Heart of Stone

by Kelly Keaton

  Bran let out a snort at my words, which had me in his face in an instant. “I don’t see you volunteering.” Usually Bran and I fed off each other’s sarcastic banter and poking, but tonight it was rubbing me the wrong way and then some. “Appreciate the vote of confidence. When I come back with Archer--”

  A flash of approval came into his dark eyes. “You come back with Archer, and I’ll eat crow with a smile, Selkirk.”

  Whatever.

  My ire deflated as I strode from the room. I felt dazed by the crap that kept falling. Like dominoes, all it took was one and the rest started to fall. And, worse, I was pretty sure this was only the beginning.

  I went on autopilot, taking care of the food situation by grabbing a left over bowl of cold pasta and taking it back upstairs to Sebastian’s room, eating along the way.

  Inside, I closed the door and leaned against it, eating my pasta and surveying the space, noting the damp towel on the floor, the pile of clothes by the open bathroom, the sand on the floor around them. His boots were tossed on their side.

  I set the empty bowl on the dresser and walked to the bathroom. The glass was still foggy. The scent of soap and humidity still in the air, the shower door still wet. God, I'd missed him by only a few minutes. Had I not been attacked in the ruins maybe I could have done something...

  The realization burned some of my numbness away. My eyes stung with unshed tears. I didn’t want to feel anything else, wanted the numbness to return. With the shower going, I stripped and stepped inside.

  Thanatos had Archer.

  A wet laugh escaped my lips.

  Fucking dominoes.

  AFTER I SHOWERED and dried off, I went to the bed and slipped in with my towel still wrapped around me. My heart ached at the reminders of Sebastian lurking in the pillows and sheets. I breathed his scent into my lungs and tried to keep my emotions calm.

  Sebastian would never want me to abandon the hunt for Archer in order to save him from Lamia. I knew this to be true because it was how I felt, too. We could fight. We could hold out until help came--however long that took. But not Archer. Hell, Archer couldn’t even walk on his own without falling after a few steps.

  I had to believe Sebastian would be all right, that he could handle whatever was thrown his way. He was innately tough, thick-skinned, confident, and stubborn. He was not loud or flamboyant in these things, didn’t need to broadcast his attributes or his toughness. His was a matter-of-fact, quiet kind of assuredness, the kind that came to those who’d been broken and then rebuilt, to those who comprehended how much power they possessed and the price it cost them, and those around them, to wield it.

  The kind of man who wouldn’t hesitate to trade his life for another.

  And I loved everything about him. The dark, brooding, intensity. The wicked smiles. The dry sense of humor. The compassion he had that he’d swear he didn’t, yet would show in almost everything he did.

  The truth settled over me, gentle and absolute. There was no one else for me, no one else who’d ever come close to fitting the way Sebastian fit. From the moment I saw him, interest had flared to the surface, telling me that there was something about him, something that demanded my attention and awakened my curiosity. I might not have liked him very much at first, but the interest and the attraction had been there from the start. And it had led to so much. Discovering my past, my curse, my ability to handle things I never thought I could, to finding a well of strength I never thought existed in me. And he’d been there for all of it.

  He saw my flaws. Saw me at my worst. My most vulnerable. My weakest.

  He saw me.

  And I saw him.

  And I’d be damned if I was going to let Lamia sink her claws in him. If she hurt him, the Salian Front and the rest of the vampire population would no longer be worshiping their enthralling Dark Mother, they’d be worshiping a stone cold statue.

  FOURTEEN

  AS SOON AS HIS WEIGHT returned and his bare feet slapped against a cold, hard surface, he was shoved roughly to the ground. Disoriented, his reflexes took over. He rolled and came up in fighting stance, ready to face the threat, his power already gathering in the palms of his hands.

  Whatever the hell was going on, he was ready.

  Two faces he’d never seen before, male and female, stared back at him with mild curiosity.

