Pure Healing: A Novel of the Pure Ones (Pure/ Dark Ones Book 1) Read online

  In his two thousand plus years of existence as a Pure One, he had never, never, lost control. Why his self-restraint deserted him now he couldn’t begin to fathom and didn’t have the luxury to even try, for he suddenly found himself not two feet before the Healer, sitting above him on the dais on a soft pedestal of pillows. He executed a bow by rote, as if his body had developed a mind of its own.

  Valerius stopped short of raising his gaze to meet hers, however. He knew that keeping his eyes lowered was a sign of submission which he’d never before allowed in himself, no matter the odds he faced. But he swallowed his pride and locked his jaw, because somehow, somewhere deep within, he knew that meeting her gaze would change his world forever.

  Instead, he peered through the filter of his lashes at the shape of her chin, and the enigmatic, fleeting smile that tilted the corners of her full, sensuous mouth.

  “Warrior,” she greeted him softly, pausing a heavy beat after greeting Sophia and Ayelet.

  When he continued to withhold his gaze, the corners of her lips tilted ever so slightly more, as if she were amused by his reticence.

  But it wasn’t shyness that kept Valerius’ eyes lowered; it was self-preservation.

  “Healer,” Ayelet began as Valerius backed away from the softly illuminated dais into the background shadows, “you know why we have come.”

  It was not a question, but an understanding.

  The woman on the dais dipped her head elegantly in acknowledgement, a small smile still hovering on her lips.

  “Then you consent to come back to the Shield with us?” Ayelet tried to ascertain, referring to the Pure Ones’ home base, not a permanent location but the moniker for the place where the Queen and her inner circle resided at any given time.

  The Healer shifted in her seat, raising a pale, slim-fingered hand to brush aside a wisp of silk as she leaned in with her reply. But it was not Ayelet or the Queen she set her gaze upon, but the warrior’s tense, steely frame in the shadows behind them.

  “Would it please you to have my consent?” She gently pushed the question toward Valerius, who tensed even more, if that were possible, at her query.

  She could not see his eyes in the shadows, but she knew when he finally looked upon her. There was an instant recognition and a blast of energy radiating from his body toward her, so forceful she had momentary whiplash from the dazzling currents.

  Interesting.

  Ayelet, Sophia and Wan’er looked to and fro, surprised by the redirection in the conversation. Sophia, in particular, seemed dazed by the explosion of awareness between the Healer and the Protector. She blinked rapidly and squeezed her little brows together in concentration as if trying to decipher an unspoken exchange between the two.

  What could he answer, Valerius thought grimly as time stretched between them in excruciating slowness and clarity.

  Their troop of Chevaliers, a combination of Pure and human warriors who stood as the first line of defense against rising vampire Hordes and human menace, was rapidly dwindling in number, leaving the remaining few exhausted and weighed down by countless injuries new and old after each battle.

  They needed the Healer in their midst, within reach. They needed her strength and comfort, needed her to heal and invigorate and give them hope. For the future of his people, for the humans and the world the Pure Ones protected, how could he say no?

  But for himself, his peace of mind, his wildly-beating heart, and the inevitable, exquisite, punishing pain that he knew his future held with her in it, how could he say yes?

  As he took in her ethereal visage with starving eyes, he realized that his time had run out.

  Swallowing the lump in his throat, he took a deep breath and replied in a low, rumbling voice, raspy from the emotions he tried to contain:

  “Aye.”

  And without a backward glance, Valerius walked out of the chamber as fast as his long strides could carry him.

  *** *** *** ***

  “Aye,” he’d said.

  It was the first and only word he’d uttered in her presence, Rain reflected. Though she’d never met the Protector, she was well aware of his reputation. With a couple thousand Pure-males in existence at any given time, and less than a fourth being of warrior-class, the Elite guard to which the Protector belonged was widely talked of, highly revered—even legendary. Rain had previously met each of the six members. Except the Protector. Never the Protector.

