And then, Sephreh began to laugh. He dropped back into his chair. “Good luck, then.” His gaze was still cold as steel, but he looked positively delighted.
“What do you mean?”
“Camille no longer lives in Otherworld. She’s gone Earthside—relocated by the OIA. My daughter is now an agent over through the portals. So good luck finding her.” As he chuckled, he pulled the letter out of his pocket. “By the way, I’ll have my response to Queen Asteria by morning. You may drop by to pick it up on your way back to Elqaneve. I trust you won’t be staying in Y’Elestrial any longer than necessary.” And with that pointed remark, he nodded to the door. “See yourself out, Zanzera. I’m busy.”
As Trillian stumbled back toward the door, grabbing his bag on the way, he couldn’t help but wonder just how the hell he was supposed to find Camille now. She was over Earthside. She might as well be a million miles away.
DARYNAL STARED AT him as they crowded into the palace cafeteria that served the agents and soldiers from the various departments of the government. The city-state might be a monarchy, but it had its layers of bureaucracy like all governments.
“She’s over Earthside? What are you going to do?”
Trillian pushed the stew around on his plate. He frowned. “I have one possible chance. I know someone who works in the OIA, in communications. I think I can get him to help me.”
“What are you going to do? Head over there?” Darynal started to laugh, then stopped. “Oh man, you can’t. You are actually thinking of traveling through the portals?”
“It’s not like I haven’t been Earthside before. I’ve been there several times on missions. I know my way around enough.” He knew it sounded crazy—to shift worlds in order to chase down someone likely to slam the door in his face. But he had to find her. He had to know. “Come on. I’ve got an appointment with Leks. He’s waiting.”
The two men entered the communications hive a few minutes later, and there was Leks, waiting. The room was filled with Whispering Mirrors, all pointing to locations around Y’Elestrial and far beyond. The silver rimmed magical devices were hard to tune, and it required an entire department to keep them up and running.
Leks glanced around, then—with no one paying any attention—led them over to one bank of mirrors. “I’ll lose my job if anybody finds out about this. But here…the D’Artigo Sisters are in a city called Seattle, over Earthside. Their contact’s name is Chase Johnson. He’s a soldier…officer? Someone in authority, that I know. He’s the one who all communications from the OIA go through officially. The girls have a Whispering Mirror in their house but I haven’t figured out just the combination for their location yet. This will have to do on such short notice.”
As they came up on the mirror, he motioned for the man keeping an eye on the bank of mirrors to take a break. “I want to check something out. Go get your tea early.”
The apprentice didn’t have to be asked twice. He saluted and headed off, looking decidedly more happy than he had when they’d approached him.
Leks looked around, then sat down and fiddled with the controls on the mirror. He whispered something that neither Trillian nor Darynal could hear—a password, no doubt. Within a moment, the cloud obscuring the mirror began to fade, and there was a man staring back at them.
“Yes? What can I do for you?” The man looked nervous, and kept tugging on his collar.
He was clean cut, with hair shorter than just about anybody Trillian had ever seen. He looked decidedly human, but there was something…a faint glimmer that aroused a suspicion in the Svartan. He ignored it, though, because he had only a few minutes and he didn’t want to waste any time. As Leks began to talk to the man, Trillian thought about what he was going to say. If he pled for Camille to hear him out, it would be via this human, and second hand love letters were no better than the person relaying them. No, he had to make it something that would catch her attention, that would be something she couldn’t ignore.
And then, he knew. What he’d read in the note—it would concern her, too.
“I’ll be back in a moment, Chase. Just wait here, please.” Leks stood and quickly walked around behind the mirror. He nodded to Trillian.
Trillian slid into the seat and leaned forward. “Chase Johnson? You know Camille D’Artigo?”
Chase blinked, looking confused. “Yeah, who are you? What do you want?”
“Never mind that. Camille will know if you tell her what I look like. Meanwhile, I have a message for her, and I’ll twist your balls off if she doesn’t get it.”
