Fifth of Blood

by Kris Austen Radcliffe

  It made sense to Andreas. Hadrian kept a low profile, preferring to continue walking through life unmolested by Fates, Shifters, and Burners. Like most of the long immortal, though, he used his knowledge of history to gain riches. Vast vats of golden riches pilfered from the still-decaying corpse of Rome.

  She said something about swords and Fates and Portland.

  Adrenaline flooded Andreas’s body before Anna finished her words, clearing his vision and hearing. Dream tastes still sat on his tongue, making it feel thick, and he suspected his own words were not clear. But his mind was.

  He’d always wondered why his Shifter Progenitor mother, Idunn, made some normals immortal. Was it random? With her, it might be. But a few of them seemed to have tasks. Tasks that were always Fate-related.

  Harold kept Marcus, the only remaining member of the original Draki Prime, alive. There was a woman in Scotland who for centuries kept the working relationship between the Highland Fates and Shifters functional. And now the Tsar got a major healing from an obviously major Fate.

  More often than not, his mother made the normals immortal and unkillable long before their task became obvious. It made Andreas wonder.

  Hadrian, who kept tabs on the Ulpi Fates, never interacted. Never. At least as far as Andreas knew. “He doesn’t talk to the other Emperor. They don’t communicate with each other, though they watch each other very closely, and honestly, they’re never far apart. It’s been like that since Dunn snatched Hadrian off his deathbed.”

  Anna hummed. “Could he be heading them off? Being that ‘man of the people’ he always claims to be?”

  Andreas snorted. “When did we become ‘people,’ Anna?” Hadrian respected the Dracae, but that was the sum total of his investment. “I suspect he thinks he’s purchasing some dead triad’s talisman. There’s a market. People will collect everything.” Burners weren’t the only creatures with ghoulish behavior. “Some Shifters and breeder triads think talismans without triads hold power.”

  “This will not be a relief for the—” Anna stopped herself, to Andreas’s relief. “For Rysa.”

  Moments like these, Andreas wished he had voice enthralling capabilities. And the lack of willpower to keep himself from using them. Anna needed a boost to her own willpower. “You and your brother’s fiancé getting along better?” Best to remind Anna that Rysa was as much a part of her family as her own husband.

  She didn’t sigh. AnnaBelinda had a shell around her, one which Andreas had occasionally, through the centuries, found a way through. The last time had been shortly after the original Draki Prime activated outside the walls of their settlement in Gaul, not long after the Empire fell. She’d ridden away from their battlements chasing Ulpi triads, Ladon on her heels. They’d returned with three young Fates in tow.

  Ladon had not seen the turmoil in his sister’s soul. She shared it only with Andreas and her dragon. He’d done his best to help find her a way out.

  She never let him in again, after that.

  Andreas glanced at the phone in his hand. He’d have to remember that finding the balance for AnnaBelinda was no longer his role in her life.

  After the end of World War Two, when his mother celebrated with a massive party in Chicago, he’d seen a glimmer of Anna’s balance, out on the dance floor, as she twirled in the arms of her Russian prince.

  His mother was not pleased with his actions that night, when he allowed Derek to escape. Neither was Ladon, for very different reasons. Now he’d at least regained his closest friend. His mother, though still calling on him for special work, kept him at a distance.

  After a long pause, Anna answered, her voice hushed and soft. “Do you see my balance in this, Andreas?”

  The question caught him off guard. He never expected her to ask. “Anna…” She isolated herself. Insulated her life and her dragon from normals and Shifters and Fates. And when she let someone in, he was always strong. Maybe not physically—Derek had his blood issue—but strong in the ways she never was. Or could no longer be.

  And, Andreas realized, always a he. Her brother, him, her husbands, Timothy of the original Draki Prime for a few brief moments. Now, Derek. Always men.

  Which had to mean something.

  “I apologize, Andreas. I should not have asked such a question of you.” Sounds of her moving around flowed through the speaker.

