling the painful cold he had lived with back then, swallowing his anger until it cut him like shards of broken glass.

“After almost fifteen years of being told we were no better than weapons, we revolted,” he admitted, his voice as flat as his eyes. “Cain, Seth, and I turned against humanity, helping the vampires kill and slaughter the weaker humans. Lilith continued fighting for humanity and urged us to return because the humans weren’t all bad, only a select few. Everything came to a head a few years later when Lilith sent word that she had convinced the military leaders to talk about a peaceful solution that wouldn’t result in either race being wiped out. Seth had become the unofficial leader of the vampires at that point, having gathered many of them under her for protection while I had been in almost constant contact with Lilith, trying to find my own way even as the senseless killing began to sicken me. Cain, who had been sort of a defacto leader, announced that he would go meet with Lilith alone in case it was a trap, that way the humans only had one of us and Seth and I could keep fighting if it turned out we were betrayed.”

A humorless laugh slipped out of him as the cold spread throughout his body, and he clutched the blanket even tighter, tears running down his face, unnoticed and unchecked. “We were betrayed but not by the one we had expected. Cain met with Lilith on the space station and killed her. When he failed to check in, Seth and I followed him, ready to tear the station apart to get him back, and he gladly presented us with Lilith’s body, like a dog delivering a fresh kill to its master. He claimed she was a bad influence on us. I freaked and pushed him into the airlock before Seth activated the cycle, ejecting Cain into space and throwing him back to the Earth.”

He was shivering now, but he didn’t notice, the cold gripping him tighter. “It should have killed him, but it didn’t. He’s back and trying to finish what he started centuries ago. Destroy the earth and remake it in his ideal image while he rules as a god. The Contra Mundi, Mein Herr of the Rosen Kruenz Order, Cain Nightlord, he has as many names as Satan and is just as nice. He manipulates, destroys, crushes anything good all while hiding behind an angelic facade. He set the Fleur du Mal up, set Deitrich on Esther and Gyula, manipulated Alfonso with the Silent Noise machine, set Ion up to be killed and framed for murder, imprisoned and tortured me through Francesco....” His voice trailed off as he shook harder, his teeth chattering with the cold that filled him, leaving him feeling brittle as if the wrong move would cause him to shatter inside and cut him worse than any knife possibly could.

Strong, warm hands were on his face, turning his gaze to meet blazing emerald, lit with love and concern. “Easy, Abel, relax and calm down,” soothed a familiar voice in his ear, and he found himself following his sister’s directions automatically.

“Cold,” he whispered through chattering teeth, and Seth brushed his bangs off his forehead as she piled another blanket around him.

“I know, but you’ll get warm quick enough with some hot food in you,” she murmured with a small smile. “Then I’ll get my seamstress up here to make you some new clothes, but over breakfast, we’ll start planning what to do to take out Cain for good.”

He nodded and curled a bit farther into the blankets, feeling them warm his skin but doing nothing to chase out the cold inside him. She pulled part of the blanket over his head before securing her own veil and the voice synthesizer. Then she pulled a nearby bell pull and waited, content to sit next to Abel who was huddled deep in the blankets, waving Astha towards a chair where the Duchess sat, her reluctance at sitting in the Empress’ presence visible on her face. Abel didn’t wonder about why Seth had covered his face, but actually relished the idea of hiding for a while.

The door opened and a maid with blond hair up in braids and blue eyes entered and curtseyed, her face tilting towards the floor. “How may I serve you, your Majesty?”

“Tamara, bring us a large breakfast to the informal dining room and send Marfa to us,” instructed Seth, her voice deeper thanks to the synthesizer, and the maid curtseyed before backing out the door.

“Ya know, she helped us get into your throne room without anyone else seeing us,” remarked Leon, and Abel looked up at him in surprise. He hadn’t really thought how they had gotten into the palace or up to Seth’s suite, but to know that Leon had charmed the maid into helping them made sense. The Spaniard could charm the birds out of the trees should he ever put his mind to it. “Of course, she was highly protective of you, Your Majesty. Threatened to stop us herself if we proved to be a threat to you.”

That got a small chuckle out of Seth. “It appears I am developing protectors everywhere,” she remarked, amusement in her voice as she stood up. “The informal dining room is over there. Astha, if you will assist Leon, I will help Alexei.”

“Is that to be my name here, sister?” inquired Abel as Seth helped him stand. The cold made him feel as weak as a newborn, not helped by the fact that he had been fed only the stale bread and the water Francesco had forced down his throat to keep him alive. Plus his panicked rush from the room earlier hadn’t helped his condition any he was willing to bet.

Instead of replying, Seth only hummed absently, which meant that he should be able to figure it out himself, and he softly sighed, still feeling the urge to curl up somewhere until the world had taken care of its own problems. How had Cain survived his reentry into Earth’s atmosphere? He shouldn’t have been able to survive the deep vacuum of space before he was incinerated.

The smell of hot food slipped through his thoughts and dragged him back into the present where he discovered that he had been seated at a table that could seat a dozen people easily on the right hand side of his sister who was at the head of the table. Across from him was Astha and next to him was Leon. Seth’s veil had been raised in a way that it uncovered her mouth to allow her to eat but still concealed her face, and Abel reached up to tug the blanket a bit farther over his eyes even as he ducked his head, staring at the plate of food that had somehow materialized in front of him.

“So the only way we’ll be able to defeat Cain once and for all is to lure him into a trap where we choose the terrain and the fighters,” mused Seth after a few bites of her breakfast. “Then burn his body and seal his ashes in stone to keep him from reforming again.”

Reaching out with a trembling hand, Abel slowly started eating the soup, nearly moaning as it slid down his throat, chasing some of the cold away, and after a few more spoonfuls, he realized a few problems with Seth’s original assessment of Cain. “We would need to plan for any minions he brought with him. Especially Isaak and Dietrich.”

“And who are those jokers when they’re licking boots?” drawled Leon, twisting his wrist to flash the light off of his silver bangle.

“Isaak Fernand von Kampfer is Magician, and Dietrich von Lohengrin is Puppetmaster,” began Abel, his eyes firmly on his food as he talked. “They appear to be the most knowledgeable of Cain’s plans, as Dietrich manipulated the events in Istvan with the Star of Sorrow and here with the assassination attempt, and Isaak used the Silent Noise machine in Barcelona before nearly killing Catarina in Rome when Alfonso was trying to destroy the city.” he blinked back unexpected tears as the memory of Sister Noelle Bor’s death in Barcelona swept over him again.

Leon’s breath hissed through his teeth, causing Abel to look up at him to find a look of absolute fury on the Spaniard’s face. “That Isaak bastard’s the one that killed Sister Noelle, isn’t he?”

“He is the one who had activated the Silent Noise machine, but it was my fault she died.” The confession was whispered but everyone at the table heard Abel, and he swallowed, trying to get the lump out of his throat even as tears slipped out of his eyes. “If I hadn’t gotten so wrapped up in trying to stop Isaak as a human, I would have been able to stop him before he destroyed Barcelona.”

“Sister Noelle was an AX Agent,” Leon replied, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Every AX Agent knows that there’s a chance we’ll return in a pine box if things go wrong. Now answer me this; back on Never Island, why didn’t you fight Wendy and the other children as a Crusnik?”

“Because it wasn’t their fault they were like that, and I didn’t want to kill them,” stated Abel, believing that to be the only reason even though his mind was arguing that there was another reason all together.

Seth snorted. “Are you sure it wasn’t because your Crusnik form takes it out of you unless you’ve had a steady diet of Methuselah blood?” she asked sweetly, and Abel turned to glare at her, the effect spoiled by the fact that they were both hiding their faces. “Face it, brother. Her death wasn’t your fault any more than it was hers. She walked in with open eyes and did her job. You, on the other hand, were hurting from a poor diet and lack of nourishment for both your body and the virus.”

Abel growled and placed both hands on the table, pushing himself to his feet despite the shaking in his arms. “And how exactly was I suppose to do that at the Vatican? Only Catarina knew about me, because everyone else would have locked me in the dungeon *long* before now because they would have seen me as a monster.”

“Then how come the Professor knows about you too?” drawled Leon, sitting back enough to fold his arms across his chest. “He was the one testing the empty syringe that was found and verified that you’re the one who had been stuck with it from the Crusnik virus found in the blood that had been left on the needle.”

He sat down in his chair hard as his legs gave out. “What?” he whispered, unable to believe his ears. “But Catarina was suppose to be the only one. Gunslinger might have had an idea after dealing with Elise, and Esther actually saw me in my Crusnik form in Carthago.”

“Brother Petros did too which is why he was willing to help get you out of the dungeon,” Leon reminded him. “He owed you a debt for saving his life in Carthago.”

“The Inquisition’s Knight of Destruction owed you a life debt?” Astha asked, her eyes large with surprise. “I must know what led to that, tovarash.”

Abel’s hand was taken and a warm metal goblet was pressed into it before his fingers were curled around the heated gold.

“Drink that first, and once you have calmed some, then you can tell us,” instructed Seth, and Abel closed his eyes as the scent of the thick, rich blood swirled through his head. Raising the goblet to his lips, he slowly drained it, enjoying the chance to linger and savor the taste of the blood as it slid over his tongue and down his throat, chasing out more of the cold that the hot soup had missed.

“You are going to have a steady diet of both food and blood even if I have to hunt your ass down and force it down your throat, brother,” growled Seth, and Abel opened his eyes to find his sister had moved her veil off to one side to glare at him with hard emerald eyes that would broke no argument on his part. “You are *much* too skinny for my piece of mind. Until you’re back up to *my* standards, you’re going to do as I say.”

A hand slapped Abel on the shoulder, and he glanced over to find Leon smirking at him. “Just a friendly bit of advice. When a woman like that gives an order, it is in your best interest to obey it.”

Nodding, Abel returned his attention to his soup as he gathered his thoughts. He wasn’t use to anyone other that Catarina being concerned about him and anymore, it seemed like she was more concerned about him as an agent than him as a friend. His crimson eyes flickered to Astha who was patiently waiting for her explanation despite the curiosity on her face and he sighed.

