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  “Why do you blame me for your cursed existence? I had nothing to do with bringing you across. I loathed the Vampyre more than I loathe the Devil himself.”

  “I told you, not now, Monty. Not now.” With the safety of Neomina and the tribe at stake, Lazarus could think of nothing else. He had no time to deal with the strained relationship between him and Montgomery.

  “In a situation like this, you have to trust someone. And if you can't trust the tribe, then you have only me to count on.”

  Lazarus paid his uncle no heed. Neomina and the terror that stalked him were all he could think about. He needed time to himself to reflect.

  The tribe, with the exception of his mother, Octavia, and a few other vigorous souls, slept for the better part of the day in crypts lining an underground chapel beneath Sanctum Hall. With most of the tribe not being as strong as he was, Lazarus welcomed the notion of his kin, tucked away inside ornately carved stone tombs, lost in the world of dreams. In such a state, none would bother him. Not a single soul to worry about reading his mind, invading his thoughts. Except, of course, for Montgomery. His uncle's angelic powers had to be far greater than any of the preternatural Vampyric ones found among the Tribe.

  He eyed Monty with growing suspicion and wondered if perhaps, after all these years, the angel had reconsidered. Perhaps he wanted to be free of God's command, free of guarding a Vampyre. He couldn't help but feel the terror that stalked him now was somehow connected to his uncle. He shuddered at the thought.

  “You should try to be more understanding of Neomina. She thinks you don't love her and you really haven't done a thing to show her differently.”

  Lazarus fumed. He really needed to remember to keep his thoughts about Neomina separate from those easily read by his uncle. He absolutely hated Monty giving him advice, especially on this subject.

  “And what do you know about love and marriage? You're an angel, not a man.”

  Montgomery approached the fireplace. Lazarus could tell by the dark, angered look in Monty's eyes that he was irked beyond all restraints of his patience.

  “I know more about love and loss than you may think,” Monty said, his tone of voice cold and full of rage. “I had a wife and child many, many years before the notion of your conception even existed. And I fought to keep them with me and to keep them safe. I've made sacrifices you could never make, sacrifices no man can ever make. So don't you dare ever speak to me like that about such a subject again. Or, God or no God, I'll be out of here faster than you can blink an eye and then you'll have no one to defend your sorry soul when the time arises.”

  Lazarus stood there, shock reeling through his bones. Montgomery had never spoken to him like this before. And the angel definitely had never said a word about having a wife and child. Lazarus held his tongue instead of questioning his uncle. He simply didn't know what to say, or where to begin. The pressure of this unseen enemy hovering about his head was getting the best of him. He really needed to be less cynical about things.

  “Forgive me. It's just that—”

  Monty raised a hand up in front of him. “There's no need for apologies,” he said. “The tension is getting to both of us. All I'm saying is that we should work together on this. Two heads are always better than one.”

  Lazarus agreed. He started walking back and forth over the gray stone tiles.

  “I can't tell Neomina the truth. Her father made me promise the day we were married. So, for now she is safe by his side. The Dark Breed would never dare strike out at one of their own even if he did turn on them and now leads the life of a Tracker.” Lazarus clasped his hands behind his back and continued pacing. “His wife was a born Tracker. She rehabilitated him, something that had never been done before with a Dark Breeder—and never has it been done since.”

  He stopped in mid-stride. “Neomina thinks she's a full-blooded Tracker. I have no right to tell her otherwise. At least not now while her father is alive. I vowed to myself that, should the man ever die, I would tell her the truth. Then she'd have to know, for the Dark Breed will come for him and recover his body. Their custom is to always bury their own regardless of the fact one should stray from their path. I'll have no choice in the matter.”

  “And the entity that stalks you. What will you do about that?”

  “Until I know who or what it is, there's little I can do. So, for now, I just have to—”

  Lazarus’ words were cut short by a high-pitched scream coming from the second floor of Sanctum Hall.

  A knot of fear filled his soul. “That's my mother—”

  Monty looked up. “Octavia—”

  Lazarus ran from the great hall and followed the sound of his mother's scream. Montgomery was right behind him.