  “Listen to me. Rysa is not going to hurt your brother. Or you. And the gods know she’s already proven she will do anything to make sure your husband is okay.” Andreas rubbed his face again, feeling sleep drag down the back of his mind, adrenaline and angry women notwithstanding. “But she doesn’t trust you. Or the Great Lady, and you know why. I think in order for you to find the balance in this, you must remove the heavy boulders from both sides—from under you, and from under Rysa. Or else the fulcrum will snap and balance will be the least of your worries.”

  Again, she paused longer than Andreas felt comfortable. Was she thinking about his words? Or was her blood boiling and her shell thickening?

  “We are trying, Andreas.”

  He exhaled louder than he meant to. He must have been holding his breath. All he wanted to say was You better be and Try harder, but that would help no one. “I will call Hadrian.”

  Another long pause. “Thank you.”

  “You are welcome, my legatus.”

  Anna snorted. “I told you centuries ago not to call me that anymore.”

  Andreas remembered. But referring to their command status seemed to help both the Dracas and the Dracos center themselves. “Yes, my liege.”

  With that, she chuckled. “Andreas, there’s something else.”

  The adrenaline pulsed again. Outside the hotel room’s window, behind the blackout curtains, the world always held “something else.” And the something else tended toward the not nice.

  Why did women, even women like AnnaBelinda, always hold back the worst?

  “What?” What could it be? The Ulpi Fates were bad enough.

  “Have you been… visited?”

  She was asking about the Fates whom Vivicus’s daughter Vivienne had tried to ensnare. Because the Ulpi weren’t the buyers. With Fates, it couldn’t be that simple. It was never that simple.

  “No.” He glanced at Renee’s sleeping form again and his hand twitched. The thought of unfriendly Fates appearing at The Land caused more nervousness than he cared to admit.

  “Has… Rysa told you it was safe for you to leave?”

  She could ask Rysa herself. But she would have to talk to her first. “I am to stay.” Stay for as long as Dmitri needed. Because for some reason Rysa’s future-seer thought the bastard needed protection. Though protecting Dmitri was not Andreas’s goal, even if it was Rysa’s.

  Andreas shrugged. “Vivienne called off the Seraphim and fired all the mercenaries. Deep inside, she’s terrified of retaliation from not only the de la Turris clan, but the Jani, and the many descendants of the original Draki Prime as well. I gave her a push to hold that fear front and center in her mind. She wants to take her toys and go home.”

  Another pause. Another set of low-spoken words. “We could use you here.”

  Ah, the truth. For a second, Andreas wondered what the Tsar thought of the possibility of him swooping in to take care of his wife. Andreas glanced at Renee again. She slept deeply, probably for the first time since this fight started. To his surprise, she’d let her guard down around him. She didn’t trust enthrallers.

  But in less than four days, she trusted him.

  “I will come when the Draki Prime says it is safe.”

  “Yes.” More humming rose from Anna. “Call Hadrian. And go back to sleep, my friend.” She cut the call.

  Renee rolled over when he set the phone on the side table. “Tell me you don’t have to leave.” Her soft but strong fingers stroked his back.

  Andreas exhaled, feeling his muscles loosen under this beautiful normal’s touch. But he had to pull away. He had work. Fates to deal with. And another Fate
-Shifter to train. He stood, knowing he’d have to soon enough, anyway.

  Time for him to stand, once again, between his lieges and the world.

  “Pavlovich won’t be up for a couple of hours.” Behind him, sheets rustled. Renee crawled off the bed and stood.

  Andreas looked at the phone on the stand. He could call now. Or text. But if the Ulpi Fates didn’t already know the Dracae were interested in Hadrian, they would be the moment he dialed. Andreas’s coming efforts must be glowing in the what-will-be, as vivid as the rising sun on the horizon.

  Not only the Ulpi, but also the triad stalking The Land. And Renee.

  She leaned into his back, her forehead between the bottom edges of his shoulder blades and her naked breasts against the cords framing his spine, and wrapped her arms around his waist.

