The Sanctuary Siege

Cassian caught Elliott before he hit the floor, sweeping the thrashing human into his arms.

"We are leaving!" Cassian roared to his guards. "Bring the car around. We go to the Penthouse."

The Penthouse Sanctuary was the highest point in Boston, a sprawling, glass-walled fortress in the sky owned entirely by Cassian. The private elevator shot upward, the silence of the luxury cabin broken only by Elliott’s pained, feverish groans.

Cassian laid Elliott on the massive California king bed in the master suite. The city lights glittered far below, a sea of mundane safety that felt entirely out of reach.

Elliott was burning with a horrific fever. He was slipping in and out of consciousness, muttering archaic Latin phrases mixed with panicked pleas for his mother. Every time Elliott spoke in Cassian’s ancient native tongue, Cassian felt a physical tearing sensation in his own chest, a piece of his immortal soul violently ripping away and forcing its way into the fragile human.

"Stay with me, Elliott," Cassian begged, kneeling by the bed. He pressed a cool washcloth to Elliott’s forehead. The playboy, the hedonist who had spent centuries using people for pleasure, was entirely, devastatingly undone. "Fight it. You are brilliant. You are so fiercely stubborn. Fight me."

Elliott’s eyes fluttered open. The violet glow had faded slightly, leaving his warm, intelligent brown eyes looking exhausted and terrified.

"It hurts, Cass," Elliott whispered, his voice small, sounding like the bullied, lonely kid he had spent his whole life trying to outgrow. He reached out with a trembling hand, his fingers curling into Cassian’s crisp white shirt. "I don't want to disappear."

"You won't," Cassian swore, pressing a desperate kiss to Elliott’s burning knuckles. A bloody tear slipped from the vampire's eye. "I thought... I thought the obsession was my own. I thought I had finally found a soul that interested me. Someone who saw past the glamour and demanded a checkout form." He let out a wet, broken laugh. "But it's just a curse trying to kill you."

"I kind of liked the espresso machine," Elliott murmured, a weak, cynical smile touching his pale lips.

"I will buy you a thousand of them," Cassian whispered fiercely. "I will buy you the coffee plantations. Just hold on."

Suddenly, the reinforced glass walls of the penthouse shattered inward with a deafening crash.

Wind and rain howled into the luxurious bedroom. Cassian threw himself over Elliott, shielding the human from the shower of broken, enchanted glass.

Standing in the center of the ruined room, surrounded by a dozen heavily armed vampire assassins, was Lord Malakor. He was a towering, grotesque vampire with scarred, graying skin and a cruel, jagged smile.

"Well, well," Malakor sneered, stepping over the glass. "The trap finally sprung. I wondered how long it would take for you to find a mortal interesting enough to touch over my little book, Cassian."

Cassian rose slowly from the bed. He stood between Malakor and Elliott, his posture radiating absolute, lethal fury. The soul-bleed had weakened him, draining his immortal strength, but the terrifying protectiveness of the curse—and his own genuine, desperate love for the nerd on the bed—fueled a god-like rage.

"You will not touch him," Cassian snarled, his fangs fully extended, his eyes burning like twin suns.

"Oh, I don't need to," Malakor laughed. "You're killing him for me. Once your soul finishes crushing his fragile little mortal mind, you'll be trapped in a weak, human shell. And then I will slaughter you both. Finish him, boys."

The assassins lunged.

Cassian moved with terrifying, brutal efficiency. He tore through the first three assassins, ripping throats and shattering spines with his bare hands. But he was sluggish. Every time Elliott let out a pained gasp from the bed, Cassian staggered, the tether pulling at his fading soul.

Malakor drew a massive, serrated broadsword glowing with dark magic and swung.

Cassian dodged, but the blade caught his side, tearing through his suit and slicing deep into his immortal flesh. Black blood sprayed across the expensive rug.

"You're dying, Cassian," Malakor taunted, advancing. "The mortal vessel can't hold you. It’s tearing him apart, and it's draining you."

Cassian fell to one knee, clutching his bleeding side. He looked back at the bed. Elliott was convulsing, his skin turning terrifyingly translucent, the violet light bleeding from his eyes and mouth. The possession was in its final stages. In minutes, Elliott Vance would cease to exist.

The Dark Moment descended, cold and absolute. Cassian realized there was no spell to reverse it. There was no time to research a cure. There was only one way to stop his soul from consuming Elliott's.

He had to sever the tether. And to sever a soul-bond manually required tearing his own immortal soul in half.

Cassian looked at Elliott. He saw the oversized cardigan. He saw the smudged glasses. He saw the only beautiful, genuine, profoundly un-impressed thing he had ever encountered in his dark eternity.

"I love you, little bird," Cassian whispered.

Cassian didn't attack Malakor. He reached into his own chest. His hand phased through his physical body, grasping the glowing, violet tether of the magical bond.

With a roar of pure, unadulterated agony, Cassian ripped his hand backward.

The tether snapped.

An explosive shockwave of concussive magic blasted through the penthouse. Malakor and his assassins were thrown backward. The magical feedback struck Cassian with the force of a freight train. He collapsed to the floor, coughing up a massive amount of black blood, his immortal aura shattering into jagged, dying pieces.

On the bed, Elliott gasped. The violet light vanished entirely. The horrific fever broke instantly. His mind snapped back to sharp, human clarity. He sat up, his chest heaving, completely himself again.

"Cassian!" Elliott screamed, seeing the vampire lord bleeding out on the floor.

"Guards!" Cassian rasped, his voice barely a whisper. The penthouse doors burst open as Cassian’s loyal security team finally breached the room. "Take him! Get him out of here! Keep him safe!"

Two massive vampire guards grabbed Elliott by the arms, hauling him off the bed.

"No! Let me go! Cassian!" Elliott thrashed wildly, fighting with every ounce of his nerdy, un-athletic strength.

Cassian looked up at him, his crimson eyes dimming, offering a bloody, tragic smile. "Live, Elliott."

Malakor recovered, raising his broadsword to deliver the final strike to the fallen playboy.

The guards dragged Elliott backward into the private elevator. The doors slid shut, cutting off his scream, plunging Elliott down into the mundane, lonely safety of the human world, while the only man who had ever truly wanted him prepared to die.