The Last Chance (sequel to A Hundred Lifetimes)

Seven

“Chiara, get away from the gate.” Mary pulled Chiara back and stretched an arm in front of her protectively. She was panting, as if she had just sprinted over.

“Chiara, is it?” the woman asked with clear interest. She had long black hair and brown eyes so dark that they almost seemed black, and she stood tall—in fact, she was as tall as the two other men who were probably a foot bigger than Chiara.

“It is true that he took in another human,” the man in front said with a hint of disgust in his voice. His hair and his eyes were similar to that of the woman's, and their facial structures were almost the same—almost making them look like twins. “His Murder Mansion is starting to become more of an orphanage.”

The one at the back remained quiet, only observing—he looked the youngest and, quite frankly, the most attractive of the bunch, but he didn’t look the least threatening. His eyes reminded Chiara of a hawk—a shade of brown so light—and his rich brown hair contrasting his pale skin made him look like one even more.

“Who are they?” Chiara whispered from behind Mary, who remained tense as if she was ready to fight.

“Mr. D called, he’s on his way back,” she answered. “We’re not supposed to invite them in.”

The woman rolled her eyes, having had heard everything. “It’s a bit hot out here, you know?” she complained.

“What are you doing here?” Chiara felt a wave of relief as she heard Dorian's voice. Clearly displeased, he made his way through the three and went past the gate.

“To visit you, of course,” the man in front said. “We are just here to check up on you.”

Dorian stood in front of Mary, facing the man with his shoulders all tensed up. In his arms were paper bags of groceries, but even so, he looked threatening. “I already went to you and reported everything about Callahan, Tyrrell.”

“Just let us in, Dorian,” the woman complained once more, fanning herself with her hand. “It is very hot out here.”

Dorian didn’t speak for a second as he engaged in a staring competition with the three. He was thinking, calculating his next move, but Chiara and Mary wondered why he couldn’t just close the gate in their faces. What was there to think about? Three up-to-no-good looking vampires were standing outside. It should’ve been an easy decision.

A corner of Tyrrell's lips twitched. “Are you not going to let the highest Council members in?” he asked with a smug look on his face.

Dorian's jaw clenched. “You cannot harm any of them,” he said, surprising Mary and Chiara behind him. He was folding. “I need to have your word.”

“Please, we’re well-fed,” the woman dismissively waved her hand. “We don’t want to take your charity cases away from you.”

“Your word, Amiya,” Dorian said through gritted teeth.

“Fine, you have my word.” Amiya rolled her eyes.

“And mine,” Tyrrell said with an untrustworthy smile.

And then there was one. The vampire at the back remained silent, his face expressionless as his eyes moved from Dorian to Mary then Chiara—sending chills down her spine.

Seeing his line of sight, Dorian moved slightly to the left to act as a barrier. “Gabriel?” he asked imposingly.

Gabriel looked him dead in the eyes. “You have my word.”

That was all it took for Dorian to say the words that would give any vampire a free pass to enter someone's property. “Come in.”

Tyrrell gave Dorian a satisfied smile as he finally took a step past the gate, followed by Amiya who looked relieved to be able to close her umbrella, then Gabriel whose watchful eyes passed Mary and Chiara.

“That’s it? Their ‘word' is all you need?” Mary hissed at Dorian as she backslapped his shoulder.

“We are civilized creatures, young lady,” Tyrrell stated with his back turned to them as he stared up at the magnificence of the mansion.

‘Don’t call me young lady. You’re not my grandma,” Mary snapped at him, even though he and his companions were already headed towards the main entrance.

“There is a code amongst ourselves that we honor, and if the Council's highest officials break it, then chaos would ensue,” Dorian explained, urging Mary and Chiara to follow.

“Code of honor,” Mary spat as she rolled her eyes.

Dorian, followed by Mary and Chiara, walked ahead of the three to lead them to the room that they used to welcome guests.

“Such a showy and fancy mansion, Dorian,” Amiya said as she casually leaned on a side table and picked a petal from a flower on the vase—making Dorian's eyebrow twitch a little. Tyrrell sat on the sofa with his legs crossed—comfortably sitting back as if he owned the place; while Gabriel slowly walked around with his hands behind his back, looking at every detail of the room as if he was an inspector.

Dorian sat across from Tyrrell—the only thing between them being the coffee table. Chiara was on the cabriolet chair on the side, sitting up straight and tensed. Mary stood behind Dorian, keeping her eyes on Gabriel suspiciously. It was always the quiet ones that could potentially do the most damage—because no one would be expecting it.

Amiya blew the petal from her fingertip and watched as it fell slowly to the floor. “But I guess you have nothing better to do than clean the floors since you won’t join us. Don’t you find life pretty boring? Or are you keeping these humans to keep things interesting?”

“I don’t see marks on their skin, so I guess they’re not even playthings,” Tyrrell said, staring at Chiara's exposed neck.

Dorian's eyes slightly narrowed, making Tyrrell look at him with amusement. “Chiara, Mary, go get Clarissa and stay in my study,” Dorian commanded as Amiya scoffed.

“No, no. Let’s keep that one here,” Tyrrell said, pointing directly at Chiara, before waving a hand at Mary dismissively. “You, go away.”

“No. If Chiara’s staying, so am I,” Mary stubbornly replied.

Amiya let out a contemptuous sigh. “My goodness, Dorian. Keep a leash on your pets, will you?”

“They aren’t pets,” Dorian said, his patience running thin, especially when he could see the fallen petal on the floor from the corner of his eye. “What do you want? You’re clearly not here to check up on me. If you needed to do that, you'd have sent your underlings.”