  Andreas closed his eyes and allowed himself to feel this moment. Renee was not the first woman whose skin had glided over his with such perfection. Or the first whose scent reminded him of both flowers and steel—an odd combination, but one that, for her, worked. She balanced soft and hard.

  He could get used to her arms and her smile.

  “I know you need to leave.” Renee nodded against his skin.

  “I need to dress.” The effort needed to pull away surprised him.

  Renee let go and stepped back, into the slice of morning sunshine cutting between the curtains and into the room. Light striped diagonally across her body, from her shoulder, over her plump breasts and her smooth belly, spilling onto her thigh.

  Something in her stance looked familiar. The tilt of her head, the pull of the muscles around her eyes. The willingness to let him take in the shape of her form without asking anything in return—not reassurance of her beauty, or an expectation of a touch. This woman was who she was.

  Could he say the same about himself?

  “Go on,” she whispered, stepping back once again. Into the shadows.

  After he pulled on his t-shirt and buckled his belt, after she lay down on the bed, still naked and without him, after he closed the door, Andreas stood for a long moment in the hotel’s long hallway. A few doors down, someone started a shower. Above his head, a door slammed. The new carpet outgassed and the overhead lights flickered.

  Andreas Theodulus Sisto, the Second of the Legio and the First Enthraller, a man who had lived through the rise and fall of empires, allowed himself one small moment of hollowness. Allowed himself, for this one second, to consider the balance of his actions.

  On one side of the fulcrum, spread along its long, long blade, rested the weight of his life as it intertwined with the Dracae. On the other, much shorter side sat the full weight of the present, and the full context of all from which he had just walked away.

  Andreas Theodulus Sisto, the Second of the Dragons’ Legion, wondered if the push and pull crawling along his skin could only be felt by the long immortal. If, as he hoped, Renee did not now, nor ever would, feel the whisper of time’s many legs as it scurried up her leg, ready to bite.

  Andreas closed his eyes, and forced away the bug analogy. It dropped through a hole, one cold as ice, but he would not let it freeze his soul.

  He yanked his phone from his pocket and tapped in the first Portland phone number.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The dragons blocked from Rysa all discussions of what was going on inside—and out in front of—the house. They slinked around the pool more silent than stalking coyotes, over the roof like the breeze itself, and in and out of the house like a pair of indecisive cats, all while keeping a very close eye on the pool house. The only noises she heard were the chirping wildlife and the groan of the patio door opening and closing.

  She knew they talked about Fates who called themselves Parcae. Fates who schemed out ten, twelve moves ahead of everyone else. Fates who ran the world.

  She asked questions of her seers: Where is my talisman? Show me the safest path.

  Is Ladon okay?

  Randomness added too much noise, as it had since they left Branson, so Rysa stared at the stars, one hand on the insignia around her neck and the other covering the one tied to her thigh.

  The one she’d used to tease Ladon. The one he’d used to anchor her so he could thrust deeply.

  She pushed the thought from her mind. Derek told her not to dwell. That his wife dwelled and they didn’t need two women dwelling. She’d rolled her eyes.

  Rysa was pretty sure he’d tried to use reverse psychology on her, which should make her mad. And it did. But it also worked.

  Rysa rubbed her neck. Her stomach growled loudly enough Dragon would probably stampede in, swinging his great head and flaming wildly at the phantom monster attacking her.

  Derek would come out soon with more food. He’d promised last night, when he brought out the second tray. Then he’d backed away, his hat sitting on the back of his handsome head, blinking like it had all finally gotten to him.

  She sat up. The little bed in the pool house had turned out to be surprisingly comfortable, but once again, sleep never came. The stars moved and the dragons bickered behind one of their mental walls, and she sprawled on the bed thinking about strange little oddities like the Chemistry final exam she’d been so worried about just before the Burners shackled her.

  She’d missed it. Missed all her finals. So now she had to figure out how to get incompletes in her classes. If she ever got home again. And of course, where would they live? Her house had burned down and her mom was off God knows where. And how much did it cost to grocery shop for an over-metabolizing Fate-Shifter hybrid and a one-ton dragon?