“I arrived in Carthago the day after an attack was made on the Vatican Embassy there and a young Methuselah was shot by Father Tres,” Abel began, knowing he would have to fill in the past details for Seth and Astha. Knowing Leon, the Spaniard probably snuck in and read the mission report. “The attack also brought the Department of the Inquisition. I knew I had to get to your messenger first because Brother Petros and Sister Paula both have a reputation for killing first and asking questions sometime next century. I arrived to find Esther had disobeyed my orders to stay with Catarina and that we were only a few minutes ahead of the Inquisition. One thing led to another, Radu tried to kill Esther and Ion, proving that he was a Rosen Kruenz member, and we barely got away as Sister Paula apparently took care of Radu. Brother Petros jumped into the boat as we were escaping and agreed to a temporary truce until things could be settled. That night, we were making our way back to the Embassy when the Inquisition ships turned about the city because Radu had not only survived his battle with Sister Paula but had taken over the ships thanks to Cain’s hacking of their system. We confronted him not far from the Embassy with Esther protecting Ion as much as she could and Brother Pertos took several direct hits from the Goliath Tank, protecting Ion, but as he went down, I shifted into the Crusnik and destroyed the ship above us. Radu used the tank to blow off my left arm and shoulder, and I admit that I used the blood that Ion had lost to repair myself. For that theft, I owe him an apology.”

“And so you destroyed the tank and the bastard,” concluded Leon with a nod. “I’m glad that Petros is an honorable bastard and didn’t decide to smuggle you down to the dungeons for a one on one session earlier. You should have seen the expression on his face when he cornered me in the hallway after finding out what had happened to you. I never realized he had another emotion other than righteous fury, but he was really torn up inside that his cardinal was doing something like that to you.”

The polite knock on the door herald the arrival of an older human woman, her gray streaked hair pinned up on her head in elaborate braids, but her wrinkled face still held the beauty she enjoyed in her youth. Walking over to the table, she curtseyed deeply, her eyes fixed on the floor. “You wished to speak with me, Your Majesty?”

“Yes, Marfa,” began Seth, her veil back in place as she relaxed in her chair as if the past few minutes had not happened. “You will clean the Crown Prince Alexi Vradica’s quarters for him and his companion whom has sought sanctuary with us. Also, alert the master of the Guard that We will be using the training room when possible, and inform our seamstress that Crown Prince Alexi and his companion will need a wardrobe suitable for their position.”

Marfa curtseyed again before backing out of the room, and Seth rose to her feet. “Unfortunately, I have Court all day today and petty boot lickers wanting something from me,” she sighed, shaking her head. “Abel, you’re going to march yourself into my bedroom and get some sleep after you’ve eaten your fill. Leon, consider yourself banished there as well. I’ll have food brought up early afternoon, but you are both to sleep yourselves out.”

“Don’t I get a say in any of this?” grumbled Abel, picking up his spoon again and eating his cooler soup.

“Nope,” chirped Seth, leaning over to gently kiss his cheek. “Consider yourself under doctor’s orders, because I will get you back into shape and able to take on Cain. I’ll also do my best to get a message to your pretty cardinal, letting her know that you’re safe and recovering before she frets herself grayer than you.”

She turned with a rustling of skirts to face Astha. “Duchess, you may use my room as well if you wish to rest after being dragged out at such an unearthly hour or you may return to your own estate. Either way, consider yourself welcome to visit at any time.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Astha said with a low bow. “I will not abuse your gift.”

With one last wave of her fingers, Seth swept out of the room with her skirts swishing around her legs, and Abel glanced at the other two before digging back into the food, eating with more manners than he had displayed the last time he had eaten in front of Astha. But then, the starving priest who inhaled any food that came near him was all part of the act he had played for many years.

For several minutes, they sat in silence, eating the food on the table, before Abel finally pushed his empty bowl and plate aside, his belly comfortably full for the first time in quite a while. A quick glance at the others showed that they were picking at their food, indicating their own full states, and he slowly stood up, feeling much better than he had before. He folded the blanket to keep it closed around his shoulders before glancing at Leon, who was glaring at his swollen knee in disgust.

“I can help you to the bedroom,” Abel offered, holding out a hand that did not tremble any longer even if it was still tipped with the black claws of the Crusnik.

Smirking, Leon slid his hand into Abel’s and pulled himself to his feet, keeping his weight off of his injured leg. “If I didn’t know any better, Abel, I’d say you were flirting with me,” purred the Spaniard, and Abel blushed bright red as he realized just how his words had been taken.

“You know better,” retorted Abel even though there was little heat in his voice, and together they hobbled to the room Seth had vanished into when she had changed clothing.

It was large and airy with doors that probably led into a closet while a vanity sat in front of a large mirror with all sorts of things on it that Abel knew he didn’t have a chance to identify without his sister or Catarina there. The four poster bed itself looked large enough for all of the senior agents of the AX and Catarina to sleep there with room left over, and emerald curtains were pulled back to reveal thick blankets turned back in a silent invitation. Abel felt his eyelids droop at the sight even as he stifled a yawn, and he helped Leon into the bed before he shrugged the blanket off as he slid under the covers. Dimly, he was aware of warm, strong arms pulling him against a hard chest as a heart beat under his ear before consciousness was swept away again.

This time, the warmth kept the nightmares at bay.

@@@

Standing off to one side, Seth watched her brother as he gracefully moved across the floor, his slender legs encased in a pair of black pants as his bare feet whispered across the floor and his loose silver hair swirling around him. It had only been a few weeks but a steady diet of Methuselah blood and food had done wonders for Abel’s healing, and Seth was pleased to see that he had even managed to gain some of the weight he had lost through the years.

A stereo was in a corner, the volume turned down to a bearable level for both Crusnik and Methuselah hearing, and Seth shook her head at Abel’s choice in music this afternoon. The dark music was a good indication of his mood, vaguely recognizing the band as something from Pre-Armageddon, that first decade of 2000 she was sure. They had all sorts of strange music then, but Abel enjoyed some of it.

‘Heaven ablaze in our eyes/ We’re standing still in time/ The blood on our hands is the wine/ We offer a sacrifice,’ sang the male lead, his voice sounding like a desperate pleading even as he managed to almost purr the words. ‘Come on and show them your love/Rip out the wings of a butterfly/For your soul, my love/Rip out the wings of a butterfly/ For your soul/ This endless mercy mild/ We’re crawling side by side/ With Hell freezing over in our eyes/ Gods kneel before our crimes.’

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the song was speaking more to Abel than it had any right to, and Seth shook her head again. Abel was still blaming himself for what had happened in the past, probably everything from Lilith’s murder to his torture at the hands of Cardinal Crazy, but at least he was focused now on fighting and training to meet Cain.

Seth knew that while she might be able to match Cain in abilities, he far outweighed her in sheer mass and strength, leaving only Abel anywhere near equal footing to the bastard, and Abel was determined to refine his abilities until they were as lethal as he could possibly make them. Because Abel was determined that this time, when he faced Cain, it would be the last time.

The song ended as Abel moved through a series of complicated looking moves with the staff in his hands, and Seth quietly toed off her shoes as she heard the stereo click to the next song, the faint strands of violins tuning informing her that the next selection would be perfect for dueling her brother.

She always had loved the strange and eerie music of the Danse Macabre Opus 40.

When the strange violin chords started, Seth had shifted to her Crusnik form and attacked Abel who was taken by surprise. He stumbled back a few steps, blocking her attack with the staff before it snapped under the force, and he used those few seconds to shift into his Crusnik from and summoned his blood scythe before whirling out of the way. Laughing, she summoned her tridents and attacked him, forcing him to defend himself before they fell into an almost dance of attack and defend that followed the waltzing music.

Their actions were controlled by the music. As it slowed, so did they, glowing red eyes watching and analyzing for any weaknesses, muscles tense and ready for the beat to quicken. Blow were exchanged, defenses tested, the music gathered force as the crescendo approached, teasing them with the furious pace they knew was creeping on them.

Suddenly, the music exploded into a fury of violins and trumpets, and in a flurry of wings, they came together, moving faster than a normal human or Methuselah could see. They bounced off the walls, the ceiling, crashing together again and again, weapons clashing with the sound of metal being struck by a furious blacksmith. Laughter and growls mixed with the music, and Seth was enjoying herself for the first time in *centuries*.

Then, the music slowed again, approaching the end of the opus, and they slowed as well, their actions less like attacks and more like a friendly dance with weapons. When the music stopped completely, Seth and Abel collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath and laughing like lunatics as they banished their weapons and returned to their human forms.

“Gods, I haven’t had that much fun in *forever*,” gasped Seth, her hair in disarray while her shirt was cut in several places and stained with blood in a few more.

Abel spread his arms out, laughing breathlessly as his skin knitted itself back together, leaving only the few bloodstains as any indication that he had been injured in the first place. “There hasn’t been anyone I could have sparred with like that since we shut the stations down behind us,” he confessed, a silly grin on his face. “Damn, I missed that.”

Seth giggled a bit more before settling down. “I hate to bring it up, but do you know of any way to lure Cain out?” she sighed and laced her hands behind her head. “Frankly, I’m at a dead end.”

She could feel Abel stiffen next to her, but waited, knowing he would only talk in time and if she pressured him, he would clam up tighter than a virgin on her wedding night.

“I have one idea, but it would be *very* dangerous for everyone involved,” he confessed, his voice soft and heavy with what he wasn’t saying. She sat up to look at him, and he closed his eyes, summoning the words from deep inside him along with the strength to voice his idea. “A peace conference between the human kingdoms and the Methuselan Empire would pull him out of his hiding hole faster than anything. It would be his chance to kill all of the leaders and get everyone pointing fingers at each other before weapons were brought out.”

Seth nodded, her mind whirling as old military tactics and centuries of leadership played various scenarios out in her head. “And with his Rosen Kruenz Order, Cain could manipulate everyone until there were no real powers left, allowing him to step in and pick up the pieces.” She wrapped her arms around her knees as she stared down at Abel. “It is a high risk and one that’s very calculated, but it might be our only chance to topple that organization and take the bastard down for good.”

Abel quickly sat up, wrapping his arms around himself. “No, I can’t let you do that. The risk to you and the human leaders is too great. And I didn’t factor in Dietrich or Isaak. I might be able to face Cain, but if those two come along, any guards there would be sitting ducks for them and then the leaders would be helpless against them.”

“You’re forgetting that I’ll be there and I’m hardly helpless,” drawled Seth, scooting around to sit in front of Abel, her arms folded across her chest. “I can be the final line of defense should anyone break into the chamber with the leaders. Plus I’m sure your pretty cardinal would be there to protect her brother and from what I remember, Esther’s no slouch with a gun either.”