  CHAPTER 3

  The set of circular stone steps did little to aid Lazarus in his rush upstairs. They were designed to benefit the descending man defending his keep, not the invading soldier ascending them. He cursed.

  The sound of his hurried footsteps thundered through the hall and rose up the stairs like the sound of a charging army. Montgomery followed his every step, even closer than his own shadow.

  At the top landing the two men surveyed the long narrow hall, but nothing could be seen out-of-place. Octavia screamed again.

  Lazarus ran down the corridor and intruded into his mother's private rooms. He found her standing by a window clasping her pale face with her hands.

  He ran past her and leaned out through the opening, but nothing stirred outside. There was not a trace of anything present in the area, not even in the distance. Lazarus leaned back into the room and shut the window. He turned the bolt on the wooden frame so the window was now locked.

  “What was it, Mother?”

  “I don't know. Something horrible. Its hair was blacker than the night and all long and stringy. It had fangs. Of that, I am sure. But never have I seen such a face. Its eyes were literally burning, spewing flames of fire.” She stood frozen, too scared to move. The deep plum color of her French-styled tunic gown accentuated her pale, alabaster face. Long, pointed sleeves trailed down from her hands, still clasping her face, to the floor. Her ebony hair fell in long braids to her waist.

  Montgomery stared at her. “Are you alright, Octavia?”

  “Yes. I just need to catch my breath.”

  With Lazarus’ help, she sat down on her bed. He took her arm and steadied her as he lowered her shaking body to the mattress.

  “What was it that came to the window?” she asked.

  “If it flew and was out in the daylight, I'd have to guess it was one of the Dark Breed's more powerful Vampyres,” Lazarus said.

  “If it flew? Of course, it flew. How else do you think it appeared outside my window?” Octavia showed little patience in the wake of fright. “Why should a member of the Dark Breed be hovering around Sanctum Hall?” She eyed her son curiously. “Is there something you are not telling me, Lazarus?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  She didn't answer him. Lazarus watched in silence as Octavia shifted her gaze to Montgomery. He was well aware the angel was now under his mother's scrutiny.

  “I know nothing of the situation, madam,” Montgomery said.

  Lazarus breathed a sigh of relief and thanked the Heavens for his uncle's diplomatic approach. The angel had been around man for centuries and had obviously grown accustomed to mortal ways. The thought of Monty's lying, even for the sake of good, unsettled Lazarus’ soul. Just the same, he welcomed such a sin for he knew it to be best. Worrying his mother was the last thing Lazarus wanted to do. His heart went out to her.

  Byron and Althea, two members of the Tribe, appeared in the bedroom doorway. Dressed in matching black velvet outfits, the two could easily be mistaken for death walking among the living. The sight of them nauseated Lazarus.

  “We heard a scream,” said Althea. “Is everything alright?”

  Lazarus glared at them while wondering if they were the souls behind the recent terror stalking him. Of a
ll the Tribe, these two cousins caused him the most grief. Twin brother and sister, they stuck closer to each other than if they'd been joined at the hip at birth. Inseparable, the two always agreed with each other and always opposed anything and everything the Tribe ever proposed.

  Bridled anger filled Lazarus’ voice. “Why aren't you downstairs in the chapel with the rest of the Tribe?”

  “We weren't tired.” Althea answered, not giving Byron a second to respond. “Last night had us all fired up with emotion. Who could sleep knowing something sinister lurks nearby?”

  “It's quite the rush, you know,” said Byron. Not allowing Althea to steal all the attention, he seemed eager to add his own words.

  “Lazarus?” Octavia turned to her son and a look of confusion settled in her gaze. “What do they mean something sinister? I thought you said there was nothing to keep from me.”

  “It's really quite unnerving, Aunt Octavia,” Althea chimed in. “A rush, just like Byron says. There's been a presence lingering about Sanctum Hall for weeks now and last night it was very strong, very strong, indeed. We all felt it at the feast.”

  She accentuated the scenario by staring at Octavia. A stark, vivid look of fear glittered in Althea's large brown eyes. “What a pity you couldn't make it. Perhaps next time it will be back and then you'll know exactly what I mean about the rush.” Gesturing to add drama to her words, she fanned her long, skinny fingers in the air.