  From the corner of his eye, he heard and saw Lamia’s beaded gown as she left the room.

  Left him.

  An oppressive weight seemed to lift from him. It was easier to breathe, easier to think. He shook his head and blinked hard, pissed at the confusion bouncing around in his skull, at the fact that, for a moment, he actually cared that she left.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the man said, gesturing to the blue sparking over Sebastian’s palms.

  “Well, you’re not me, so...” He’d do what he damn well pleased.

  The room was large, the floor, ceiling, and walls all made from the same gray stone. There were no seams or building blocks, suggesting the room had been carved right from the rock.

  Didn’t matter where he was, though, because he wasn’t staying. The doorway Lamia had just used was beyond the two in front of him. It wouldn’t be a problem.

  The man who’d spoken shrugged. Not a man. Not really. He bore the air of a Bloodborn vampire with ease. His blond hair was pulled back from his face, making his high cheekbones appear stark and sinister. He wore a dark suit and shiny black shoes. His eyes were so dark, they appeared black, a strange contrast to his light hair and pale skin.

  With Lamia gone, the pressure upon his free will had eased. All he could think about was getting home.

  To find Archer.

  To be there if they needed him, if Ari needed him.

  The image of her in his mind flipped a switch, erasing the last lingering crud of Lamia’s ancient power. Energy filled him; he didn’t even need to concentrate on pulling it from the air around him. Every nerve lit, burning his hands as calm settled over him.

  Wrong place, wrong time, he thought as he stared at the couple.

  The woman watched him, no emotion on her face, except for the mild curiosity in her big brown eyes. She sported dark fitted clothes and a military buzz cut, but still managed to look refined and feminine. The blond lifted an unimpressed eyebrow and smirked, which meant Sebastian was honor bound to wipe it off.

  Now, he focused.

  And then nothing. His power wasn’t condensing, wasn’t allowing him to manipulate it, to make it useful. Oh, it was there, practically swallowing him whole. But it was . . . useless.

  A snide laugh drew his attention. In a blur, the vampire slammed into him. Pain ricocheted through his shoulders, back, and skull as his back met the stone wall behind him.

  Ignoring the pain, Sebastian’s hands came around the vamp’s throat in flash, squeezing and pushing him back. Hatred bled into the vamp’s eyes, a hatred that was something more than simply doing Lamia’s bidding. It felt personal.

  Bring it, was all Sebastian could think as the edges of his vision went cloudy and rage consumed him, the need to hurt with his bare hands. It’d be so easy.

  “Phillip,” a calm voice pushed into focus. A hand appeared on the vamp’s--Phillip’s--shoulder.

  For a moment, he wished Phillip wouldn’t listen. There was part of him that wanted retribution, wanted his due, wanted to feed the violence and make them pay for taking him away from his home, from his family.

  He wasn’t sure how many seconds passed, but eventually Sebastian eased his hold on the vamp’s throat.

  The look of disgust Phillip gave him before he shoved away and adjusted his suit jacket, was punctuated by a look of promise.

  They’d have their day, apparently.

  “Forgive Phillip,” the woman said, her accent French, as Phillip left the room. “He is...” she paused as if deciding on whether not to share. Then, she smiled. “Intimidated.”

  Adrenaline flowed through him, unrelenting, refusing to f
ade into the background. His heart hammered. He could hear the sound of his heavy breathing and knew he had to regain control.

  He swallowed and instead of going after Phillip like he wanted, he concentrated on the woman in front of him.

  “So passionate,” she mused, her dark eyes searching, as though noting every feature, every scar, every minute detail of his face.

  He wasn’t sure if she thought him a freakish curiosity or if she was into him.

  She was tall and slender, with a certain grace about her movements and her voice that put him in mind of some dark-eyed, dark-haired soulful French actress or dancer.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he warned, clenching his fists. All he wanted was to get the hell out. With his warning delivered, he stepped around her and headed for the doorway.