“Plus, I can guarantee that Catarina will bring almost the entire AX Senior Agents which means Sister Kate and the Iron Maiden will be close by for an emergency evacuation,” remarked a new voice as Leon hobbled over on his crutches to flop on the ground next to them. He grinned at Abel. “Toss that many agents in the same room, and any vampire stupid enough to go after them would regret it, especially with Sword Dancer in the room.”

Seth glanced at Leon in surprise. “What’s so special about this Sword Dancer?”

Leon shrugged a shoulder. “The guy’s crazy about killing vampires to the point where he’ll vanish on Catarina to hunt down some.”

“Father Hugue de Watteau, the only male survivor of the Watteau massacre in Amsterdam,” remarked Abel, causing Seth and Leon to look at him. “His arms were cut off to keep him from fighting back but were replaced by cybernetic arms after his recovery. His younger sister vanished that night, apparently kidnaped by the attackers, and Sword Dancer has been desperately trying to track her down as well as locate the ones responsible for the attack and slaughter of his family.”

The Spaniard stared at Abel in surprise. “Okay just how do you know so much about him?” Leon asked, folding his arms across his chest. “I know how you know about me ‘cause I vaguely remember buying the alcohol.”

Abel smiled slightly at Leon. “I was Catarina’s second in command and helped her recruit most of the AX by making contact and taking offers to them,” he confessed, shrugging a shoulder. “I had to know about each of you to be able to approach you correctly and adjust the offer if needed. But then, she only sent me out to recruited the ones that she really wanted in the AX.”

“I thought either Vaclav or the Professor were her second,” mused Leon, a thoughtful look on his face, and Abel laughed, softly.

“That’s what everyone’s suppose to think, especially since they don’t go out on missions while I’m sent out on things that have the possibility of turning really, *really* bad where a normal human has the chance of returning home in a box.” Abel’s eyes grew far away and a haunted look appeared as Leon wrapped a free arm around the pale shoulders, and he pulled Abel over to rest against him. In Seth’s eyes, they looked extremely comfortable together, and she wondered why they hadn’t gotten together before and if they were going to now that they didn’t have any pressure from the Vatican.

Quietly, Seth stood up and slipped out of the room. She had plans to make, and she wasn’t going to get in the way of her brother’s happiness. Even if he didn’t know what it would take to make him happy

@@@

The warm sun shone down from the crystal blue sky, encouraging the roses on the bushes to open and fill the air with their delicate scent while birds sang merrily, and the vague murmur of voices and the occasional bout of laughter mixed to make a beautiful June day. Windows were open to allow the occasional stray breeze to wander the hallways and various offices, teasing long hair and longer robes of office and evoking the occasional startled squeal from a nun.

But Catarina was blind to the beauty of the day, her gray eyes dark with concern as she worked slowly and methodically through the papers on her desk. The French doors in her office were open to the day, but she ignored all of it as she had for the last month since Brother Petros had helped Father Leon rescue Abel from her insane half-brother. Carefully applied make-up hid the dark circles under her eyes from the lack of sleep, and she stared at the pages before her as her thoughts drifted back to her friend whom she hadn’t seen in almost four months.

Was Abel all right? Had he even survived his injuries? Had they found help or were they living like refugees from both the humans and the Methuselans? Was Francesco searching for them or had he taken the rescue of Abel as her silver haired friend finally managing to escape? Would they be able to contact her safely to let them know their status or had she seen the last of her wonderful friend and personal guardian angel?

A hand came up to rub at her temple to ease the headache that was building again as she reached for the coffee that was slowly cooling on her desk, and she swallowed the bitter liquid, managing to hide her grimace of distaste. She honestly preferred tea to drink, but these days, she needed the caffeine from the coffee to keep herself going through the day. Part of her had to wonder if Abel’s thirteen sugars would make the bitter brew any more palatable or if it would just make her even more wired on sugar instead of caffeine.

The knock at her door startled her out of her musings, and she raised her head as the Professor poked his head through the door. He smiled at her but there was worry in his brown eyes, and she knew that it was only going to get worse until she started sleeping regular hours again. “Yes, Professor?”

“There is a messenger from the Empire here to see you, Your Eminence,” he stated, moving farther into the room but still keeping the door mostly closed, apparently to keep the messenger out of the office until Catarina allowed them in or dismissed them entirely without an audience.

There was no way that Catarina was going to turn a messenger from the Empire away, not after she had been working for so long to get a peace accord hashed out between the human kingdoms and the Methuselan Empire. “Send them in and remain as well.”

The Professor pushed open the door to allow the messenger in, and Catarina examined the young girl that almost skipped in. The messenger looked to be about fifteen or sixteen with black hair cut straight at her chin and framing a heart shaped face while emerald eyes danced around with mischievousness dancing in their depths but there was something about her that caught Catarina’s attention. Something that she had seen before, a step carefully taken, a hand carelessly waved, a toss of the head, but she just couldn’t remember where.

The girl stopped in front of Catarina’s desk and curtseyed gracefully, her red skirt held in delicate hands as her white shirt and red vest made her appear like a peasant girl out for a stroll instead of a messenger from the Empress. “I bring greetings to her Eminence, Cardinal Catarina Sforza of the Department of Foreign Affairs, from Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Augusta Vradica, the Eternal Mother of the Empire.”

“I thank you for the greetings,” Catarina stated, waving a hand to one of the visitor’s chairs placed before her desk as the Professor moved over to the French doors and quietly shut them against the outside world. “Please, have a seat so we may discuss your message civilly. Do you mind if my subordinate remains?”

The girl’s grin somehow managed to grow larger as she practically bounced over to the chair and plopped down in it, her skirt billowing slightly as if she had been wearing petticoats under the simple skirt, but it didn’t hang right for that. “The Professor’s more than welcome to stay.”

Instantly, Catarina’s eyes flickered over to the Professor who was staring at the girl in shock. It was a rule that any of the AX Agents who introduced themselves to strangers did *not* use their code names when doing so since it was the code names that were used in the mission reports and official communications. Casually, Catarina leaned back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap, ready to move out of the way if it became necessary. “Why did you call him that?”

Innocent green eyes blinked up at her. “That’s his code name isn’t it as well as what everyone else in the AX calls him, right?” She turned to shake a finger at the Professor, her young face stern. “You know secrets that you weren’t suppose to know, and if you tell, it’ll hurt people who thought you were their friend.”

“What secrets could I possibly know, young lady?” sputtered the Professor, his brown eyes large as he placed a hand on his chest. “And why would I tell anyone?”

The girl sniffed and folded her arms across her chest as she turned back to Catarina. She reached into the pouch at her waist that Catarina had missed before and pulled out a small white box with a button on it. Pressing the button, the girl placed the box on Catarina’s desk before sitting back in her chair with a smug look on her face like a cat that had gotten into the cream.

“The Empress wishes to start negotiations towards the possibility of signing a peace treaty between the Empire and the Terran Kingdoms,” the girl stated, resting her hands on the arms of her chair, and Catarina was suddenly struck with the idea of the girl sitting on a throne instead of the visitor’s chair. “However, Her Majesty realizes that there are those who would rather watch the world crumble in chaos than build itself up in peace.”

“And just how would these negotiations start?” asked Catarina, shoving the girl’s odd behavior aside for the moment as she concentrated on the present situation. “Does Her Majesty have any suggestions in her written missive?”

The girl shook her head slightly. “There is no written missive, because Her Majesty wished to speak to you directly which she can through me,” she explained before closing her eyes. There was a faint charge in the air around her, like her body was giving off static electricity, and her hair rose around her head as her skin took on an almost white coloring. Catarina felt like smacking her forehead as she realized just who, or rather what, was sitting across from her. It was no wonder the girl’s actions had seemed so familiar since the blonde cardinal was use to seeing them in her missing friend’s movements, and she relaxed back in her chair, waiting to play along with the charade being spun out before her.

Sister Esther had provided a very detailed report when she had returned from the Empire after all.

Eyes opened to reveal glowing red had replaced dancing emerald, and there was a more commanding air about the girl as she sat there. “Greetings Cardinal Sforza. I have been looking forward to speaking with you for quite a while.”

“I am honored you have taken this time to speak with me, Your Imperial Majesty,” replied Catarina, a small smile on her face. This was going to be interesting because she was willing to bet that the Professor hadn’t clued in to the fact that the so-called messenger was in actuality a Crusnik, and the Empress of the Methuselah Empire. “Your messenger stated that you wished to start negotiations towards a peace treaty?”

“Yes. It is past time for the Terrans and Methuselans to put aside their petty differences and unite in the face of a much greater evil that threatens both races and the world,” stated the tiny Empress, and Catarina felt her blood run cold. The Contra Mundi. That was who the Empress was talking about. “To present a united front against this evil would be a large step in permanently stopping them.”

Catarina frowned, slightly. “How would we be able to get the details of a peace treaty hammered out to the satisfaction of all involved parties?” she asked, her mind already planning and sorting through the available means of secure communications. “A messenger would be easy to waylay in mid delivery and it is possible for a message to go astray or change in the wrong hands.”

“But harder should all the involved parties be in the same room, discussing it,” countered the Empress, not batting an eyelash at the suggestion. “What I propose is that the leaders of the Terran Kingdoms gather with myself in a secure location and discuss the peace treaty until it is agreed upon by all sides. Then we would sign it then, preventing anyone from changing it later.”

“With that many important leaders in one place, what is to stop someone from assassinating any or all of them?” Catarina countered, desperately trying to think if there was some way this could be avoided, but there was no way that she could see that would allow for a communications system that was fool proof and tamper proof.

The Empress shrugged a shoulder. “Each leader would be allowed to bring a party of guards, assistants, and helpers equaling to twenty people, and I would ask that your Iron Maiden provide air support as well as a way to evacuate everyone should an attack happen.”

Catarina frowned as she thought about what the Empress was proposing. With that many people including the various leaders wandering around, it would be easy for the Contra Mundi to slip a person in to poison the leaders even with their guards everywhere. So why allow each leader such a large party instead of narrowing the number of people?

“A trap,” breathed Catarina, her gray eyes large as a large rock settled in her stomach, and her head snapped up to stare at the Empress. “You’re setting a trap for the Contra Mundi in the guise of a peace conference.”