The man named Chase stiffened, his eyes narrowing. He cleared his throat. “Are you with the OIA?”“Never you mind. Get yourself something to write with—just do it.”
Chase held up a funny looking quill and a pad of paper. Trillian was acquainted with pens, so he just nodded. “Good. Now you tell Camille this: Rumor has it something big is going down in the lower depths. There’s a new ruler, and he’s far more ambitious than than the Beasttägger was. Don’t count on help from home.” He paused, asking Chase to repeat the message back to him.
“Is that all?” Chase was sounding disgruntled, but he was paying attention. He seemed to sense Trillian’s urgency.
“No, tell Camille that Shadow Wing’s in charge now. And he’s on the warpath.”
At that moment, there was a sound from behind him, and Trillian turned to see Sephreh standing there, staring at him. Without a word, he stood and followed the Captain back to his office, Darynal behind him.
“YOU ARE BANISHED from the city for three moon’s time,” Sephreh pointed to Darynal. “Go, now, and be glad I don’t toss you in jail.” He waited until the Svartan clapped Trillian on the shoulder and silently left the room.
Trillian knew where to find him, so he merely raised a hand in farewell. As soon as his blood-oath brother had left the room, he turned back to the Captain. “If you’re going to flog me or flay me or whatever else you’d like to do, get it over with.”
“I cannot believe the effrontery…the gall…” Sephreh sputtered for a moment, then a crafty smile crossed his face. “Oh, I won’t flay you or flog you. No. You want so bad to watch over my daughter? To talk to her? Good luck. I doubt she’ll give you the time of day.”
“What do you mean?” Trillian cocked his head to the side.
“You want to find her? Then go. Through the portals, you demon. Go over Earthside and see how long you last. Go tell my daughter I sent you as a messenger boy, to watch over her.” Sephreh paused, then—with a glance at his office door, which was closed—he said, “You’re right. Shadow Wing is on the rise. We’ve been aware of this for a while, but there are so many facets we cannot do anything openly about it. So you go, spawn from the realms, and you keep an eye on what happens to the portals over there. If my daughter will talk to you, fine—her choice. But I give you a chance in hell that she’ll ever speak to you again. She knows her duty. I trust her to remain true to her head. My guess is you’ll be dead in no time. You can’t make it over Earthside. I was there years back, and it’s far harder now. An arrogant turncoat like you? I give you thirty days.”
Trillian extended his hand. “I wager you a bet, ob Tanu. If I survive that long, you shake my hand and buy me a beer. If not, you win.”
Sephreh stared at Trillian’s fingers. He let out a soft snort. “I’ll never sully my flesh by touching yours. My daughter may have been a fool, but trust me, she’s come to her senses since being sent over Earthside. Now go. And if I don’t hear that you reported to Milligan at the portals by sunset, your head is forfeit and you will die. Go.”
As Trillian turned on his heel and left the office, he realized the captain had played right into his hands. With a soft laugh, he whispered, “I take your bet and raise it, Sephreh. Not only will I find Camille, I guarantee you this: I’ll never lose her again.” His heart skipped a beat as he headed for the portals. His family be damned, Sephreh be damned. He was on his way to see his love.
They were bound by a ritual as old as time, and the hidden tattoos that lurked beneath their skin would hold them together forever. And this time, nothing in the world could keep them apart.
Blood Ties
Roman has managed to live as long as he has due to keeping a tight hold on what humanity he has left. Unfortunately, not all vampires feel that way—and not all of his family feels agrees with him.
ROMAN STARED AT the phone as he silently replaced the receiver. The news was not good. He really, really didn’t need to start off the day this way. Grumbling, he stared at the woman sitting beside him. She was quiet, polite, and dressed in a dark red skirt and top. The better not to show stains, my dear, he thought. He contemplated her—she was new to his stable. Average build, pretty, blue-eyed and a redhead. As he looked at her, it occurred to him that, for once, he wished he could have a normal breakfast and a normal cup of coffee. Just once. But those simple joys had been off his table for thousands of years and the only way he could handle everything that seemed so alien now, that made up so much of so many peoples’ lives, was to push the desire aside and not let it bother him.
