by Keri Arthur
“I’m surprised the remnants intervened,” Quinn commented, once I’d finished. “It is very rare.”
“Not that rare,” Riley commented. “Your father contacted you once, remember.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Your father is a remnant?”
Quinn nodded. “He is one of six who remained to protect the temples from outside forces.”
“Outside,” I said. “Not inside. Not the Raziq.”
“No.” Quinn’s brief smile held a grim edge. “Their reluctance to act against the Raziq is the reason they are remnants in the first place. Hence my surprise at their actions now.”
“They were left with little choice,” Azriel commented. “As it was, Malin very nearly destroyed both the temples and the gates.”
“So both Malin and the Raziq really are dead?” Riley asked. “No chance of resurrection?”
“No chance,” Azriel replied. “They are little more than scattered particles in distant skies.”
“The priests may be slow in acting,” Quinn noted, voice dry, “but they are very thorough when they do.”
“Well, good,” Riley said. There was something in her tone that had me picturing her mentally rolling up her sleeves. I tensed, not sure I was entirely ready for the fight ahead. She added, “Now, about Hunter—”
“No.” I said it quietly but firmly.
Riley raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean, no?”
“Just that. I don’t want you involved. Not in any damn way. Hunter is my problem, not yours.”
“You cannot—”
“What I cannot do,” I cut in again, “is allow you, Quinn, and Rhoan to step into the middle of a situation that will endanger not only your lives, but those of your children. I won’t risk your future—or theirs—as I risked my mother’s. I couldn’t live with any more guilt like that. I won’t.”
She reached across the table and caught my hand. Her fingers were warm against mine, but her palms were calloused. It was a reminder that whatever else she was, she was first and foremost a fighter. She’d been through the mill and survived, but that knowledge served only to strengthen my resolve.
“Your mother’s death was not your fault, Ris—”
I pulled my hand from hers. “But it was, even if indirectly. She was targeted to create a void in my life. Your death—or Quinn’s, or Rhoan’s—would create the same sort of void, and Hunter is more than aware of that fact.”
“Hunter may threaten such an action,” Quinn said quietly. “But she would not take such a step; not until she is truly secure in her position and her power. She is close to that, but there are still those who oppose her.”
My gaze met his. “Harry Stanford?”
“He is her main adversary, yes.”
“And Stanford himself?”
“Cannot and will not defeat her alone.” His gaze held mine for several seconds, as if to add weight to his words. “Do not get involved in vampire politics, Risa. It will only end badly.”
It probably would, but it wasn’t like I had much of a choice. Like it or not, I was already involved. “Meaning you know what she is?”
“Yes, but few others do.”
“Well, I’m obviously one of the ones who missed that particular bulletin,” Riley cut in. “Here I was thinking she was just queen bee of the Directorate and one of the head honchos of the vampire council. Obviously, there’s a whole lot more to her story than that.”
“She’s a maenad—a worshipper of the Greek god Dionysus, and imbued with his magic and power,” Quinn said, keeping his gaze on mine. “And it is part of the reason I have never challenged her.”
“The other reason being you now have too much to lose.”
A smile ghosted his lips, but it failed to lift the concern in his dark eyes. “Yes.”
“Then you understand my reasons.”
“Understanding them does not mean I agree with them.”
“No.” I took another of those noncalming deep breaths. “I appreciate your concern and your desire to help. I really do. But this is my fight—”
“No one in this family fights alone, Risa.” Riley’s voice was as steely as her gaze. “No one.”
“But this time, we have no choice. I’m sorry, Aunt Riley, but as amazing as you are, as skilled as you are, you are, in the end, only mortal. Unfortunately, Hunter is not.” I hesitated. “And neither am I.”
She raised an eyebrow, her expression unconvinced. “Last I heard, you were only half Aedh. That makes you as mortal as everyone else in this pack.”
“Perhaps when this quest first began that was true,” Azriel said quietly. “But no longer.”
Riley’s gaze flicked to him. “And how, exactly, did you manage that little—” She hesitated. “It has something to do with you pulling her back to life, hasn’t it?”
“Yes. I imbued her with my life force.”
“That does not make her immortal,” Quinn said. “She can still die, just as you can.”
“Yes, but because we can draw on each other’s energy, we have a greater chance of survival.” He paused, his expression giving no hint of the fierceness I could suddenly feel within him. “Trust me when I say that Hunter—or anyone else in either this world or the next—will not take her away from me.”
“Sentiments I totally understand,” Quinn said. “But the fact still remains—the sharing does not make her immortal.”
“No one is truly immortal,” Azriel agreed. “Even the fates can be destroyed given the right knowledge. But she will become Mijai on death, and we are far harder to destroy.”
Harder, but not impossible, I thought grimly. The reason he became a Mijai in the first place was because he’d sought revenge for the murder of a reaper friend. But I didn’t say anything—there was no point in giving my aunt any further ammunition. And although Quinn was undoubtedly aware of both the strengths and the weaknesses of the reapers, I had to wonder how much of that knowledge he’d passed on to Riley. He wanted to keep her as safe as we did, after all.
“All of which sounds very convincing,” Riley commented, “but it doesn’t alter the fact—”
“Riley,” I said softly. “You know how much I love you, so please don’t take this the wrong way—”
She raised her eyebrows, a faint smile touching her lips despite the seriousness in both her expression and her eyes. “But I’m not your mother, so kindly butt out. Or words to that effect, right? You do know how impossible that is for me, don’t you?”