  Two thousand years was a long time to evade her. Rain couldn’t help but feel that he did so by choice. Though she would never presume to question his motives, it still stung her pride to be so diligently avoided. So she satisfied her curiosity with the occasional news and tidbit about the Elite. From what she knew of Valerius, she’d expected to be impressed.

  She was not disappointed.

  His deep, husky voice sent shivers up and down her body. How poetic that such a voice should be housed within such a body. The sound was like a warm blanket that calmed her, while at the same time it was a roaring fire that ignited her.

  The warrior was starkly beautiful in his minimalism and brusqueness. He stood six feet six, over a foot above her own height if they were standing toe to toe. He was endowed with incredibly wide shoulders, deep chest, lean hips and long, muscular legs.

  His attire was entirely black, made for ease of movement, hugging his form only when he was in action. When he stood still, his clothes were part of his camouflage, worn not to be noticed but to discourage attention and blend into the shadows.

  His shaved head showed the shadow of dark hair roots that indicated a full, dense head of hair if it were allowed to grow out. Rain abruptly wondered how his hair would be—curly, straight or wavy. Intuitively, she guessed it would be wavy, tousled, even wild, antithetical to the strict manner in which he held himself.

  His face was intensely masculine, all sharp angles, hollows and edges, his nose a narrow blade with a bump on the bridge. But he was undeniably beautiful, deeply sensual with his heavily lashed light green eyes and full, wide mouth.

  But it was obvious that the warrior himself didn’t think so.

  It was as if he consciously tried to disguise his beauty, or even closer to the truth, that he was ashamed of it. Ashamed of his body, uncomfortable in his own skin, except when the presence of danger demanded that his warrior instincts preclude all else.

  Ninety-nine percent of the time, Rain had no doubt that he was warrior to the bone, confident and in control, but she glimpsed in this introductory meeting a rare flash of vulnerability and self-doubt.

  Probably why he’d removed himself from the room. He couldn’t stand that she witnessed—no, more than that, felt—his hidden shame.

  She didn’t understand the whys, but her heart responded to his obvious pain with empathy. Absently, she placed a hand over her heart to soothe it, turning back to her visitors.

  “You have my answer then,” she confirmed for Ayelet, implicitly answering the question the Guardian posed.

  She unfolded herself lithely from her seat, stepped down from the dais, and sank into a deep curtsy before Sophia. “At the end of this Phoenix Cycle, I will come with you, my Queen, wherever it may lead me.”

  Startled, Sophia rushed forth to raise the Healer from the floor, clasping her forearms with surprisingly strong little hands. “Please rise, my lady. I am honored to have you by my side.” She looked again to Ayelet for support.

  Ayelet nodded with a mix of gladness and relief. “Indeed, Healer, your presence now completes the Royal Zodiac—the Queen, the six Elite guards, and the five Circlet council members. It is a crucial step in fulfilling the Prophesy of our age. We cannot predict how the future unfolds, but we know that we will be immeasurably stronger with your support.”

  Rain smiled briefly, wondering what the Balance would require. Every action caused a reaction. If she added strength, did that mean that someone else would become weaker? Was that someone the Protector? Was that why she’d glimpsed his vulnerability?


  Wan’er stepped forward to guide Sophia and Ayelet to the guest rooms as Rain trailed behind them with parting words. “Please feel free to enjoy our sanctuary for the next thirty-three days,” she said invitingly, then paused before continuing until her guests stopped walking and looked back at her.

  “But you will not visit this chamber again until we prepare for departure at the end of the Cycle,” the Healer stated firmly, waited for the nods of assent from Ayelet and Sophia, then smiled again. “I will not accompany you often during this time, but we shall see one another at midday meals if it pleases you.”

  Sophia broke out of royal character and clapped her hands. “Yes, please! Can we have dumplings and baozi and pearl milk tea?”

  Rain and Wan’er simultaneously raised their hands over their lips and chuckled softly at the child Queen’s enthusiasm. “But of course, my Queen,” Rain responded with easy affection.

