Coveted [New/Revised Version]

ANYTHING

     Zairian's vision came and went—black, blurry, doubled then a replication of all of the above. He was vaguely aware he was being dragged past Samael and Iris, up the great platform Nighthaven used for public executions. The floor was cold and rough beneath his bare feet, the smell of its prior victims' blood stagnant in his sensitive nostrils. Once in the center of it, thick chains bound his hands over his head. He wrenched against them in vain, their silver having rendered his already diminished strength useless.

The two warlocks who'd escorted him descended the side steps to join the other Coven members in the protective circle they'd formed. They'd all humbled themselves in simple white clothes. All of them except Samael. As the master manipulator, he stood behind the chair Iris was tied to, his hands clasped behind his back, in his usual polished ensemble. For the briefest moment, Zairian made eye contact with her, gray to teary hyacinth.

A thousand apologies flooded from the stunning jewels. An apology for every laceration disfiguring his body, for every torment he'd endured at the hands of her coven, for every second he'd had to endure it, for Lisa, for Samael, for Drusilla, for everything she couldn't control. And he accepted them all because he knew her—knew the kindhearted individual she was. Perhaps she was misguided in her covetous nature but she didn't want this. In turn, he didn't want her blood.

They were all supposed to be friends. After the many years they'd been acquainted, time spent together, troubles overcome collectively this seemed impossible, betraying each other was unbearable. Yet, it was exactly what they were doing now. This wasn't the grand order of things.

This was Samael's wish.

It had always been his will driving the Coven. Drusilla was just the pretty mask to fool the others. If he'd been born a woman, Drusilla wouldn't stand a chance at leadership. As it was, he wasn't so he pulled the strings from behind solid curtains.

At some point, reality set back in and the tower clock was tolling midnight.

"Showtime," Samael crooned darkly in Iris' ear while staring at Zairian with glittery eyes.

He unclasped a necklace around his neck and fastened it around hers. He adjusted it, his index finger running down its length almost sensually until it rested over the droplet shaped mossy stone lying between her breasts. It glowed and Iris wrenched against her binds. Ignoring her muffled screams, Samael leaned in and kissed her softly on the cheek.

"Your survival is imperative, precious." She sobbed around her gag when he placed his hand over her pregnant belly. "I can't lose either of you."

Before Zairian knew it, Drusilla stood beside him murmuring unintelligible words in an indistinct language before slashing his skin again with her athame. He cursed her and tried to attack, but his chains were sturdy. Her smile was sickly sweet as she stepped back with the thick volume in her other hand.

"Dru, my dear," Samael's voice rang loudly from below. "Do it now."

Drusilla's eyes flickered before she started chanting:

"Power of unlimited desire,

We beckon you from your sire.

In this time between neither Good nor Hell,

Leave your shell.

Strength so profound and rare,

Enter now this pure borne heir!"

Zairian roared as liquid pain flooded his body. It knocked his breath clean out of him. Agony lashed, squeezed, and crushed him, slithering through every nerve in his body until everything was disintegrating into blackness. All he was aware of was Samael's bitter snarling in his head.