“Obviously,” Tyrrell replied. “Callahan and his younglings have been well taken care of and nothing else is to be done about that. We’re here for another reason.” He sat up and placed his intertwined fingers on top of his knee. Gabriel stopped walking around and stood behind the sofa, and as if he felt Mary's stare, he looked at her challengingly. Mary, of course, didn’t back down. She raised an eyebrow and gritted her teeth—ready for a fight at any time.

“If you remember the other thing we previously discussed,” Tyrrell added.

Dorian’s finger twitched—a barely noticeable reaction, yet nevertheless a tell. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lied.

Tyrrell obviously didn’t buy it. “The Order, Dorian,” he stated. Amiya's eyes flickered at Chiara as she involuntary swallowed at the sound of Tyrrell's words.

“We asked you about them and you said you didn’t know anything, but a little birdie tells us otherwise,” Amiya piped in, sitting on the arm of the sofa and turning her eyes back towards Dorian. “They’ve resurfaced after all these years and they were seen in Cherry Lane. I’m going to let you guess which house they went to.” She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head downwards, a knowing smile on her face.

“So, let us ask again,” Gabriel spoke up, tearing his eyes off Mary to move his cold stare towards Dorian. “What do you know about the Order?”

“Nothing,” Dorian answered, remaining steadfast in his lie. Amiya stood as she lightly chuckled. “I already told you, I only know as much as the books say,” Dorian continued while the woman began to walk in a slow pace—her eyes on Chiara.

Dorian sat up, ready to stand when Amiya stood behind Chiara's chair and smelled her hair. “Chiara seems to know something about it,” she said, while Chiara tried her best to keep still and not show any sign of fear. “Don't you, little girl? Are you the one Callahan talked about?” Amiya continued, lifting a few strands of Chiara's hair as if to admire them.

“Amiya,” Gabriel warningly called out.

“Get your hands off her,” Dorian commanded—every word dripping with anger.

Amiya let go of Chiara's hair but stayed where she stood. “She smells so nice. So different,” she observed. “Are you one of them? Those voodoo women wearing crystals and s**t,” she asked Chiara.

Keeping her entire body still as if faced with a predator, Chiara replied, “I don’t have to answer to you.”

Amiya smiled and shook her head in disappointment. “Transparent as glass. You should work better on your expressions, dear.” Then she walked back to her companions and sat back on the arm of the sofa.

“Dorian,” Tyrrell said in a sigh. “I know Callahan didn’t give you a choice to become a vampire, but do you really have to go to this extent? Taking in someone who’s part of the Order?” He nodded his head towards Chiara. “Those self-righteous murderers who almost put our kind into extinction?”

“Our kind drew first blood,” Gabriel stated flatly.

Amiya groaned and glared at him. “We should’ve killed them all and ended their bloodlines when we had the chance. But you just had to stop us.”

“Someone had to be the voice of reason,” Gabriel replied, “or we would have been no better than them.”

“Someone had to be a buzzkill,” Amiya muttered under her breath.

“So, Dorian, is that really it?” Tyrrell asked with feigned sorrow. “Are you teaming up with the Order because you hate being a vampire so much? You want to help her look for the Vessel and start another m******e?”

Before Dorian could answer, Chiara decided to speak up for herself. “I’m part of nothing, and the Order isn’t a bunch of murderers unlike you.”

Tyrrell snapped his eyes towards her, not looking so amused anymore. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, little girl. You do not know how much power the Vessel holds—how much death she can bring with that little jade of hers.”

“You just don’t like it because they keep you in line,” Mary said with a smirk. Dorian closed his eyes and took a deep breath, knowing that provoking the Council wouldn’t do any good.

“Mere humans defending the Order!” Tyrrell scoffed. “Now, tell us they really aren't part of it and you haven’t sided with them,” he challenged Dorian.

“I could smell it on her, Tyrrell. She knows where the jade is,” Amiya said, looking at Chiara with her head tilted to the side. “Don’t you? Now, be a good girl and tell us where it is. I promise we will compensate you greatly.” Her eyes began to glow with power—a threatening move as she stared her down. “A lifetime with your Master. Don’t you want that?”

“Amiya, cut it out,” Tyrrell sighed in exasperation.

“None of us know where the Order and the jade are,” Dorian said—his voice low. “If that is all you came here for, I advise you to leave for we have nothing else to discuss.” As if on cue, Mary opened the door and tauntingly smiled at them.

Tyrrell gave Dorian a tired look for a second then stood up, shaking his head in disappointment as he began to walk towards the door. He didn’t even give Mary a glance as he walked out with his head held high.

Amiya also began to walk, but she stopped right next to Chiara. “Very well, but keep this in mind, Dorian. You are either with us or against us. Pick a side or we will do it for you.” She looked down at the top of Chiara's head. “As for you, little girl,” she said in a whisper, “I know you know something and if you don’t confess, I have a hundred ways to make you.”

Chiara clenched her fists but didn’t say anything, then Amiya walked out—but not before returning Mary's sarcastic smile—and Gabriel followed a few steps behind.

“That’s right, go on,” Mary called out. “Run back to your mommies, filthy murderers.”

That seemed to hit a nerve on Gabriel and suddenly, his calm demeanor cracked just as he was walking past her. He gripped on the side of the door above Mary's head, and the sound of a slight c***k was heard. “We are not murderers, so you better watch your mouth,” he hissed at her, looking like he wanted to break something other than the door.

Mary, instead of folding, cockily looked up at him. “If that’s what makes you sleep soundly in your coffin.”

“Gabriel. Do not waste your time on that one,” they heard Tyrrell call from the hallway. Gabriel's jaw clenched but he let go of the door and straightened his jacket, regaining his composure before he followed the rest.