“What’s your name?” Roman made it a point to know every bloodwhore in his stable. He learned their backgrounds, their likes and dislikes, the reason they had petitioned to join his household. He was not a use ‘em and lose ‘em type of guy. It wouldn’t be seemly, not for the son of Blood Wyne, the Vampire Queen.
“Dotti Rollins.” She smiled, but behind the smile, her nerves were showing through. She was dressed like Roman preferred his stable to dress—skirts, sweaters, normal clothes. He never allowed one of his bloodwhores to appear at the table in anything but a tidy manner. No negligees, no lingerie. Sexy clothes were perfectly fine, but he wasn’t running a brothel and the fact was, he rarely slept with any of the women who lived under his roof and provided him with their blood.
Roman considered her for a moment. She seemed pleasant, almost college-prep. What was she doing here? What had brought her into his house, into his stable? He left the choosing of the bloodwhores up to his personal secretary but this meeting—the first—was the final decision. Here, he either put his stamp of approval on the deal, or he dismissed the candidates and they were never allowed to reapply.
“Tell me about yourself, Dotti.” Roman was gracious. He could afford to be. There were a long line of applicants waiting to offer their veins up to him. It had been so very long, so many thousands of years, since he was human that he’d forgotten whatever it was he’d felt about vampires before his mother was turned, and in turn—turned him and his siblings. But he kept a tight, short rein on himself to keep from becoming a monster. To keep from hating his existence. And that included interacting with the living on a gracious, if aloof, level. As far above them as he was on the food chain, he never let himself forget that he did have his vulnerabilities, and death—the final death—was always a chance.
Her eyes went wide and she flushed. “I’m…I’m a grad student.
He nodded. There was something there, below the surface. “What’s your major?”
This time the flush ran down her neck, across the top of her chest. “Supe-psychology.”
And there it was. He knew there was something odd about her. Usually the ones who really wanted to be here were broken in some manner—they might hide it well, but the sense was always there beneath the surface. Dotti wanted fodder for her thesis. Roman could handle the broken ones. It was almost a service, offering them shelter and protection. But he didn’t like being used, nor analyzed.
He slowly stood and crossed to her side, reaching down to cup her chin and slowly tilt her head up so she was looking into his eyes. He thought about just sending her away, but then the hunger grew, and he decided what the hell. He could send her away afterward. Leaning down, he brushed her lips with one finger.
“Well, Dotti, I hope you get everything you’re looking for.” And then, he lifted her hair away from her neck and with one, smooth motion, slid his fangs into the flesh—deep and painfully. She cried out and stiffened as he coaxed the blood up, and then, he decided to give her a taste of the other side. Within seconds she was murmuring at his touch, moaning gently as he poured on the glamour. A moment later and she squirmed, reaching up to brush her fingers across her breasts. One more lick of the blood running down her neck and she came, harder than she’d ever come before. Roman knew the signs. Dotti had never felt the wave of passion he was surrounding her with. As he pulled away, he thought with regret that she’d never feel it again, either. Not unless she knelt at his feet and begged. But he didn’t like sycophants, and so even if she did, he’d just say no.
He slowly withdrew, delicately tapping his face with a napkin. “Dotti?”
She blinked, coming out of haze into which he’d thrust her. “Yes, Lord Roman?”
“Gather your things and leave my house. I don’t ever want to see you again.” And with that, he turned, and strode out of the room, leaving her behind. The day had started rotten and was just getting worse.
AS ROMAN LEANED toward his computer, glancing over the monthly summaries his secretary had provided him, he paused, his thoughts drifting. Every tap at the door put him on alert. Why hadn’t Caleb given him time to bug out of the country? He thought about doing just that, leaving now and pretending he’d missed the letter this morning, but Blood Wyne would know, and when his mother got bug up her butt, there was no stopping her.
Finally, he pushed aside all the business matters that were on his calendar. He had already made one call he hadn’t wanted to and promptly at seven, the door opened and Menolly and Nerissa walked in. Neither one looked thrilled to be here, and he couldn’t blame them.