“If we set the conference for late October, all of us should be in better form then,” continued the Empress as if she hadn’t heard Catarina’s accusation. “Crown Prince Alexi is looking forward to meeting everyone, and it would probably take that long for people to agree to meet as well as find a spot for everyone to gather.”

It was only the knowledge that the apparent fifteen year old girl could easily break her in two without thinking about it was the only thing that kept Catarina from lunging across her desk to throttle some answers out of the Empress. “If you think I’m going to let my brother walk blindly into a situation where the Contra Mundi is practically handed all of the leaders on a silver platter, then think again,” she growled. “That monster has taken too much from me already and I won’t just hand my brother over to him to kill at his leisure.”

“So you think I am that cold, to sacrifice all that I hold dear, just for the possibility of destroying the most vile creature to ever breath the air,” countered the Empress, her voice taking a deep growl and her hair seemed to fluff up even more with her anger, but Catarina met those burning eyes squarely even as fangs flashed in the sunlight. “My brother is still recovering from that *thing’s* manipulations that left him severely injured and broken in more than one way. He might never recover in some ways before you die, Duchess of Milan.”

Catarina’s eyes widened slightly at the verbal slap before they narrowed and flickered over to where the Professor was still standing by the door. “You’re dismissed, Professor.”

“Are you sure, your Eminence?” asked the Professor, his brown eyes wide as he took a step towards them.

“Dismissed, Father Wordsworth,” she growled, glaring at him and almost daring him to disobey her a second time. Instead, the Professor bowed and slipped out the door, closing it firmly behind him. Catarina turned her attention back to the Empress. “Abel means as much to you as Alessandro does to me, Seth.”

That got a blink and a snort of disgust. “Someone’s been telling tales out of class again,” she sighed before returning her attention to Catarina. “You’ve been battling the Contra Mundi and his Rosen Kruenz Order for almost your entire life. There’s not a member of your department whose life hasn’t been changed by his manipulations in one way or another. Yes, I want this peace treaty to happen, but if we also managed to lure Cain out and take him down, then I won’t hesitate to sacrifice *everyone* to do it. But I know I’ll already be too late because Abel will have already taken him down.”

Catarina sat down in her chair, feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders again. She hated that feeling because it reminded her of all the things she had done in the past that had brought her close to that line that Francesco had merrily danced over.

“I don’t want to end up like Francesco.” The confession slipped out of her and she swallowed hard as she felt the grief and frustration over Abel’s disappearance rise up, causing tears to appear in her eyes. Catarina slumped in her chair, hands clasped uselessly before her in her lap as she stared at the top of her desk, watching as tears fell on the paperwork scattered there, leaving patches of flesh colored splatters on the pristine white paper where her tears were washing away her makeup. “I’ve done too many things in the past to work towards peace between humans and vampires that forced me near that line he has willingly crossed. I’ve lost everyone that’s close to me, leaving only Alessandro for me to protect.”

A bitter laugh slipped out of her as she looked up at the young girl sitting across from her. “Would you believe me if I said that I was jealous of you? You can go out and do what you wish, have gone out and done what you wished, but I’m stuck here, working towards peace that will probably never happen in my lifetime and protecting my little brother from my older brother.”

Years of frustration, broken dreams, and putting everyone else first combined with her lack of sleep and the fear over Abel, and Catarina buried her face in her hands, knocking the monocle to the floor, as the tears coursed down her cheeks. It had been years since she had last cried, but it was all too much. Abel had always known what to say, what to do, to make the burden she carried seemed much less than it truly was, but Abel wasn’t there any more thanks to Francesco’s insanity. Her heart was breaking because now, the only way she would be able to help her silver haired friend end the threat that the Contra Mundi and the Rosen Kruenz Order represented was by placing her gentle little brother in the line of fire.

Catarina didn’t think she could do this anymore, not with this latest sacrifice being called for. Not without Abel there to be her silent pillar of unwavering friendship and support.

@@@

For a few minutes, all Seth could do was stare at the quietly sobbing blonde behind the desk before she walked around with her handkerchief in her hand. Bending quickly, she scooped up the round piece of glass and placed it on the desk before pressing the square of cotton in the pretty cardinal’s hands. This was not what she had been expecting when they had started their little spat, but apparently things had been building for a while, leading to this emotional breakdown. Of course, the tears had washed away some of Catarina’s makeup, revealing the dark shadows under her eyes that shouted about her lack of sleep.

It was a few minutes later before Catarina managed to get a hold of herself, and she wiped her face with the borrowed handkerchief before grimacing at the makeup on the white cloth. “I will get your handkerchief cleaned before I return it,” she said, her voice slightly hoarse from the silent crying.

Seth waved it off as she wandered back to her seat and plopped down on it, all traces of her Crusnik form gone. “Keep it as a reminder that you’re not alone, no matter how heavy the burden.” She crossed her legs and patiently waited for the blonde to collect herself, and reapply her makeup to hide the shadows under her eyes, before starting again. “Abel’s getting better by the day thanks to a steady diet of blood and increased food. He is training again, determined to be good enough to take Cain down permanently this time. Leon is getting better as well. He twisted his knee when their ship crashed and then compounded the injury by hauling my brother’s dead weight around the capital.”

She shook her head. “What is it about men that makes them do the silliest things at the strangest times but it all works out for the best?”

“We should talk about this peace conference,” Catarina stated, replacing the monocle in her right eye before she raised reddened eyes to stare at Seth.

“Abel, Leon, and the Duchess of Kiev are training to be able to take out the Contra Mundi and his two main operatives, Dietrich and Isaak,” began Seth, resting her hands on the chair arms after making sure her white noise generator and bug jammer was still working. It wouldn’t do to have someone overhear their conversation this early in the game. “With the Iron Maiden available for evacuation and with each ruler allowed guards, we should be able to get everyone out if a problem were to arise, and I will be the last line of defense between the rulers and any problem.”

“That sounds reasonable, Your Majesty,” murmured Catarina, her hands folded on her desk. “I can find no fault in your plan.”

Seth nodded before hopping to her feet and grabbing Catarina’s wrist. “Good. Now let’s go outside and enjoy this day before you go to bed and sleep yourself out.” She pulled the pretty cardinal towards the French windows with a smile on her face. “You’ll be no help to anyone if you collapse over your desk from exhaustion.”

Before Catarina could protest or even think about pulling away, Seth had hauled her out into the sunshine and into the elaborate garden in the center of the Vatican. It was too nice of a day to waste it inside bickering over petty details of a plan that was still weeks away from coming together, and she still needed to hear back from her other messengers to make adjustments.

Besides, she could hear someone crying in the garden, and she was willing to bet good money that it was someone whom Catarina needed to talk to.

Rounding a corner, she spotted a figure wrapped in his white robes of state sitting in a shadowy gazebo crying, and she pulled Catarina over, pushing her to sit on one side of the teenage boy as Seth plopped down on the other. Calmly, she sat there, waiting for the young teen to acknowledge their presence. It was a few minutes later that they boy stopped crying long enough to look up at them, wary gray eyes reddened from his tears, and Seth pulled out another handkerchief from her skirt, pressing it into his hands as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Who are you?” whispered Alessandro, scrubbing at his face with the white cloth in a desperate attempt to remove his tears and any evidence that he had been crying. He looked to his other side and jumped to find Catarina sitting there, not saying a word and looking very tired. “Sister?”

Catarina smiled but it didn’t reach her tired eyes. “Yes, Alessandro?”

“What are you doing here?” he asked before his gray eyes widened in realization at how that could have been taken. “Not that I don’t appreciate your company, but you’ve been distant lately.”

“I have, haven’t I?” she murmured, looking down at her hands that were folded in her lap. “I apologize, Alessandro, but I’ve been worried about a good friend of mine.”

“Are they all right? What happened to them?” the young pope asked, his eyes filled with concern.

Seth smiled at the worry for someone that Alessandro didn’t even know. That spoke a great deal for his ability to care for other people. “My brother’s getting better after a mad man kidnaped and tortured him.” She held out her hand. “Seth Nightlord. Pleased to meet ya.”

Hesitantly, Alessandro shook her hand. “A pleasure,” he murmured, a faint frown on his face. “Are you any relation to Father Nightroad? I haven’t seen him around lately, and he’s really good at offering advice without sounding preachy.”

She nodded. “He’s my brother, and he’ll be delighted to hear that you are concerned about him,” she said. “It’ll help him get better to know that there are others who care about him.”

“If he’s injured, why isn’t he in the Vatican infirmary?” asked Alessandro, the frown deepening as he stared at Seth. “That’s where everyone else ends up when they’re hurt or sick.”

“Because he’s not safe here,” Seth confessed, her voice soft. “Here, the man who kidnaped him the first time could easily get to him again, but at home, it’s harder with everyone around who are already wary of strangers.”

Alessandro nodded but his face fell at the information that one of his friends was hurt in the Vatican. “Where is home by the way?” he began only to hold his hands up in a placating gesture. “You don’t have to give me details. I was just curious to know if it would be possible to write to him, send him good wishes at getting better.”

Seth grinned, her green eyes sparkling. “He would probably like that a lot,” she admitted, digging into her skirt pocket again to pull out a slightly crumpled envelope and hand it over to Catarina. “Speaking of which. A letter to you from my brother. Feel free to write him back, the address is listed in the letter along with the name he’s going by while at home.”

She returned her attention to the young pope. “As for where home is, I’ll be happy to tell you if you promise not to tell the secret.”

“I promise,” agreed the young man, his gray eyes dancing with excitement.

“Home is the Imperial Palace in Byzantium, the capital city of the Empire,” Seth whispered in his ear, before she pulled back with a giggle. “I’m a special messenger for Her Imperial Majesty right now, trying to get things started for possible peace talks and a hopeful treaty sometime in the coming months.”

Alessandro nodded, turning to stare out at the sun drenched gardens. “It would be really nice to have a peace treaty between the human kingdoms and the Empire,” he sighed. “So what seems to be the problem with starting them? There must be something if you’re talking about it taking months instead of weeks.”

“The problem, Your Holiness, is that a very evil man who wants to take over the world would see this as a possible threat and do his best to stop negotiations,” explained Seth with a shrug of her shoulder. “It wouldn’t take much to disrupt negotiations with a missing messenger here, a replaced message there, and if he did it right, everyone would be at each other’s throats, allowing him to topple various governments by getting another world war started.”