  Oddly, she didn’t try to stop him. She followed him.

  As he turned down a narrow hallway with a high ceiling, he glanced over his shoulder. She returned his stare. He kept going. Jesus. Maybe he was dreaming. Or dead. And his hell was a confusing labyrinth that went nowhere and people who seemed content to let him wander until he died of frustration.

  The tunnels were a special kind of hell.

  He was definitely underground. As he backtracked down another hallway for the third time, his patience neared an end. When he hit the same dead end as before, he spun around and grabbed the woman by both shoulders and locked gazes. “You will show me the way out.”

  For a moment, he thought his persuasion worked. Her eyes went glassy. She blinked slowly. But then the look faded and a small smile quirked the corners of her lips. She actually appeared impressed.

  “You’re strong. I’ll give you that. But not strong enough to persuade me. Care to try another tactic?”

  His eyes narrowed. Yeah, how about I kill you.

  “Oh, I know that look.” She patted him on the shoulder and stepped around him, pausing to look over her shoulder. “Come with me. I’ll show you to your room.”

  “I don’t want a fucking room, lady. I want out.” He dragged a hand through his hair and let out a heavy huff. Fine. Whatever. “I’ll find my own way,” he growled and spun around, frustration getting the best of him. He punched the wall.

  Shit.

  It hurt like hell, but the sharp, stinging pain shooting through his knuckles, wrist, and up his forearm made things clearer, made him able to deal with the mind fuck they were currently throwing his way.

  The barest whisper of a sigh filled the ensuing silence. “I know the feeling.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. Compassion swam in the dark depths of her eyes. “Stop messing with my head,” he said tiredly. “Just . . . stop.”

  Time weighed down on him.

  Archer.

  Ari.

  The kids. His father. Everyone had relied on him to gain the help of Horus and Artemis. He’d failed to do that. He wouldn’t fail getting back to them. To be there if they needed him. Hating what he was about to do, he grit his teeth and in one smooth movement, shoved the woman face first into the wall, wrenching her hands behind her back until she hissed.

  “I don’t want to--” A note of fragrance wafted over him, gentle and familiar. His heart gave a painful bang.

  What the hell?

  “You can’t really hurt me. I die. I keep coming back.” She glanced over her shoulder with a fierce, pained whisper and a note of crazy in her eyes. “She keeps bringing me back.”

  Her pain was his pain. And he felt it deeper than just physical; his soul cried out. Thrown by the reaction, he spun her around, confused by the connection, confused by the fact that he was sure he knew her. But he didn’t voice his thoughts. He didn’t want to feel her goddamn pain.

  He grabbed her face and let loose his power. They had no clue what he could do.

  No fucking clue.

  “Show me the way out.”

  Her eyes went glassy again. She swayed. A lop-sided, almost drunk-like smile appeared, and she gave a heavy blink. “All right then. If that’s what you want. The way out. There are many...”

  Every hall looked identical. And by the time they came into a cavernous chamber, he was itching to destroy something. Chandeliers hung from a two story high stone ceiling crisscrossed with massive timber beams. Carpets and furniture anchored areas and private nooks where vampires were gathered. Some stood in groups, some lounged on expensive chairs and couches. And at the far end of the room, steps that went the width of the floor led to a stone dais and a massive throne carved out of the rock.

  The woman had led him into the lair of the Dark Mother.

  Perfect.

  Lamia sat upon her throne, staring over the crowd, her eyes unblinking, like some relic of old, a living statue.

  “If it makes any difference, your power is the strongest I’ve seen outside of--” the woman flicked a glance at Lamia-- “hers.”

  He glared at her. “Doesn’t make a damn bit of difference at all.”

  “I would have led you out, you know?” she said, regret filling her eyes. “Had we been farther away from her, had her pull over me not been so strong.”

  He grabbed her arm. “Save your breath for someone who believes your bullshit.”