  Ayelet grimaced as if an unpleasant reminder suddenly came to mind. “We will, of course, also convey your message to Val.” It was understood among the three women which message Ayelet referred to—the Healer was not to be disturbed during the Rites of Passage and the Phoenix Cycle.

  The Guardian added, rather embarrassed and more than a bit confused, “please accept our apologies for Val’s rudeness just now. He’s not usually—“

  “Please don’t trouble yourself,” Rain smoothly cut in, taking hold of Ayelet’s hand. “I am sure the warrior has his reasons and that they are good ones. I take no offense.” She let go of Ayelet’s hand with a reassuring squeeze and smiled wryly. “Perhaps we could have met in a different time, but I suppose Fate will lead us where it will. It certainly does not like being denied.”

  Both Ayelet and Sophia wore similar expressions of puzzlement and acceptance, as if Rain’s words rang true, yet they were sure they didn’t quite understand the full story.

  Rain stopped escorting her guests at the hexagonal entryway. Remaining inside the chamber’s threshold, she bid Ayelet and Sophia farewell for now.

  Wan’er led the way down the hall of scrolls to their guest chambers, chatting warmly with Ayelet. Sophia looked back once in their progress and saw that a man had emerged from one of the rooms further down the opposite end of the passage. She watched curiously as he strode into the Healer’s inner chamber and suddenly the glow of light within snuffed out all at once, as if a door had been shut in his wake. But Sophia had seen no door when she’d entered the Healer’s chamber before.

  How strange.

  She skipped a little to catch up to her Guardian and the handmaiden. “Why is the Healer’s hair all white?” she asked when she reached them.

  Ayelet frowned a little and was about to chide her for her impertinence, Sophia knew that look well, but Wan’er answered with a smile, “Because she needs Nourishment.”

  Sophia nodded, but still looked confused. “Does that mean if she eats some dumplings her hair will be black again like yours?”

  Ayelet sighed softly, a sign that she’d given up on intercepting the young Queen’s questions. After all, Sophia needed to learn about all aspects of her people.

  “She needs more than human food,” Wan’er responded patiently. “She needs the Nourishment of her Consort.”

  Sophia tilted her head, trying to understand, barely noticing that Wan’er had ushered them into a large, lushly furnished chamber that held three canopied beds, one for each of the three guests.

  As if sudden comprehension dawned, Sophia asked brightly, “Is her Consort like a Mate? Like Tristan is for Ayelet?”

  Wan’er clasped her hands before her and gave the Queen her full attention. “Yes and no,” she said slowly, as if considering how best to reply. “A Mate is forever and a Consort is for a short period of time. But during that time, the Healer and her Consort will cherish each other as if they were Mated.”

  Sophia nodded, catching on. “And Rain will be choosing her Consort over the next three days?” At confirming nods from both women, she continued, “But why does she need three days? She should just choose Val and we can all go home.”

  Both women drew back in shock, as if Sophia had spouted horns. She looked from Ayelet to Wan’er and wondered why no words were emerging from their mouths though said mouths opened and closed several times.

  Finally, it was Ayelet who responded, “Val is not for consideration this time. He and Rain have just met.” She looked to Wan’er for support, but the handmaiden was looking away, as if deep in thought.

  “But they like each other,” Sophia persisted, “I can tell.”

  Ayelet could not say she agreed. If anything, she sensed the opposite was true, though the feeling of antagonism was one-sided, only from Valerius, and she was confounded as to why.

  Wan’er raised her head from her private contemplation. “Perhaps next time,” she suggested. “The warrior would assuredly be qualified.”

  Sophia frowned but didn’t question further. It seemed a monumental mistake to her that Valerius wouldn’t be the Healer’s Consort, now and in the future. She didn’t completely understand, but it just felt wrong.

  She shrugged with a seven-year-old’s limited attention span, changed the subject to Chinese lanterns and silk dolls, and climbed on top one of the luxurious beds.

  What did she know? The adults obviously had everything under control. She had more important things to dwell on—like which flavor of baozi she should prioritize for tomorrow’s midday meal.