“Then the only way to get this peace treaty argued out and signed would be for everyone to meet in person,” agreed Alessandro with a slight nod of his head. “But that would make us a target for this man as well.”

Seth grinned as she leaned back on the bench. Apparently Alessandro wasn’t as concerned as Catarina was, but the blonde had a better idea about what lengths Cain was willing to go to. “Her Imperial Majesty thought that with a party of twenty people for each ruler and the Iron Maiden for an emergency evacuation, there would be sufficient security. The only thing left would be to find a neutral spot to hold the conference.”

Alessandro shrugged. “Then we’ll just have to find one and hope the others can come as well,” he replied, his gray eyes focusing once more on Seth. “So tell me a bit about yourself. I miss having someone my own age to talk to.”

“A pleasure,” replied Seth before starting to talk about the human life she had constructed for herself. It wouldn’t do to give too many secrets away yet.

@@@

Astha did her best not to fidget as she was led through the richly decorated halls of Buckingham Palace, and she wished once more for the comforting weight of the Spear of Gae Bolg. Unlike the Methuselan Empire, the human kingdoms would not allow anyone armed in to see their ruler, and she was not about to leave the deadly spear in an unknown human’s hands. It would be too easy for one of them with a grudge against the Methuselah to use it to start problems that she was here to prevent.

"From the Methuselan Empire, Astharoche Asran, Viscountess of Odessa and Duchess of Kieve, messenger for Her Imperial Highness, Empress Agusta Vradica," announced the crier as the ornate double doors were opened before Astha. Surprised murmurs echoed through the large hall as Astha glided up the red carpet placed down the center of the room, her fine white silk outfit with royal blue and metallic gold trim an equal for any human noble's outfit here. The only one dressed more richly than her was the slender redhead seated on the throne on the dais, her elaborate white and gold gown making her appear twice as large as she truly was as a crown of gold and jewels sparkled in Queen Esther Blanchett's hair. Her blue eyes were alight with delight at the sight of Astha but Esther quickly hid her excitement at seeing the Methuselah Noble.

In one smooth, graceful movement, Astha knelt on one knee with her fist over her heart. “I bring greetings to Her Majesty, Queen Esther Blanchett, Albion’s Star of Hope, from Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Augusta Vradica, the Eternal Mother of the Empire,” she announced, decades of playing court politics allowing her to spout off the flowery greeting with ease. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope made out of parchment and sealed with blood red wax holding the Imperial crest, before she held it up, wax side up to prove that it hadn’t been tampered with in any way. “Her Imperial Majesty’s message, for Her Majesty’s eyes only.”

She waited, all urges to fidget gone now that she was in the political arena again and continued holding out the envelope until it was removed from her hand. Only then did she drop her hand back to her side, her head still bowed as she waited for a sign of acknowledgment even as her senses strained to detect any possible twitch of treachery from those in the room. It wasn’t the guards that worried her, but the unknown courtiers who ringed the room while she was in her vulnerable position. If any decided to start trouble with the Empire, it would be them, willing to strike when her neck was exposed like this. There was the sharp crack of the sealing wax breaking before the crinkling of paper announced that someone had removed the folded letter within and was reading it.

As the seconds dragged on into minutes, Astha was glad that she was use to kneeling on a carpet while giving her reports to the Empress because otherwise her knee would be hurting and she would be wobbling from remaining kneeling for so long. But thanks to her unexpected training, she had no problem keeping her balance while remaining motionless as the young queen read the letter.

“We are delighted to hear that our neighbors are willing to start motions towards a peace treaty between us and the Empire,” stated Esther, sounding like she had been raised in this life instead of in a church in Ishtvan and had been a nun up until a few months ago. “We shall compose a letter to deliver to Her Imperial Majesty upon your return. Until such time as you return, we offer you our hospitality and ask that you join us in touring the Methuselah part of our kingdom.”

Startled gasps echoed through the air, indicating that either the offer of the tour or the hospitality was unexpected from the various courtiers, and Astha smiled slightly. “I thank you for the generous offer, your highness, and gladly accept your hospitality during my visit to your kingdom.”

“Please rise and join us,” requested Esther, and Astha managed to make it to her feet without groaning as her leg protested the movement after being stuck in one position for several minutes.

“Your highness, surely you aren’t going to take this *vampire* down into the Ghetto with you when you go to your meeting with the terrorist leader!” protested one of the courtiers, and Astha gritted her teeth as she ignored the slur even as her fangs itched to rip out that useless voice. They were *Methuselah* for the Eternal Mother’s sake, not some creature out of a horror novel.

There was a shifting of petticoats as Esther rose to her feet. “The Duchess of Kiev is our guest and will be treated with all the respect due to her as a messenger from Her Imperial Majesty.” The red haired queen’s voice was cold enough to cause icicles to form on the walls, and Astha glanced up to find the young woman’s blue eyes hard as sapphires as she glared at the hapless courtier who had dared question his queen’s decision. “And Vanessa Walsh is *not* a terrorist. She is concerned over the treatment of her fellow Methuselah, and as one of our subjects, it is our responsibility to listen to her concerns.”

With that, Esther swept down the red carpet that led from her throne to the double doors Astha had come in, and the blonde Methuselah followed in the redhead’s wake as the doors were opened for Esther. Instead of heading back to either an office or her suite, Esther led Astha down what looked to be almost a servant’s hallway only to stop in front of a door, and Astha watched with concealed interest as Esther pressed her palm against a flat square that was apparently a finger print reader. Then the doors hissed open to reveal an empty metal elevator that looked like it belonged in a warehouse somewhere instead of in Buckingham palace.

“Apparently, my family has not only skeletons in the closet but under the ground as well,” sighed Esther, stepping into the elevator as two guards that had followed them proceeded her by a couple of steps and Astha slipped in just before the doors started closing. “It has only recently come to my attention that the source of lost technology that is the basis for Albion’s political might comes from the Methuselah that live in the Ghetto, an underground factory and city.”

“And since one of the more vocal Methuselah have expressed a distastes for their current living conditions, you have decided to start changing things,” concluded Astha with a small dip of her head. It was a good way to start a reign and would get Esther support from the oppressed Methuselah while building her political influence.

Esther only hummed in a general agreement as the doors slid open to reveal a metal corridor that was even more dingy than the hallway above them. “I just want to help,” she confessed, her voice sad as her shoulders slumped, reminding Astha of the nun who had wanted to help her friends no matter what the consequences. “No one should live in oppression and be forced to support others just because they can.”

That got a noncommital hum from Astha who wondered if these Methuselah were truly being oppressed or if they were just testing the waters with the new queen of Albion. It was not uncommon for subjects to see just what a new ruler was made out of by attempting either a revolution or causing dissonant among the masses. Either way, it would be an interesting meeting because if she remembered her Albion nobility right, Vanessa Walsh was the name of the Count of Manchester’s sister.

A few more twists and turns in the dingy hallway before a door opened, and Esther was proceeded by her guards once more as they took up their spots just inside the doorway. Astha walked in to find herself in an almost sterile room with only a large table circled by a dozen chairs, and a woman with green hair sat at the end of the table with a blond man and a brunette woman sitting on either side of her. Most polite people would have risen in the presence of a queen, but this woman remained sitting, her eyes hard as she glared at them.

“Was it necessary to bring an outsider into these discussions, Your Majesty?” demanded the green haired woman as Esther claimed the seat opposite her and gestured for Astha to take the seat to her right.

Instead of getting annoyed, Esther returned the woman’s furious gaze with her own calm one. “Vanessa Walsh, allow us to present Astharoche Asran, Duchess of Kiev and a messenger from Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Augusta Vradica of the Methuselan Empire,” introduced the redhead. “Your Grace, this is Vanessa Walsh, a representative of our Methuselan citizens.”

That got curious steel gray eyes turned in her direction, but Astha met them with an unreadable blank stare, acting as if she were just another puppet for the Empire. It was the best ploy she could come up with since she had no idea what was truly going on here, and if it turned out her input was needed, then she could act on behalf of the Empire with the blessings of Her Imperial Majesty. It was a small advantage that Seth had granted her before Astha had left the Empire, knowing that there would be times when the blonde Methuselah would have to act in a moment’s notice instead of waiting to get a call back to the Empress.

“Are you here to help us or them?” the brunette woman asked, her voice suspicious and hard as she gestured angrily towards Esther.

“Considering I have no knowledge of the situation from either side, how can I choose to back either the Methuselahs or the Terrans?” countered Astha, sitting back in the chair with her hands folded on the table, the sharp nails glittering in the artificial light, and she was glad that she let Abel talk her into painting them a metallic blood red. They were quite a sight as if she had painted her nails in the blood of her enemies, and it was the perfect warning that she was a warrior in her own right as well as a noble and diplomat.

Walsh nodded her head in agreement with Astha’s words. “Very well. This is our plight,” she began before launching into a tale that sounded like it came from a fairy tale. Methuselah enslaved to work in factories beneath Londinium, making the lost technology, while the humans benefitted and lived off of the sweat and toil of the Methuselah, and the human nobles kept the Methuselah as their dirty little secret.

“Our demands are simple,” concluded Walsh, spreading her hands on the table as if displaying a deck of cards. “We want the safety of every Methuselah in the Ghetto guaranteed, that your government help any Methuselah that wishes to relocate to the Empire, and that our hard work to the prosperity of the Albion economy be publicly acknowledged.”

Esther frowned in thought instead of in anger. “It will take a bit of doing to get everything started for your requests to be met,” she stated, one finger tapping her chin before blue eyes turned to Astha. “Do you have anything you wish to add, Duchess?”

“I would like to speak to some of the workers in this factory,” announced Astha. “Just to see for myself the conditions that you speak of, and to allow me to make an accurate report to Her Imperial Majesty.” She shrugged a shoulder. “Her Imperial Majesty is working towards a peace treaty between the Empire and the human kingdoms, and as Her Imperial Messenger, it is my duty to investigate such claims of unrest that could potentially disrupt the Peace Talks.”

She glanced at Esther who was regarding her with curious blue eyes. “By your leave, Your Majesty?” Esther nodded, and Astha rose from the table, nodding her head in a gesture of respect to Walsh before she turned and walked out the doors.

