Beast of the Damned #2

*Chapter Two*

~ TRISTAN ~

Ravenous thirst scorches every cell in me, stoking the predatory flames of the beast that waged war upon all of humanity. Red taints the ebony armor surrounding me. No amount of purifying water can remove the screams of the slain. Their terror is my delight. Their ripped-out hearts paving the way for the legend I've become.

Death clings to me, to the sword thrumming at my side as it speaks to the darkness thriving in the pathways of my veins.

Endatura sani.

It beckons.

Endatura sani.

It commands.

Facing the Prince of Darkness, I stand at attention, ignoring the call to seek destruction. The spoils of war will make being back here a difficult adjustment. I'm used to taking what I want. I've been taking what I want without mercy since the day I released the Firstborn from the Underworld. But to take what my thirst yearns to claim in Valderanna would be the end of all things light and dark.

The Dark Prince raises his hand, silencing the crowd gathered here today. The soldiers of his vamperial army take a knee while the Warriors of the Damned stay standing, peering out at our ruler with an understanding most of our race will never have. Their lives were traded to ensure the Prince of Darkness would always have an army at his back. The thing is the firstborn are not at the Prince's back. They are at mine.

Balling my hand into a fist, I hit it against the chest plate of my armor.

In unison, the Warriors of the Damned behind me bang on their chest plates. The sounds of their fists hitting their armor like those of war drums. They hit their armor seven times. When the beating stops, they keep their fisted hand over their heart and form a snake with their left. This is the way they display their respect to the Prince for they have all met our true Creator. They bow only to Satan, the God of the Underworld who gave them new flesh when they arrived in the afterlife as day-old infants.

"I told you, it's fine. The wound has healed already." A soft-spoken voice with a hint of a temper rings in loud in the silence that lingers as we wait for the Prince to address the vampirie invited to indulge in this celebration.

To others here, the sound is nothing more than a human embarrassed by her frailty. To me, it's a summoning.

"Sit still, child. Let me wash the dried blood off your leg." Marianna takes the rag and bowl from the slave she must have asked to fetch it for her.

My fangs wouldn't be throbbing with this intense need if I hadn't sampled what was forbidden to me long ago. The tang of cinnamon-spiced blood stays locked within me; haunting me the thousands of years I've walked the earth.

It's fitting that the "A" has stayed dropped from her name...abandoned...abolished, sent down to live with a part of me that no longer exist.

Kinley is the thorn rose I mustn't prick my fangs upon. Even now, the bloodlust for her angelic-infused life force stains several of my warriors' eyes. They can't help it. The life force that flows through her is vampire honey.

Nakasha, my second in command and my mother's firstborn after the deal with Satan was made, yells a command for the warriors to stay their ground. It's hard to remember she's the only full-blooded sibling I have. Nakasha is the older sister I never met, the one sent to die because the Prince couldn't have his mate's first offspring be from a male that wasn't him so he included the firstborn as part of his deal with our Maker. Despite knowing this, all I can see Nakasha as is my second in command leading the sanctums of my army.