Page 125 of Dark Reign of Forever

If anything, it burned hotter. Brighter. Fiercer.

Incredibly, faced with a world rushing to obliterate him, Adilla raced to meet it. He would not, could not—not ever—be questioned, be conquered, be less than everything. Every fiber in his being raged:I have no equal!

Then so be it.Dominique knew a moment’s regret as he continued to drink. What a waste of so much experience. What a waste of such a life. Or…maybe not. The more he saw of Adilla’s centuries of existence, the more these years felt the same, shallow and bland as puddles in any street. From the moment he had been old enough to reason—and reasoned himself the center of a world that would not have him—Adilla had festered with resentment, and nothing Dominique could say or do or force on him would change that. Not now. Not in a thousand years more.

He drank.

There had been a chance, a slim one, that his bite would react with the blood Adilla consumed two nights earlier and trigger a re-siring. It didn’t. Too much time had passed, and Dominique found himself relieved.

All of Adilla’s surviving younglings were here, except one: Serge. Dominique saw his friend as a mortal frightened by his own gifts, turned into a blood-drinker by an Adilla who craved only to hear about his own glorious future. Death by fire is what that future would hold, according to Serge. Adilla tossed him aside in disgust and left him defenseless against those who would not tolerate a newborn without a sire to control him.

But Serge had kept to himself. Serge had thrived. And three hundred years later, Serge had sent Dominique to his door.You will face Adilla. Alone.

Adilla shuddered.

Dominique continued to drink.

Except for Isao and Serge, no other spawn of Adilla’s had ever left his side. If they tried, they died. Those he created were his and his alone, and they were all here along with those he had seduced into his sphere along the way.

Dominique drank until his belly ached. He drank until he was plump with blood. He drank until the beast clutched in his arms ceased to struggle, his movements becoming feeble and uncoordinated and, at last, still.

But Adilla’s mind seethed.

There was no ultimate essence to pull from this body to end him like there had been with Kambyses. Even with his veins dry, Adilla continued, physically helpless but conscious, blasting rage like a sun blasted fire.

“You belong to me, Adilla Khan,” Dominique said when he finally stopped drinking. The lavishly robed, emaciated body was a gangly puppet draped in his arms.

When he stood, he realize that Isao, Makoto, Douglas, Lyle and Jackson surrounded him, their weapons held ready to fend off anyone who might have wanted to rush to Adilla’s aid. No one did. No one except for his two oldest younglings. They stood just out of reach of the swords. Tears streamed down Bhavanur’s cheeks, but Markandeya only stared, blank-faced.

Dominique walked between them and placed Adilla on the marble slabs before the throne with all the respect worthy of a fallen ancient one. Then he ascended the dais to stand beside the empty throne.

Every eye was on him. Except for a few muffled sobs, the hall was silent.

“I am the Lord of Night,” Dominique began, a small part of him marveling at the new conviction in his voice. “And I will have peace in my kingdom for all its citizens. The world of night is a world of refuge. Of love, compassion, and respect for all living things, immortal and other.” He let that sink in before laying out the re-siring process and how it would change them. He also informed them of the two primary rules of his kingdom: no killing and no turning anyone against their will. “Beyond this, you are free to live your eternal lives how ever you wish and anywhere you choose.”

Several individuals exchanged hesitant looks. The soft wailing in the back quieted.

“This is the same offer I made Adilla,” Dominique continued with a long look at the motionless form on the floor. “He refused. To preserve the peace for all, I will not allow him to continue. Those of you who claim him in your sire line will survive—as long as you accept my offer first.”

Uncertain glances darted between Lyle, the corpses scattered on the ground, and Adilla’s quiet figure before settling back on Dominique.

Dominique let them take his measure. They had no reason to trust his word, and every reason to suspect ulterior motives. It’s what they knew from Adilla, after all. But the facts remained. Adilla lay defeated. He would manipulate them no more. And the blood-drinker who had bested him stood before them, not studded in jewels and trailing a cape, but wrapped in leather and covered in blood.

Markandeya, who had stared at his helpless son with what appeared to be no particular emotion, was the first to sink to one knee. “He brought me into this life for no reason other than to declare himself my master for eternity. All these centuries later, I can honestly say that I am done, and gladly so.”

“As am I,” another man said, dropping to a knee. He was a tall, elegant figure with long waves of chestnut hair. Recalling what he knew of this one from Adilla’s mind, Dominique glanced at Jackson and already looked forward to introducing them.

All around the room, others now knelt as well, singly and in groups of twos and threes and fours, some eager, others sullen, until all but Bhavanur were on their knees. He looked around, eyes narrow, shoulders riding up to his ears. “Traitors,” he whispered. A moment later he shrieked, “Traitors!”

When no one even lifted their eyes in his direction, Bhavanur whirled around to Dominique, his boyish, tear-stained face distorted by outrage. “You are an animal, a monster! I willneverbe yours! I will—” Whatever he had been about to threaten, nobody would ever know. His head separated from the rest of him and tumbled away in the wake of Isao’s sword.

Dominique nodded to the samurai in silent gratitude.

“Submission is not optional,” Isao intoned into the hush, clarifying what Dominique could not say without being branded the same sort of tyrant he had just deposed. On a thunderous bellow, he added, “Approach your lord!”

The male who had been the second to submit was now the first to move. He shuffled forward—on his knees.

“No,” Dominique said, stopping him. “On your feet. Upright like the proud creature of the night that you are.”

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