As the doors closed behind her, Astha let out a small sigh of relief. It wasn’t that she disliked sitting in on potentially hostile negotiations, but she could do so much more investigating Walsh’s claims instead of sitting around a table and talking. Her hand crept up to feel the second envelope that was still in her coat pocket, and a small smile touched her face. Besides, she still had another letter to deliver and two children to bring back to the Empire. Turning on her heels, Astha picked a direction and started walking, knowing that if this was part of the factory then she would find either a control room or workers sooner or later.

A few hours later and much wiser about the situation in the Ghetto, Astha found herself standing in front of a building where the laughter of children spilled out of the partially opened windows, and she took a fortifying breath before knocking on the door. There was the sound of approaching feet before the door opened to reveal a pretty young Methuselan with brown hair neatly pulled back into a bun wearing a simple pink blouse and burgundy skirt with a white apron over it. Wary brown eyes stared at Astha, taking in her rich clothes. “May I help you?”

Astha smiled in a reassuring manner. “Yes, I was wondering if Wendy and Peter were available for a talk,” she said, pulling out the second envelope. Instead of the Imperial Seal in blood red wax, this one was sealed with blue wax with a cross pressed into it. “I have a letter for them.”

The woman studied Astha for a few minutes before opening the door farther. “Please come in,” she invited, stepping to one side, and Astha casually entered the building.

The inside was neat and clean with the few children’s toys that were scattered on the floor adding a homely feel to the place instead of making it seem cluttered. Curious eyes peered at her from around doorways, hallway corners and from between the railing slats on the stairs, but Astha remained unfazed by the various stares. The woman brushed past Astha and motioned for the blonde Methuselah to follow her.

“Wendy is in the kitchen, helping with dinner, and Peter is assisting her,” the woman announced, her voice gentle, and she looked up at Astha with hopeful eyes. “Are you here to adopt them or act on behalf of someone who wants to adopt them?”

“Why do you ask that?” inquired Astha, wondering how many times this woman has greeted someone who was acting on someone else’s behalf to adopt a child.

“I truly hope you are,” stated the woman with a wistful smile. “Neither Peter nor Wendy wish to be separated from the other, a common occurrence with close siblings, and yet no one wishes to adopt both of them, citing Wendy is too old to adopt or two are too much trouble than one would be.” She sighed softly. “Both of them being adopted by a noble would be a good change for them, provide them both with a steady home. Both are hard workers. Wendy is a kind little mother for the younger children, and Peter is a fierce protector of all of them, especially Wendy. We were blessed when they were brought to us, but they need to find their own way again.”

Astha nodded, her thought whirling now. She had only come here to deliver the letter from Leon and see if the two children wanted to return with her to the Empire, but part of her was urging her to seriously consider adopting the children into her own household. After all, she didn’t have any heirs yet and probably wouldn’t for the foreseeable future, and she had two titles while being an Imperial Investigator. Wendy could easily be trained in the proper ways of the Imperial Court while Peter was trained as a personal guard for her.

Entering the kitchen, Astha at first thought the girl standing at the stove was a maid, dressed in a neat blue dress with a white apron over it with large ruffles protecting her shoulders, and her golden hair was pulled up into pig tails, tied off with pink ribbons, but the way she was directing the children around her without really saying anything indicated that this wasn’t a maid.

One little girl with brown hair pulled back into two small pigtails tied with yellow ribbons tugged on the girl’s skirt, and she beamed up at the blonde who smiled gently down at her. “Wendy, sing the flying song again? Please?”

“Yeah, sing it again!” piped up a boy with messy light brown hair and big blue eyes from where he was chopping potatoes at a nearby counter. He shrank back as Wendy turned serious blue eyes on him and he stopped waving the knife he held around.

“All right since you asked so nicely,” agreed Wendy before she started to sing. “Think of a wonderful thought, any merry little thought. Think of Christmas, think of snow, think of sleigh bells, off you go! Like reindeers in the sky! You can fly! You can fly! You can fly! Think of the happiest things, it’s the same as having wings. Take a path that moonbeams make. If the moon is still awake, you’ll see him wink his eye. You can fly! You can fly! You can fly! Up you go with a heigh and ho to the stars beyond the blue. There’s a Never Land waiting for you, where all your happy dreams come true. Every dream that you dream will come true. When there’s a smile in your heart, there’s no better time to start. Think of all the joy you’ll find, when you leave the world behind and bid your cares goodbye. You can fly! You can fly! You can fly!”

The girl’s sweet voice brought a smile to Astha’s face as the other children helped her sing the song while they twirled around the kitchen, their arms outstretched as if they were trying to fly, and they collapsed in giggles at the end. All except the young boy chopping potatoes. Astha had seen a flash of longing and hurt in his large blue eyes before it was hidden again by laughter. She had thought that no one else had seen the look, but from the faint frown on Wendy’s face, the girl had seen it.

“Dinner’s almost ready, so everyone, time to wash your hands and faces,” instructed Wendy, pointing to the door with her wooden spoon, and there were a few faint sounds of protest before the children trickled out of the door. “Peter, are you almost done with those potatoes?”

“Yes Wendy,” announced the boy, dumping the last of the potatoes in a large pot next to him on the counter before he carefully carried it over to her, placing it on an open burner on the stove. For a moment Astha thought their presence had gone unnoticed, but that thought was dashed the moment the boy’s hands were free because he turned to them and folded his arms across his chest, glaring at Astha as he stood between her and Wendy. “What do you want?”

“Peter!” admonished Wendy, turning to look at them, and Astha caught a faint flicker of fear in the girl’s blue eyes before it was buried. “How may we help you, Matron?”

The matron gestured to Astha. “She has brought a letter to you both,” the woman announced, and the children’s faces became alight with curiosity as they looked at Astha in a new light. “I expect you both to be on your best behavior while she is here and to treat her like the noble she is.”

She started shooing them both away from the stove, but a torn expression appeared on Wendy’s face. “But dinner...” Wendy began.

“You have everything prepared,” stated the matron, shaking a finger at Wendy. “I only have to let it finish cooking and place it on the table. Now escort the Lady into the parlor where you three can talk in private.”

Wendy sighed in defeat before turning away from the stove, wiping her hands on a towel as she did so, and she placed a hand around Peter’s shoulders before starting towards the door. “If you would come with us, please,” she invited, and Astha nodded her head, pleased at the girl’s manners.

Astha was led into a room that had nice chairs scattered around it, separated by the occasional table and a large couch while pictures hung on the walls that were decorated with faded wall paper. It had probably been very lovely at one time, but age had taken its toll on the room, stripping it of its glory yet somehow leaving the feeling of homeliness behind. Wendy and Peter sat on the couch, their blue eyes staring at Astha expectantly, and now Astha could see the beginnings of womanly curves mostly hidden under Wendy’s plain dress, causing her to reassess her original idea of Wendy’s age from around ten to probably thirteen.

“You wished to speak with us?” invited Wendy, her hands folded demurely in her lap, and Astha pulled out the envelope she had been carrying, holding it out to them.

“Father de Asturias asked me to pass this along to you,” began Astha, and Peter snatched it out of her hand, tearing open the envelope before he yanked the pages out, his blue eyes already scanning the neat handwriting there. Astha blinked in surprise at his actions as she settled into a chair across from the two children, their heads bent over the letter as they read the introduction that Leon had written for her.

Peter snorted as he finished, raising his blue eyes to pin her with a glare. “The Old Man speaks highly of you, but how do we know we can trust you?” he demanded, letting Wendy have the letter as he folded his arms across his chest again. “He said you know what happened to us, but for all we know, you just want to cart us off to see what Barrie did to us so you can repeat his experiments.”

“For one thing, I am a representative of Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Augusta Vradica, the Eternal Mother of the Empire. She would have my head on a pike if I even thought about something like that in passing,” remarked Astha, raising an eyebrow at Peter’s paranoia. “Of course, if you wanted, Wendy could always fix a cup of her special tea that Father Nightroad speaks highly about. He mentioned that it was the fastest he had ever fallen asleep after a cup.”

An embarrassed blush stained Wendy’s cheeks as she folded the letter and held it in her lap. “Father de Asturias and Father Nightroad both speak highly of you in this,” she stated, holding up the letter before folding her hands over the parchment, and Astha stared at her in surprise. She had known Leon had written the letter, but she hadn’t thought that Abel had added anything. “On their word, I am willing to listen to you, but that is all. I want to hear from you why you are interested in us.”

Astha sat back in the chair and steepled her fingers before her face as she collected her thoughts, her estimation of the two children going up several notches. Their paranoia of others would serve them well in Court as well as against any who might harm them, but left unchecked, it would ruin them both. “Father de Asturias asked for me to act on his behalf since he is unable to openly adopt you due to an unsolved crime in his past. At first, I was only planning on inviting you both to come to the Empire and live there until the crime was solved so Father de Asturias could openly adopt you both.”

“And now?” The wariness in Peter’s voice was only sharpened by the distrust in his eyes.

“Now, I would like to adopt you both myself, and name you my heirs while teaching you about the Empire and this world you have been thrust into,” replied Astha, her voice calm as she hoped the children would agree. “You would be able to stay together for as long as you wished, you would be allowed certain privileges as would be your rights as my heirs, and both Fathers de Asturias and Nightroad would be welcomed to visit you whenever they could or you could visit them.”

She shrugged a shoulder. “It would not be an easy or idyllic life since there will be duties that you will be required to perform and training to undergo, but it can be yours if you wish.”

“And if we don’t want to go with you?” Peter’s eyes weren’t any more trusting than they had been at the start, but there was something that told Astha he was really listening to her.

“Then you don’t go with me,” the blonde duchess stated in a casual voice as if that was the end of the matter. “But you should think about it seriously. I will be a guest of Her Majesty, Queen Esther, while I am helping her with the problems the Methuselahs have brought to her attention before I return to the Empire when my business here is complete.”

The two children exchanged glances before Wendy returned her gaze to Astha. “Might we have a few minutes to confer on your offer, ma’am?” Before Astha could say either way, they stood up and left the room, Wendy pulling Peter out by the hand, and Astha had to wonder what was so urgent that Wendy had to talk to Peter right that minute. Perhaps the young girl was afraid that Astha might change her mind about something, but if they went with the blonde noble, they would learn that it would take a miracle to change her mind about anything.