  She sighed. “Come with me. She summons you.”

  His body was a live wire, ready to blow. He hated being trapped, being forced, being unable to control his own damn life. As he strode down the center of the chamber, stares came at him from both sides, but he didn’t give them attention. His was fixed on the problem. Lamia.

  As pissed off as he was, he still had some common sense. While he was sure he could take everyone in the room, he couldn’t do it with Lamia in the picture. Her influence over them and her own power would get him killed. He also knew that she’d allowed him to come this far under his own control. She could have taken that away at any time, seeing as how she controlled the woman next to him.

  He had no other choice but to play along and wait. She might not realize it, but his irritating companion had just given him something to hold onto. All he had to do was get far enough away from Lamia Central, and he could command someone to lead him out of this massive stone tomb.

  Yeah. He could play nice for a little while even though what he really wanted to do was way bloodier than nice.

  “Who are you anyway?” he asked as they walked side by side down the long length of the hall, both of them looking straight ahead and ignoring the attention they received.

  “The Advisor.”

  “You have a name?”

  “Advisor.” At his snort, she added, “My name no longer matters here. It ceased to exist a long time ago.”

  From the curious glances and the whispers, the way the others seemed to track them as they walked toward the dais, made him wonder if visitors here weren’t the norm. “Why did she bring me here?”

  “For more reasons that I care to tell.”

  FIFTEEN

  I CAME OUT OF A HEAVY SLEEP slowly and with Sebastian on my mind. His scent was all over me and I allowed myself a moment to snuggle down deeper into the soft mattress, wishing I could hold off reality a little longer.

  Just a little longer.

  But the reprieve only lasted a few seconds before reality leapt back into the picture and the tight, painful knot that had been in my chest when I’d gone to sleep came roaring back.

  I rolled onto my back and drew in a deep inhale and then exhale before opening my eyes to the hunter green coffered ceiling. He'd be okay. And while Michel had said the same thing, I hadn’t missed the fear in his eyes. Like the rest of us, he had no idea what Lamia would do to Sebastian, or why she’d taken him in the first place.

  But what I did know was that Sebastian did not fare well when his choices were taken away. He had a lot of baggage in that particular area. His grandmother, Josephine, had routinely tried to manipulate and bend him to her will, to make him in her image, and in the image of the great Bloodborn Arnauds of the past. And then there was Athena and her manipula
tion and imprisonment...

  As I got up and dressed, I thought even farther back to when Sebastian was a kid. He hadn’t had a choice when his mother had died and, a year later, his father had disappeared. For ten years he had fended off his grandmother and her constant machinations while his father, presumed dead, had been imprisoned only a few miles away.

  I finished dressing just as a knock sounded. I answered to find my father in the hallway. It was dawn, the gray light in the hallway somber and seeming to match my mood.

  “Don’t you ever sleep?” I stepped back, inviting him in as I went to my bag, grabbed a pair of socks and sat on the bed.

  “Not really. Figured you’d want this.”

  I lifted my head to see him holding a vial of blood. “Apollo’s blood,” I murmured.

  “No,” he replied. “It belongs to Ares.”

  Shock swept through me at the revelation. Ares. God of war. This world I lived in never ceased to amaze me. And my father, he was just full of surprises. “How did you manage to get a hold of Ares’ blood? And when?”

  He shrugged as if it was no big deal. “I’ve spent most of my life in Olympus among the gods.”

  “This was in your things,” I realized as I finished pulling on my socks before grabbing my boots. Originally, my father had come to New 2 with only the clothes on his back. He hadn’t cared though; he’d said everything of any meaning to him was here in the city already. But once the threat of Athena had past, and Olympus under the control of Apollo and Artemis, Menai had offered to bring his belongings to him since he vowed he’d never return to the mountain.

  Apparently, he had some very interesting--and rare--things among his possessions. Made me wonder what other surprises he was saving for a rainy day.