  Lazarus cringed at his cousin's reaction. He wanted to kill Althea then and there for blurting out the details of last night's terror. His opinion of Byron didn't fare any better. The dumb sot just stood there hanging on his sister's every word.

  Last night his mother had gone to visit Gerard Delacroix. The two had always been on amicable terms and, for once, Lazarus was glad about that. In the presence of Trackers, she hadn't felt the entity that stalked Sanctum Hall. The thought of now having to worry about his mother worrying about him only added to his stress.

  “Everything will be fine, Mother. You'll see, I promise.” He took her hand, gently placed it between his and offered Octavia a reassuring smile.

  “If something stirs, Lazarus, I need to know.” She stared at him. “Why not go to Gerard? He is a Tracker, a soul who fights the Dark Breed. I'm sure he can help you.”

  “No,” he said emphatically. “I take care of my own Tribe. He has nothing to do with us other than the fact he is my father-in-law. The relationship ends there. I'd never entertain the notion of asking Delacroix for help. He's not one of us and never will he be.”

  Montgomery raised an eyebrow at him.

  Lazarus took a deep breath and sighed. Then, knowing his words attested to his stress, he closed his eyes, but it was too late. They had already rolled from his tongue.

  Highly irritated by the twins’ earlier words and now by their apparent unwillingness to leave, Lazarus shot them a cold, hard stare. A shadow of annoyance crossed his face and added to his wrathful look.

  “Come,” Althea said. “I think it's time we go to the abbey to our crypts. I suddenly feel a strong urge to sleep.” She pulled Byron by the hand and acted as if he were a child and not a four-hundred-year-old Vampyre.

  Lazarus was glad to be rid of them but his suspicions about the twins didn't die. At present Byron and Althea were his rightful heirs, his mother's brother's children. Should he die, the powers of the Tribe would pass to the twins. With all that had transpired of late, Lazarus just didn't know whom he could trust and whom he could not.

  Monty turned the corner of the bed and reached a hand up to grab hold of a thick wood post draped with heavy fabric. He stood there staring down at Octavia sitting on the bed, a hint of compassion in his piercing blue eyes. “I think I'll spend the day with you, Octavia. If, of course, you wouldn't mind my company.”

  “No, that would be fine.”

  “Good,” Lazarus said. “Then I have some business to tend to. I know I leave you in good hands, Mother, so I shall depart and return as soon as possible. Will I see you at dinner tonight?” Lazarus let go of Octavia's hand.

  “Yes. Tonight I think I will dine with the Tribe. But before you go, see to it that arrangements are made concerning Althea's place at the table. I want her sitting next to me.”

  “Mother...” He paused. The idea of Althea's sitting next to Octavia would cause him to lose his appetite. “I really don't wish to sit anywhere near my dear cousin.”

  “Then you may sit at one of the other tables. You are old enough to dine sitting away from your mother.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. Why did everything always have to be so darn complicated?

  “You do realize that if Althea sits next to you, then so will Byron. Where one goes, so does the other.”

  Octavia took a moment before commenting on her son's words. “Perhaps you're right. Leave them be. I mean, it is not as if I don't care for them. They are, after all, descended from my dear, departed brother, Cassius.”

  “A wise choice, madam,” said Montgomery. “Even irritable, Lazarus is a far better choice than the twins to have sitting next to you at dinner. Now, I shall return in no more than a moment.” Monty followed his nephew to the door.

  “What do you make of this, Lazarus?”

  “I'm not sure.” He spoke in a whisper so not to worry his mother. “Perhaps I will seek Gerard's help on this matter. He would know more about the Dark Breed than anyone else I am familiar with.”

  “When will you see him? It may not be safe to travel outside just yet. If a member of the Dark Breed walks in the daylight, then he is a very powerful being. There must be more to his soul than just the Vampyre. Perhaps this Dark Breeder was not mortal to begin with.”