“I’m sorry I ruined your evening. I know you had plans.” Roman stood, bowing gracefully. A little courtesy went a long way. “I wouldn’t have called you if I had any choice in the matter but family…”
Menolly snorted. “Dude, my family’s dysfunctional. Yours is downright scary. They call, you jump.” She turned to Nerissa. “You understand, right?”
Nerissa nodded at Roman. Her eyes were fixated on his, and he felt himself pull back. He would never tell anyone, but the person in this world that frightened him most, among the living, was Nerissa—Menolly’s wife. She alone saw him as a rival, and rivals often ended up dead. But he’d made a promise to his official consort that he’d never hurt the werepuma, and he would keep that promise. Above all, Roman was a man of his word—honor meant everything to him.
Those lovely pink lips had been around his cock once, in an ill-fated threesome that he tried to forget. His heart made it difficult, though, because he was as smitten with Menolly as Nerissa was, but he also knew it was hopeless to try to win her away. But one day the werepuma would age and die, and he and Menolly would still live and then…then he would make his move. Until then, they would play the game by the rules that the girls had set forth.
“My brother will be here shortly. He’s Regent over in western Europe—France, Spain, Italy, and a few smaller countries. He insisted on meeting you. Mother told him about us.” Even the words ‘my brother’ left a bad taste in Roman’s mouth. He didn’t like his siblings—they were whiny and annoying, they pranced around like royalty instead of assuming an air of dignity. Blood Wyne kept reminding him that they were always like that, even before she’d turned them, but to Roman, that didn’t make an excuse for keeping up the behavior.
“As long as he doesn’t touch Nerissa.” Menolly brushed back Nerissa’s hair. She’d affixed a pink bow around the werepuma’s neck, tied in the front, which meant “hands off, I own her.”
“Even those of the nobility, with the exception of my mother, have to follow the rules.” Roman smoothly slid from behind his desk and crossed. He lifted Nerissa’s hand to his lips and gently kissed the top. She didn’t flinch, but merely inclined her head to him. And that made him more nervous than he had thought possible.
As they stood there, an odd little trio, a
knock sounded on the door, eclipsing any thoughts of Nerissa. Roman’s stomach tightened. Just because he was dead, didn’t mean he couldn’t feel sick to his stomach. He motioned for the women to sit near the desk, then took his place behind the behemoth of an oak antique. After straightening his smoking jacket and smoothing back his pony tail, pressed the button that gave the servants leave to enter the room.
The maid entered, her eyes wide and looking afraid. Behind her was a hooded and cloaked figure, at least six feet tall, wearing a blood red cloak, with gold trim. The cloak was rich velvet, fastened by a brooch that Roman recognized. He had one like it, as well as a cloak that was the same. The cloaks were handmade, only for their family. The tailor had in the family since Roman could first remember. Blood Wyne had turned him, along with a handful of servants, when she had turned her children.
Roman inclined his head, bowing but only slightly in a stiff, formal pose. “Caleb, you grace my home with your presence.” What he wanted to say was get the fuck out, but that didn’t seem to be the most diplomatic move and his mother would get an earful if he was rude, and then he would get yelled at and it would be one big mess.
Caleb pushed back his hood. He was striking, with long golden hair the color of summer sun, and sparkling eyes the color of frost. But though their coloring was different, the long, regal nose, and the angular cheekbones belied their common parentage.
Caleb glanced over at Menolly and Nerissa, his eyes flashing briefly. “Brother, it’s been a long time.” He wandered over to the girls, circling them. “It’s easy enough to tell who your consort is.”
Menolly stood and curtseyed—it was expected of her and Roman knew that it grated against her nature, but she was brought up in courtly life and understood protocol. That was main reason he had originally decided to appoint her as his official consort—that along with his mother’s decree. Blood Wyne had insisted, and he still didn’t know why, but things had snowballed after that and now, he was grateful for the way they’d turned out.
Otherworld Tales Volume 1 Page 7