  Did Ladon even know how to mow a lawn?

  Rysa stood, stretching, and tried to clear her mind. Not sleeping gave her too much time alone to think about too many stupid things.

  And they were stupid. She had tried last night to focus as she stared at the patio door, wishing Ladon would come storming out again and demand she return to the pool. Demand it, all dominant and masculine, like some narcissistic pirate.

  Her gut fluttered, tightening in a way that made her hunger hurt. Games were fun when they were games.

  She’d been a total idiot. A total, selfish idiot.

  Such thoughts, as Derek had made it abundantly clear last night, served no one. So she kicked at them, trying to force them away, but they wailed and whimpered like put-upon kitties. They wanted to sit on her lap and rip with their claws and they’d meow until she let them.

  But today was a new day. She smoothed her t-shirt, thankful Derek had also thought to bring her fresh clothes, and walked through the little house’s door into the yard.

  AnnaBelinda sat on one of the loungers near the patio door, waiting. Still in black, still small and angry and wearing what could easily pass for military gear, she leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, as she listened to the two dragons stream information back and forth.

  The rivers of energy almost glimmered, registering just outside Rysa’s ability to see. They snaked and snapped, winding like high-voltage ghosts.

  An argument rippled through the yard, but Rysa could not tell who was yelling.

  Anna stood and smoothed her own tank top, much as Rysa had just done. “Brother sleeps.” She nodded at the patio door. “My husband, as well. And Bernard.” She paused, a slight grin appearing. “All the men.” Her hand reached out, patting an invisible neck.

  A line of visibility rolled from Dragon’s snout to his tail, and he shook slightly, like a dog readjusting his stance. Anna lifted her hand off his neck.

  On the other side of the dragon woman, behind her and close to the gate, another line of visibility ran from another snout to another tail. But Sister-Dragon did not shake. She padded over to Anna and dropped down onto her belly, placing her head on her front limbs.

  “We wish to apologize,” Anna said. She didn’t move, nor did the dragons. But more energy whipped around the yard.

  Ghost snakes squirmed over Rysa’s mind.

  She gripped her elbows, feeling her body squi
rm with the snakes. The dragons weren’t arguing. Not really. They weren’t bickering, either. It felt more like they threw entire conceptual frameworks at each other in a game of brain dodgeball.

  Sincerity was not one of the balls being pitched. Which, Rysa realized, was also not true. The framework was there, but it had a big old asterisk on it, one indicating some restrictions apply.

  “Don’t give me any of that ‘I’m sorry you feel that way’ non-apology apology bullshit.” Rysa just wanted something to eat. Not to be harassed. Not to have to sort through someone else’s dungeons of angst. She had enough of her own, thank you.

  Ice dropped over Anna. Not that she’d been warm before, but now Rysa felt as if winter had settled into New Mexico and flakes were about to condense right out of the air. Anna’s face hardened and nothing got through. No emotion at all. The expression she wore looked very much like Ladon’s battle face, but without the focused edge of danger.

  “On the long road of my life and the lives of my brother and our dragons, it does not matter what you think of us.” AnnaBelinda closed her eyes for a moment. When she reopened them, Rysa saw that even from thirty-five feet away, they seemed to brighten.

  “But in the here and now, right now, you matter to my brother. You matter to Brother-Dragon. You saved my husband. We owe you a debt.” Her back straightened, if it were possible for AnnaBelinda to straighten her back any more. “I understand the bond Brother feels with you. I do.”

  Yes, she did. Probably better than Rysa did. “Then why the hell do you think you can judge?” Rysa bounced a little, unable to hold herself still. Now was not the time for her hyperactivity to reassert itself, but it did. And it always would, in moments like this. Rysa stepped back a little to stop the next fidget.

  The ice from Anna cracked slightly. Just a tiny bit, as if Rysa’s behavior had pulled up a memory of someone else, from some time long, long ago.