A few minutes later, they reentered the room, serious blue eyes staring at Astha, and she simply crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap as she waited for them to speak.

“We have decided that we will go with you, but if there is any treachery on your part, you will never see us again,” announced Wendy, licking her lips nervously.

“That is agreeable,” Astha stated, uncrossing her legs before rising to her feet. She held out her hand to Wendy who carefully shook it before Astha held her hand to Peter. The young boy stared at her for a few minutes, suspicion warring with hope before he finally took her hand in a crushing grip that surprised her more than it hurt. From what Abel had told her, Peter had not been transformed into an artificial Methuselah, yet he had the strength of one. That would require some careful consideration.

Wendy bowed slightly to Astha. “Would you care to join us for dinner before we approach the Matron about the official adoption, Duchess Asran?” she invited, her voice filled with respect even as Peter’s face softened a bit.

Astha smiled and placed a hand on Wendy’s shoulder, making sure the girl saw her actions as she still had some distrust of adults. “That would be wonderful, Wendy. Thank you.”

The three left the study, and Astha smiled as she watched Peter and Wendy talk in quiet voices. Yes, they would go far together.

@@@

With slow, controlled movements, Abel moved through the kata, feeling the pull and burn of muscles as they worked while a simple staff was substituted for his blood scythe. Music filled the air from the stereo tucked away in a corner, a mix of fast paced songs set to play in a random order, and a faint sheen of sweat covered his skin, causing his loose pants to stick to his legs. His hair was pulled back in a braid while the few strands that had worked free floated around his face, and his blue eyes had a ruby glitter to them, the only sign that his Crusnik instincts were closer to the surface than they normally were.

Two weeks.

That was how long Seth and Astha had been gone from the Empire. He knew they both had duties outside of taking care of him while he was weak, but if anything happened to Seth, he knew his ass was going to be on her throne, ruling the Empire she had put together, and that was a responsibility he didn’t want yet. He had an idea of where she might have vanished to but no concrete proof. Astha had been sent to the Albion kingdom to start the process for the Peace Conference and to find Peter and Wendy if at all possible. Seth had just vanished after breakfast with a kiss and a “Be back later, brother!”

While Leon spent most of his time in the garden, enjoying the warm weather and the sunshine as he healed, Abel was in the training room, pushing himself farther as he went through the katas that he hadn’t bothered with since Armageddon. It was almost a surprise how easily the moves came back once he started again, and he worked himself into an exhaustion each day, determined to improve enough to take Cain down permanently. He refused to allow any of the leaders to come to harm from his twisted brother or any of his lackeys.

“When I left, I had hoped that you would take it easy. Not work yourself into the ground and set yourself back with exhaustion,” drawled a familiar voice from the door, and in one smooth motion, Abel turned, launching the staff at the person standing there as if it were a javelin. Seth reached out and knocked the staff away with a sweep of her hand, breaking it in two and sending the pieces clattering to the ground. She sniffed and moved farther into the room, her emerald eyes running over Abel in a clinical way. “You’re either working yourself too hard or not eating enough again. You’ve lost the weight you managed to regain, Brother.”

“Two weeks,” he growled, clenching his hands and feeling his nails start to elongate, cutting into his palms. “No word on where you were or why you left. I didn’t even know you were gone until Mirka told me.”

The virus in his blood was starting to react to his anger as the nanites controlling it loosened their hold, and his braid unraveled under the force of the static electricity his body was generating. His fangs descended, aching to rip through flesh and release a font of hot fresh blood, and he growled, knowing his eyes had become enveloped in the crimson light of the Crusnik virus.

Seth sniffed and folded her arms. “You know I have other responsibilities, Abel...”

“I know that, but I wasn’t expecting you to just up and *vanish*, leaving me to wonder and worry about you while hoping you didn’t get killed because that would leave me with your throne. Something I am *not* looking forward to.” His voice was a low growl as he glared at Seth, trying to get control of his anger but unable to. It was just another sign at how weak he was currently when he couldn’t even control his emotions.

“And I’m not use to having someone around the palace that worries about me,” countered Seth, startling Abel out of some of his anger. She offered him a rue smile and a faint shrug. “You haven’t been around, and there really isn’t anyone else who would be that concerned about me before you and Leon showed up. About the only person I’ve ever been answerable to have been my doubles and that was only to let them know that they needed to stand in for me because I was going to be gone.”

Slender arms wrapped around his waist, and Abel closed his eyes, finally managing to rein in his tempter and activate more of the nanites to suppress his Crusnik form. “I don’t want to loose you,” he confessed, sinking to his knees and wrapping his arms around Seth’s small form. “Not when I have a chance to get to know you again.”

Soft laughter shook her body, causing Abel to look up at her with a curious expression as she slid her fingers through his long silver hair. “Your pretty cardinal is the same way, you know that?” she inquired, her green eyes dancing. “Both of you have lost a great deal in your lives and are afraid to let anyone get close to you while wanting to cling to those that manage the impossible despite your best intentions.”

“So did she influence me or did I influence her?” mused Abel, resting his head against Seth’s chest as he continued to kneel there. He didn’t want to move yet, not when he could soak in her warmth and use it to chase off the nightmares again. “The first time I saw her, she was about thirteen years old and was being chased by a group of vampire assassins. She was so young an vulnerable, not like the strong woman today.”

“I think that’s like asking which came first, the chicken or the egg,” replied Seth, not stopping her stroking of Abel’s hair, and his eyes slid closed under the soothing motion, a deep purr starting in his chest.

He must have dozed off because the next thing he was aware of was soft giggling drawing him back to consciousness, and he opened an eye to find Astha leaning over him with a smile on her face. It was then that he realized that Seth had maneuvered them to the floor where she was sitting while he lay curled up on the floor with his head pillowed in her lap, her hand still stroking his hair. He heard the giggle again, and his eyes were drawn past Astha to where two familiar children stood, amusement clear on their faces.

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better, tovarash, but the floor of the training room is not a good place to catch a nap,” teased Astha, reaching down to brush his silver bangs out of his eyes, and a faint blush spread across his cheeks.

Slowly, he pushed himself up, sitting on the floor near Seth and raked his long hair over one shoulder before starting to braid it with quick fingers. “I’m getting better but I have a long way to go before I can fight Cain and win,” he sighed, tying the long braid off with a ribbon that he found in his pocket as he climbed to his feet.

He walked past Astha towards the weapon’s rack where other staves were available for use, and stopped to smile down at Wendy and Peter. “I’m glad you decided to come. Leon will be happy to see you.”

“And what about you, Father Abel Nightroad?” asked Wendy, her blue eyes filled with curiosity. “Aren’t you happy to see us as well?”

Abel stared down at her, meeting her gaze with his own blue one, and part of him wondered why she was asking, considering that they may have parted on friendly terms but had started out with her trying to kill him. “Yes, I am glad to see you.”

“Well you don’t act like it,” retorted Peter, glaring at Abel with a mulish expression on his face.

“And how exactly am I suppose to act, hm? Perhaps sweep you both into my arms and hug you like there’s no tomorrow even though you are both still wary of adults,” mused Abel, looking at Peter who had the ashamed dignity to look away. “You both knew me from the time we crashed on Never Land Island to when you were dropped off in Londinium with my acquaintance which was the span of a night. You should really learn more about a person before you start making assumptions about them.”

With that, he continued over to the rack and picked up one of the staves, testing it in his hand before moving to the center of the floor to start his katas again. There were a few quiet murmurs before the sound of people leaving was punctuated by the door closing firmly, and he closed his eyes as he relaxed into the kata again. Maybe later, he’d be able to talk Seth into sparring with him again...

“Why are you so angry, Father Nightroad?” Wendy’s voice broke through his concentration, and he froze, opening his eyes to find her staring at him as she leaned against the wall. Her hands were tucked behind her in the small of her back, and she was the picture of unconcerned relaxation, but Abel knew how quick she could be when she shifted to her vampiric form. “Even after I drugged you and wanted to kill you simply for being an adult, you weren’t this angry. What happened to you?”

He snorted and straightened out of his attack position, the staff held casually in one hand as he stared at her with intense blue eyes. “Do not ask questions that you are not prepared to hear the answer to,” he warned, his voice hard and emotionless as his hand tightened slightly on the staff. Hearing the wood creak under his grip reminded him of the fragility of his practice weapon, and he loosened his grip on it. He couldn’t keep breaking staves in his anger or there would be none left to practice with until the woodcarver could make more.

“If I didn’t want to hear the answer, then I wouldn’t have answered the question,” countered Wendy, pushing away from the wall as a shimmer appeared behind her before solidifying into glowing fairy-like wings. Small fangs protruded from her lips and her eyes glowed red as she slowly rose into the air, her wings humming as they beat the air with a furious speed. “You did not fear us before, going as far as to beg Father de Asturias for our lives, yet the gentle priest is gone, discarded for this angry man before me.”

“The gentle priest was drugged and kidnaped before spending three months in a dungeon being tortured by a sadistic man,” Abel shot back, a sliver of satisfaction curling through him as she blanched at that information.

“Did you kill him?” Wendy asked as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “We killed the man who hurt us.”

Abel shook his head, his thick braid slithering across his back with the motion. “It’s not that simple,” he began, lowering his head to stare at the floor as emotions battled inside him. Part of him wanted to return to the Vatican simply to rip Francesco limb from limb before decorating the garden with the entrails of the cardinal while a much larger part wanted to do the same thing but with Cain instead of Francesco before locking Francesco in a small cell to rot.

“How can it *not* be that simple?” she demanded, her fists on her hips. “If someone hurts you that badly, you kill them so they can’t hurt anyone else.”

“Oh you naive child,” he sighed, tossing the staff off to one side as he stared at her. He was actually amused by her naivety, but she still needed to learn this lesson. “You are no longer on your island where you make the rules. Now you are part of society where you must obey the rules that others make. Were I to kill the one who hurt me, many people would suffer because he is a loved one of theirs, and I would be hunted like a fugitive before being locked away. He will be punished, of that I have no doubt, but until that time when I can move against him, I have to bide my time and get stronger.”

Wendy sniffed and folded her arms across her chest. “You’ll have to get a lot stronger if you want to hurt your enemies,” she remarked. “Because you were easy to defeat on the island.”

He chuckled, the dark sound rumbling in his chest. “Perhaps I was holding back because I didn’t want to hurt you?” he purred, holding his arms out as he stared at her. “If you think you can defeat me a second time, come.”