  Lazarus pondered his uncle's words, not sure what to make of them. He sensed Monty knew something he didn't, but the angel was a master at keeping his thoughts private. “I will wait until nightfall and then go in search of Delacroix. The woods should be full of Trackers at night because that's when they hunt. I'll be safe then.”

  “And now? Where are you off to?”

  “My chambers, for some much-needed sleep.”

  Monty eyed him in confusion. “But I thought you said you had business to tend to?”

  “I do. Private business.”

  Lazarus’ thoughts of himself and Neomina locked in an embrace somewhere on the astral plane must have flooded Montgomery's head. He smiled a devil's grin.

  “Ah, I see. But tell me, how did you master out-of-body projection?”

  “Believe it or not, Neomina taught me. Now, before you start reading my other thoughts, I think I should leave. Some things between my wife and me I'd like to keep private.”

  Lazarus left the room and closed the door behind him.

  CHAPTER 4

  Heavy velvet drapes covered the windows of Lazarus Conlon's bedroom and sealed out every ray of light. The dark, shadowless environment mimicked his mood. Under normal circumstances he'd welcome the sun, but now Lazarus wanted some sleep. His bulky, oversized bed had never seemed more inviting. He strolled across the room and turned down the heavy blankets. Erasing thoughts of the day's stress, he concentrated on a vision of his lovely wife.

  On a small table next to his bed sat a jar of flying ointment made especially for him by Neomina. Exhausted, Lazarus dropped down, falling into the comforts of his massive four-poster bed. The soft mattress hugged his body and molded to every muscle. He hated to move.

  Forcing himself to a sitting position, Lazarus threw his legs over the side of the bed. He removed his boots first and then threw his shirt and breeches in a rushed manner haphazardly onto the floor. It felt good to be free of the confines of his clothes. If he could remove stress in the same manner, he'd be free of all problems.

  He reached for the flying ointment—the magical, spicy balm that helped induce astral travel—and lathered on a thin layer. He covered his entire body. The smell of jasmine, rosemary and sandalwood drifted quickly up to his nostrils and filled him with a sense of the ex
otic. The fragrance immediately reminded Lazarus of Neomina and her apothecary and how she was always making potions from herbs and oils. The anticipation of going to his wife was almost more than he could bear. He needed to see Neomina even if she did not desire to see him.

  Leaning back, he placed his head on the pillow and started to drift in and out of a dream-like state. Lazarus focused his attention on a vision of Neomina he always carried in his head—the sight of her in the apothecary on the very first day they met. As he drifted into a semiconscious state, he felt his soul separate from the sleeping flesh of his body with only a long, silver chord keeping the two connected. Soon he was traveling out of the darkened bedroom and into the world of the astral plane.

  His body hovered over the rolling hills and glided through the dense forest surrounding Sanctum Hall. The crisp, cool air caressed his form and made him feel much like a carefree bird. He floated effortlessly over the grounds of his keep and entered Tracker territory. Delacroix's cottage appeared in the near distance and popped up amid a colorful landscape of herbs and flowers. Lazarus sensed Neomina's presence nearby.

  In distant fields beyond the tiny home, a group of Trackers gathered for what looked like a general meeting. Lazarus tuned into their conversation with his preternatural hearing and listened closely. The men and women spoke of usual concerns such as who would patrol what parts of Tracker territory. The conversation was of little interest to Lazarus. He tuned them out, concentrated on the cottage and hoped that the meeting would keep Gerard away from his home for at least a little while.

  After swooping down into the house, Lazarus floated through the small rooms and entered Neomina's bedchamber. She was sleeping, apparently taking a mid-day rest. Lazarus sensed her agitation even while she slept.

  A flood of guilt overwhelmed his soul. He hated having aggravated Neomina earlier in the day and wanted desperately to calm her nerves and reassure her that she meant everything to him. Without Neomina, life wouldn't be worth living.

  Lazarus hovered over the bed and stared down at her. His body ached with a sense of urgency. Reaching out his hand, he gently caressed the soft, smooth skin of Neomina's cheek. She had the face of an angel and was even more beautiful than Venus. To Lazarus, Neomina was his one and only goddess. He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and make love to her right then and there. But he didn't. He wouldn't disturb her sleep.