  Chapter Two

  Present day. Boston, MA

  Valerius curled tight, drawing his knees to his body, tensing his leg muscles and transferring a surge of power to his thighs as he leapt ten feet into the air, tucked and rolled in mid-flight, and landed with precision on all fours on the next brownstone’s roof, fifteen yards away. Without skipping a beat, he sprang back up and was within striking distance of his quarry with two long leaps.

  Mid-stride, Valerius reached for the handle of the chained scythe at his waist and released the weapon with a sharp whistle at his target. The titanium chain whipped unerringly through the night air, a flash of silver in the dark, moonless sky, and wrapped around its prey once, twice, its momentum generating enough force to choke its victim like a python. The vampire gurgled out a broken scream and fell to his knees like a rag doll, clawing in futility at the unforgiving chains, which increased pressure the more he struggled.

  Valerius flashed in front of the male, stopping three feet away, close enough to hear if the vampire managed to speak, but too far to reach, not that the blood-sucker had enough strength to do damage at this point.

  “Where is the Horde?” Valerius demanded in a low rumble, tensing the chain further to ensure the vampire’s undivided attention.

  The male shook his head frantically, his eyes all but bulging out of their sockets from the tight squeeze of the chains.

  Valerius knew that he would get no information from this male, not because the vampire was refusing to tell, but because he didn’t know anything to tell. With a flick of his wrist, the scythe on the end of the chain, all but forgotten on the ground behind the vampire, snapped like a pendulum sideways and upwards in an arc, cleanly slicing the vampire’s head from his shoulders on the swing back around. Almost instantaneously, the severed body disintegrated into a pile of ashes, and a gust of wind swept it unceremoniously off the roof as if the creature never was.

  One less blood-sucker roaming the streets of South End.

  And one less rapist, too, from what Valerius had seen ten minutes ago before he’d given chase. His upper lip curled slightly on one side in a low growl. That clean beheading was too good for the vampire. If Valerius had time to spare, he would have returned the violence upon the vampire tenfold. As the Protector of the Pure Ones it was his duty to hunt down rogue vampires who abused and tormented innocent humans.

  He recalled the scythe to its original position with a curled pull of his forearm and secured the handle on his weapon belt. With two large bounds, he leapt off the roof and la
nded in the alley below without a sound.

  A homeless woman curled on the steps of the townhouse next door looked up from the beer bottle she nursed, as if sensing his presence, instinctively pulling back against the wall in case there was any threat to her habitual spot. Watching Valerius’ long-legged strides as he walked past her, she shrugged, not giving him a second thought. Clearly he was a resident who just came out of the brownstone and was used to her taking up that corner, though strangely, she hadn’t heard the door open and close.

  Valerius strode purposefully to his awaiting Hayabusa, also known as the Suzuki GSX1300R, the fastest motorcycle ever built. He’d had it fitted specifically for his long, lean, muscular form and had the exterior painted entirely in black with selective silver accents to blend seamlessly into the night, the perfect stealth vehicle for hunting vampires.

  As he rounded the corner of Draper’s Lane and Ivanhoe, the Hayabusa in sight, he stiffened a split second before he caught the glint of a spatha’s blade out of the corner of his eye just as it swung with deadly force from his right side. Reacting on pure instinct before the danger registered fully, Valerius curved his torso to the left and twisted out of range.

  But not before the blade glanced his hip, slicing through his black leathers like butter, leaving a six inch gash in its wake.

  Valerius leapt back, fully prepared now to take down his ambushers. He sensed three in the shadows in front of him and one approaching from behind. He broke into a sprint before his enemies could close in, but he ran in the opposite direction of his ride, back down Draper’s Lane toward the intersecting alley with Upton Street. He wasn’t ready for the hunt to end this night. With a vengeance, he wanted to take down the four vampires rapidly gaining on him.

  Valerious led his pursuers into a dead end alley. As he reached the end, he increased the length and power of his strides and leapt onto the fifteen-foot brick wall barring the exit. He used his momentum to spring backwards with a solid push from his right leg against the wall, back curving in a long, deep arc to propel his body swiftly in the opposite direction.