A red glare was his only warning as Wendy zipped towards him, her wings beating a furious tempo against the air, and Abel casually rolled out of the way, feeling her brush past him. A few more close misses that resulted in a few slashes in the tumbling mats, and he chuckled at the frustration on her face. “Perhaps I should get the other Lost Boys and a Tinkerbell system for you to use. After all, that was how you defeated me last time.”

Stars exploded in his vision as a lucky punch clipped his jaw, shaking things loose in his head, and he stumbled backwards, one hand coming up to cradle his aching head as he blinked furiously, focusing on her furious face.

“There’s nothing special about you,” growled Wendy, her red eyes flashing dangerously as she clenched a fist. “You’re just another adult who thinks they know what’s best for everyone.” She lunged, grabbing a sword from the nearby weapon’s rack, and Abel knew that while the edge was dulled for practice, in the hands of a Methuselah that didn’t mean much. Especially one as angry as Wendy apparently was.

Snarling, she swung the sword at him only to gape when he caught it with a clawed hand, and for the second time, his braid unraveled again as his hair rose above his head. A dark chuckle slipped past sharp fangs emerging past black lips as he lazily blinked at her, and he held out his right hand, blood rushing out to form his scythe.

Wrapping his fingers around it, the Crusnik brought it up, twisting it this way and that as he watched the light glint off the razor sharp blade. It was rarely this bright when he usually summoned his scythe, and he never noticed how the transformed blood was almost metallic along the blade.

The faint whimper of fear and the pounding of a heart brought his attention back to the small figure gripping the sword he was holding, and he cocked his head slightly, studying her as he tried to figure out if she was a friend or a foe. It was hard to think for some reason, his instincts smothering his thoughts, demanding he destroy this one who dare attack him and take her blood for his own. She smelled young and sweet with a slight artificial scent about her that was spread with each flutter of her shimmering wings. His tongue snaked out to lick his lips, hunger rumbling in his stomach as he caressed his fangs, and she screamed before diving out the window, her wings beating the air in a furious tempo, the sword falling to the floor, forgotten. His back rippled before ebony feathered wings spread, and he snarled as he jumped after her, dimly hearing the door to the room slam open behind him. That wasn’t as important as catching his prey before it escaped him.

The prey flew around trees and castle spires, desperate to escape, but the Crusnik kept right behind her, enjoying the feel of the wind beneath his wings and the faint burn of the muscles in his back and chest keeping him in the air. He glanced briefly at the scythe in his hands before dismissing it. He would not need that to bring his prey down.

Suddenly, something small and moving fast slammed into him, shoving him off balance and knocking him away from his prey, and he managed to right himself with a few flaps of his large wings as he looked around for his prey. After a few seconds, he spotted his prey being dragged off by a young male with the same shimmering wings and a determined look on his young face as he glanced back at the Crusnik over his shoulder. Snarling, he dove after them because the younger male was taking his prey right to another Crusnik!

There was a green blur that intercepted him when he was almost to his prey, slamming into him hard enough that he started spiraling out of control, his wings refusing to work correctly before a strong if small hand grabbed him by the nape of his neck and dragged him onto the balcony. He fought against the grip, wanting to break free and claim his prey, which had landed a bit farther away on the balcony, when sharp fangs at his neck startled him before he went completely limp, submitting to the other Crusnik’s domination and collapsing to the balcony, ignoring the pain that lanced through his knees as he struck the unyielding stone.

@@@

Seth had nearly broken the door when the scream had echoed through the hallway, but the slaughter that she was expecting to find was absent. She managed to catch a black blur out the window and snarled curses under her breath as she raced towards the balcony with Astha next to her and Peter right behind her. It had only taken seconds to locate Abel in the sky as he chased Wendy, but before she could move, there was a furious snarl followed by the hum of wings before Peter suddenly took off, flying right at Abel.

“Bring Wendy back here!” bellowed Seth, shifting into her Crusnik form and spreading her wings as Peter slammed into Abel, knocking him away from Wendy before he grabbed the girl and started back for the balcony as fast as his fairy wings could take them. Abel managed to right himself after a few seconds and snarled as he dove after Peter and Wendy, black lips pulled away from sharp fangs.

“Sorry, Abel,” murmured Seth as she took off right at her brother, slamming into him hard enough to knock him out of the sky. Before he could fall very far, Seth grabbed him, and pulled him to the balcony where Leon was standing between Peter, Wendy and Astha and the large area where Seth was landing. Abel snarled and twisted in her grasp before she leaned between his furiously flapping wings and bit him on the neck, determined to stop him either through his instincts or by draining him far enough that he wouldn’t be able to move. She was delighted when Abel went completely limp, collapsing to the ground to kneel there, head tilted to one side baring his neck as his wings twitched flat against his back.

“Is he gonna be okay or do we have to invest in silvered manacles to hold him?” asked Leon, running his gaze over Abel, who was still kneeling on the stone balcony, clad only in a pair of black exercise pants and watching everyone with hooded eyes that blazed like fire.

Seth sighed and turned to look at Wendy, her fingers holding Abel’s shoulder in such a way that it would discourage him from breaking free while letting her know if he decided to start moving again. “What happened between the time we left you two alone and when he started chasing you?”

Wendy fidgeted with her fingers, twisting them in a nervous manner before her as her red eyes flickered around the adults before settling on Seth again. “I asked why he was so angry and he told me that he had been drugged and tortured for three months in a dungeon. When I asked if he had killed the person responsible, he said that I wasn’t back on Never Island and I couldn’t just make up the rules anymore. I told him that he’d have to get a lot stronger if he was going to defeat his enemies ‘cause we were able to defeat him easily before. Then we fought, with him dodging most of my attacks until I clipped him on the chin. Then I grabbed one of the practice swords and he changed.”

Walking around Abel, Seth bent over to stare into his eyes, and he met her ruby gaze with his own simmering red one, the feralness that had been controlling his actions simmering along with a hunger that made her wonder what else was wrong. As Abel was not in any condition to talk to her, being only seconds away from going through her to get to Wendy, it looked like there was only one way to get her answers.

Placing her hands on each side of Abel’s face, Seth forced him to meet her eyes before she started talking in a soft, rhythmic voice. “And shepherds we shall be for thee, my lord, for thee. Power hath descended forth from thy hand our feet may swiftly carry out thy commands. So we shall flow a river forth to thee and teeming with souls shall it ever be. In nomeni patri et fili spiritus sancti.”

She ran a hand through his hair, getting a sleepy purr for her actions before tapping him on the nose. “Brother, can you hear me?”

“Hear, Sister,” Abel sighed, his red eyes blinking sleepily, and Seth nodded once. Out of all the safety precautions the military had installed in them, the self hypnosis one was the only one none of them bothered to overcome because they never knew when they might need it during the war. After all, it was hard to get answers out of someone who only snapped and snarled in response to questions.

“Brother, why did you attack Wendy? She is hardly a danger to us.” Seth continued stroking Abel’s hair even as she ignored the slight huff from behind her. It wouldn’t do to break Abel’s trance until after she had found out what had caused the strange situation.

“Smelled sweet and young. Is prey. Wanted to feast on prey,” came the sighed response, and Seth frowned at his wording. Yes, the artificial Methuselah would be considered prey by their instincts, but there was nothing about her that called to Seth.

A sudden thought occurred to Seth. “Brother, when is the last time you fed on blood?”

“Two weeks. A day after you left.”

She closed her eyes and stamped very firmly on the urge to growl and snarl at her idiotic brother. He had been feeding the Crusnik virus a steady supply of Methuselah blood for the past month and then suddenly goes on a diet of the blood. It was no wonder, he went after Wendy when he shifted. “Abel, I need you to come back to me. Crusnik 02 nanomachines activate Medical Emergency authorization Major Seth Nightlord, United Nations Aerospace Medical ID UNASF369TLAS8804SK.”

The hair fell around pale shoulders that were no longer Methuselah pale, and the red glow faded, revealing brilliant blue that blinked in confusion as Abel slowly rose to his feet, swaying slightly until Seth wrapped an arm around his waist to keep him upright even as she shifted out of her Crusnik form.

“What happened?” asked Abel, looking around at everyone with a puzzled expression on his face.

“What happened is that you are an idiot, Brother Dear,” huffed Seth, steering him into the training room. “You’ve been on a steady diet of blood only to stop when I leave on business. Then, when you shifted with Wendy in the room, your instincts saw only a source of nourishment instead of a friend that you helped in the past.”

Abel shook his head, reaching up to grasp his hair. “I don’t have time for this,” he growled. “I managed just fine before without being dependent on blood.”

“And Cain or his lackeys were able to beat you or fight you to a standstill until they could escape,” countered Seth, glaring up at Abel as she stepped away from him to poke at his chest which wasn’t as muscular as it had been two weeks ago. “You’re losing weight that you had gained with proper exercise and a steady diet of food and blood, and you’re also losing control of your instincts. What if it’s Astha next time that you attack when you shift, huh? Or worse, someone who’s not strong enough to fight you or fast enough to outrun you? What then?”

Straightening his shoulders, Abel dropped his hand and glared at her. “That won’t happen,” he growled, his fingers tightening into fists. “I have to be better than Cain or everyone’s in danger. Can’t you see that?”

Snarling, Seth reached up and grabbed a double handful of Abel’s hair, pulling him down to her level and getting a startled and pained yelp out of him. “Now you listen to me, Commander Abel Nightlord, and listen good. Not everything is your fault or your responsibility. If the sun decides to rise in the north instead of the east, it’s not your god damn fault! There’s gonna be more people there to watch your back when you go up against Cain and *all* of us have to be in better shape.”

She tightened her grip on his hair when he tried to straighten up, reminding him that while she may be small, she was still stronger than he was currently. She had to make him see that he wasn’t going to be outnumbered, and there would be backup with him when it came time for him to take down their insane brother. “Now, you are going to march yourself into your rooms where you are going to take a hot bath before eating everything I have sent up to you. You’ve lost weight, and I don’t like it.”

“I am *not* going to spend the next several weeks lying around in bed until you have decided that I’m well enough to get out and train,” snarled Abel, his eyes flashing red, and Seth bared her own teeth, her fangs lengthening as she dug her heels in, ready to fight Abel if needed to show him that he wasn’t at his best.

TBC...