Chapter 3

We woke up early, around 6:00 am. That was usual for me. My plaything was in the shower. As I stood there, listening to the sound of the water cascading down, I felt a fleeting urge to step into the shower alongside her. But it was a hollow impulse, one that I couldn't quite explain, even to myself. I didn't genuinely desire her company, nor did I feel any emotional connection to her. She was, after all, merely a plaything, a distraction from the emptiness that lay at the heart of my existence. 

     And yet, the more I indulged in these fleeting moments of intimacy, the more I risked entangling her emotions, binding her to me with threads of attachment and affection. It was a prospect that filled me with a sense of disquiet, a reminder that my actions had consequences, even if I didn't truly care. I sighed out loud, caught up in my thoughts when I was mind linked by Jerome. 

     “Sir, the Necromancer King doesn’t want to agree to the deal… he wants all the bodies, not just the ones we kill. He’s not budging. He told me to tell you that was his final offer and if we don’t like it, we can shove the deal up our asses.” His words tumbled out with a sense of pressing importance, a palpable urgency that lent his voice a sharp, insistent edge. “Fucking Necromancers, Jesus Christ. Why must they be so fucking difficult?” I snarled to myself. 

     The familiar pressure of my fingers against the bridge of my nose was a subtle attempt to stem the rising tide of frustration, a calming gesture that had become second nature to me. 

     As I took a deliberate, measured breath, I felt a faint sense of equilibrium return, my thoughts clarifying ever so slightly as I struggled to maintain a fragile grip on my composure. “Don’t worry about it. Let him know that I will meet with him my damn self. We will be leaving in 20 minutes. Thank you, Jerome, for your efforts.” I said through the mind link, then I closed it. 

     As she emerged from the shower, her skin still flushed from the warm water, I summoned the perfect attire for our impending meeting with the Necromancer King. 

     The stunning silver dress I produced for her seemed to shimmer and shine in the light, accentuating her curves and radiating an aura of elegance. I mirrored her splendor with a dashing silver suit, complete with a black vest and shoes that gleamed like polished onyx. My own dark hair was impeccably styled, every strand falling into place with precision, as I ensured that we presented a united front of refinement and poise, befitting our audience with the Necromancer King.

     I was unable to materialize there because I had never been there, so I didn't have a picture of the place in my mind. Instead, we drove my black and silver Aston Martin. 

     The coordinates, etched in my mind like a promise, led us to a secluded and mysterious meeting spot, a place where Jerome had been secretly negotiating the terms of our alliance with the enigmatic Necromancers. 

     It was about an hour drive from my house before we reached the clearing. We rode in silence, with the exception of the Mozart I had playing in the background. I appreciated the fact that she didn’t need me to entertain her on the way there. I liked this plaything more than my others because she was quiet. She didn't unnecessarily babble or annoy the hell out of me. 

     As we stepped into the clearing, the silence was oppressive, punctuated only by the soft rustle of leaves beneath our feet. I stood beside my plaything, my eyes scanning the surrounding trees, my senses on high alert as we waited for our hosts to arrive. 

     But it wasn't until the Necromancers suddenly materialized before us, their dark forms coalescing into solidity as they dropped their invisibility veil, that I felt a shiver run down my spine. The realization that they had been watching us, unseen and unnoticed, for who knew how long, sent a faint thrill of unease through me, a reminder that we were dealing with beings who operated on a completely different plane of existence.

     The Necromancer soldiers stood before us, their imposing physiques radiating an aura of power and intimidation. The intricate, rune-like tattoos that adorned their faces and arms seemed to shimmer in the fading light, the identical patterns etched into their skin with precision and purpose. The ink flowed like a dark, liquid script along the sharp lines of their cheekbones and jaws, before cascading down onto their necks like a macabre waterfall. 

     Each of them towered above six feet, their massive frames honed from years of combat and dark magic, their muscles rippling beneath their skin like waves crashing against the shore. The air seemed to vibrate with their collective presence, a palpable sense of menace that was impossible to ignore. They all stood there perfectly at attention, not making a single sound.

     “Omnes laudate regem.'' They all said in unison as the King passed through them. My Latin was a bit rusty, but I believed they said, ‘all hail the King.’ 

     As the soldiers parted to reveal their leader, a figure emerged from the veil of invisibility, his presence announced by the subtle ripple of air that seemed to shimmer around him. With an air of quiet confidence, he stepped forward, his eyes locking onto mine with an unnerving intensity, as if sizing me up and calculating the potential threats and advantages I presented. 

     The King was intimidating to say the least. His imposing stature was awe-inspiring, his seven-foot frame looming over his soldiers like a colossus. His physique was a testament to his formidable strength, with muscles rippling beneath his skin like a living, breathing entity. His dark hair cascaded down his back in gentle waves, framing his chiseled features and accentuating the piercing intensity of his eyes. Those eyes, silver-white and unnervingly pale, seemed to bore into my very soul, as if searching for any hint of weakness or vulnerability. 

     The perfectly groomed goatee and gold hoop earrings added a touch of elegance to his otherwise formidable demeanor, but it was his presence, his aura of quiet confidence and authority, that truly commanded attention. Every fiber of his being seemed to radiate power, a sense of unyielding resolve that was both captivating and intimidating.

     "I am Raphael. High Priest of the Underworld here in Canada, as I’m sure you know." With deliberate slowness, I inclined my head and torso, executing a deep, formal bow that conveyed respect and deference. My movements were precise and calculated, intended to demonstrate my acknowledgment of the Necromancer leader's authority and power. "Blaze." He said, but he didn't bow. Instead, he stood still and kept his eyes focused on me as if I were about to pounce at any moment. 

     His voice was powerful and gruff. "Why are you here Reaver?" I maintained a stoic facade, refusing to let the subtle venom in his tone pierce my composure. His words, laced with malice and hostility, were designed to provoke, but I sidestepped the emotional trap, choosing instead to focus on the issue at hand. 

     "You know why I'm here… I'm here to make an alliance. I think we could both benefit from it." A low, velvety purr rumbled in the back of my throat, and I allowed it to infuse my voice, lending it a smooth, seductive quality. I spoke with deliberate honeyed tones, hoping to weave a spell of persuasion around the Necromancer leader, to gently coax him toward a more favorable disposition. 

     “I would promise protection for your people and your lands. In return, you pledge your loyalty in war to our side. War isn't something we do often, there is rarely a need. But if it were to come up for any reason then I could count on you for troops." The Necromancer leader's gaze remained unwavering, his silver eyes gleaming with an unyielding intensity as he listened to my proposal. His expression was a mask of neutrality, betraying no hint of emotion or inclination. "And what of your dead?" Blaze retorted. 

     "Any dead that is not our kind, you're more than welcome to. But the dead that are our kind should be properly buried. They will be off limits." I stated. I wasn't budging with this. As Reavers, my kin and I possessed a unique gift, immortality. 

     However, this blessing came with a crucial caveat: while we wouldn't succumb to the natural passage of time, we could still fall in battle. My brothers and I were the exceptions to this rule, bound by different circumstances that rendered us virtually unkillable. The rest of our kind, though, could be slain, albeit with great difficulty. Their immortal lives could be extinguished, and in those rare cases a funeral was custom.

     "I already declined the offer from Jerome, what makes you think I would accept it from you?" Blaze's voice cut through the air, laced with a sharp edge of irritation. His retort was tinged with a hint of exasperation, and I could sense the annoyance simmering beneath his words, waiting to boil over. 

     "Drop the act. Don't act like you couldn't use the protection. I've heard about the mysterious deaths and your people not being able to be resurrected lately. There's clearly something out there a little stronger than you care to admit, and it's definitely a cause for concern." I shot. 

     The Necromancer leader's expression turned inward, his silver eyes clouding over as he wrestled with the weight of my proposal. For a moment, he seemed lost in thought, his mind a maelstrom of conflicting emotions and considerations. "Throw her in too… then we have a deal, Reaver." Blaze spat, eyeballing my plaything. 

The fucking audacity… he had balls… I would admit that. Not that I needed my plaything, it wasn’t a big deal… though, I was just starting to like her… fuck it. I thought. 

     My response was swift and silky, a deliberate display of nonchalance. "Oh this? Of course. She's yours." I purred, and with one fluid motion I snapped her neck and watched her lifeless body fall to the floor in front of Blaze. His expression remained impassive, his eyes never leaving mine as he took in the scene before him. His lack of reaction was telling, a testament to his own hardened nature and the dark world he inhabited.   

     "Haven." Blaze said. A young woman emerged from the ranks of warriors, her slender form materializing as she stepped forward with a quiet confidence. Her age was difficult to pinpoint, but her features and demeanor suggested she was likely on the cusp of adulthood, perhaps 18 or 19 years old. Her eyes, bright and unyielding, locked onto mine as she stood tall, her presence commanding attention despite her youth. 

     The young woman's fiery mane cascaded down her back, a tumble of messy, vibrant red waves that reached all the way to her hips. Her skin, a radiant canvas of creamy fairness, seemed almost porcelain-like, as if she rarely ventured into the sun's warm rays. 

     A delicate ring glinted in the curve of her septum, while another, more daring piercing claimed the center of her lower lip, adding an edgy allure to her features. Her eyes, an arresting shade of green, were tempered by a subtle white tone, echoing the same unsettling hue found in Blaze's gaze. 

     The dark, smoky makeup accentuating her eyes only added to her enigmatic presence, drawing me in with an intoxicating blend of innocence and rebellion. She was absolutely fucking breathtaking. Our gazes collided, sparks flying as we locked eyes in a fleeting moment of connection. 

     The young woman's lips curled into a sly, devious smirk, a hint of mischief dancing in her eyes. It was a bold, tantalizing glance, one that seemed to hold a secret or a challenge. Then, just as quickly, she looked away, leaving me wondering about the meaning behind her enigmatic smile. 

     "Yes, daddy." She said innocently, looking at Blaze. But I could tell she was not innocent, not one fucking bit.