“Yes, and yes,” I said. “The thing is, you have a family now—a family you’ve fought long and hard to have—”
“Which is why I won’t—”
“But I’m not one of them,” I continued over her voice. “And if it comes to a battle with Hunter, then the task is mine and Azriel’s. Not yours. Not Quinn’s. Not Rhoan’s. You all have too much to lose if you go up against her.”
“And you haven’t?” She snorted. “You’re pregnant, are you not?”
I blinked, but I guess it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that she knew, given that she’d spent so much time by my bedside after Azriel had pulled me back from death. She might not be able to hear the deeper lines of communication between Azriel and me, but if Quinn could read my surface thoughts, then she undoubtedly could. Azriel—and the child we’d created—would have been uppermost on my mind even when I’d been unconscious.
“Yes, I am,” I said. “And that is why I cannot understand your willingness to risk the lives of your own children for someone who is not, in the end, of your bloodline.”
Silence filled the room. A silence heavy with emotion—surprise and anger being the strongest, but there was a torrent of other emotions swirling underneath, each one moving too quickly to define.
Eventually, she said, “Hunter would not—”
“Hunter would, and will.” My gaze flicked to Quinn. “You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he agreed. “But, as I’ve already said, she would not do so until she was
completely sure of her position and her ability to beat me. She is neither of those things right now.”
“And hopefully, never will be.” I felt like crossing my fingers and praying to the fates even as I said it—except that the fates were just as likely to do the opposite of what I wanted. They were contrary like that—at least when it came to my desires. “But the fact remains, Hunter is using the Jenson pack to control my actions. I need you out of the equation, not stepping further into it.”
“You want me to run?” Disbelief edged Riley’s tone. “I have never—”
“And Hunter is as aware of that as I am. And as long as she has the threat of your deaths, she has me on a leash.” I hesitated, then added softly, “If you do not go willingly, then you will do so unwillingly.”
She stared at me for several seconds, then leaned back in her chair. “And that is a threat you would not make if you could not back it up.” She sighed in frustration and thrust a hand through her red hair. “Damn it, Ris, I’m not happy about this—”
“And you think I am?” I cut in. “Trust me, I’d like nothing better than to have you and Rhoan and Quinn back us up if we’re forced to confront Hunter. But it’s better this way—if Hunter can’t find you, then she can’t use you against me.”
“And how long are we expected to disappear? We all have lives; we can’t put everything on hold indefinitely.”
“It would be no longer than a week,” Azriel said.
I glanced at him sharply. “What?”
He shrugged. “So the fates said.”
I wondered what else the fates had said that he wasn’t telling me. Heaps, I suspected. It seemed the more some things changed, the more some stayed the same.
Riley studied the two of us for what seemed like an eternity—though I very much suspected she was conversing with Quinn. Finally, she grunted. “A week we could do.”
It felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Against all the odds—against pack instinct and her natural desire to fight and protect—she was going to leave.
But then, she was a mom, and as I’d already said, I wasn’t blood related. As much as she might want to protect me, her own family had to come first.
“Thank you—”
“Don’t thank me yet,” she interrupted. “Not until you’ve heard my conditions.”
My heart sank again. “And what might they be?”
“One, that you keep in contact—and by that I mean every damn day. Given Hunter could very easily track us by phone, we won’t be taking them with us, but you find a way. You could send a message via a damn carrier pigeon, for all I care. I just want to know you’re alive and well; otherwise, I will come running.”
“That is easily achievable,” Azriel said. “Even if inconvenient.”
Riley snorted and glared at him. “Don’t give me that inconvenient crap, reaper—especially when you can pop in and out of existence at will. It’d take less than a few seconds of your life to update us, and we both know it.”
“And the second condition?” I replied, cutting off any reply Azriel might have made.
“That you do not go up against Hunter without contacting me first,” Quinn said.
“Didn’t we just finish arguing—”
“We did, and I must—somewhat reluctantly—agree that for the time being, we are better out of the picture. But you cannot go up against Hunter without help—or, at the very least, advice.”
My smile was grim. “Advice, I’d appreciate. Help, not so much.”
“We can argue about that closer to the time,” Riley commented. “But for now, you be careful.”
“Oh, I will.” I smiled. “After all, I do have a couple of reasons to live.”
“And I have always had a desire to be a grandmother,” Riley said. “So make damn sure you’re around to make me one.”
Tears stung my eyes. “I will.”
She pushed upright. “Then we had better get moving.”
I rose, moved around the table, and hugged her. “Thank you.”
She grunted and wrapped her arms around me fiercely but briefly. “Just keep safe, and keep in contact.”
“I will.”
“Then go, so I can call the tribe and get everyone moving.” She hesitated, frowning. “Rhoan won’t go. You know that, don’t you?”
I did, but I had to at least try. “I’ll talk to him.”
She half smiled. “Good luck with that.”
“Thanks. And be safe—all of you.”
With that, I stepped back and placed my hand in Azriel’s. A heartbeat later we were standing in the middle of a rather luxurious bedroom. It wasn’t one I recognized.
I frowned and looked around. “Where are we?” But recognition stirred even as I asked the question. He’d brought me to my favorite hotel.
“We are at the Langham,” he confirmed. “You need to rest, and you enjoy this place, do you not?”
“Yes, but you just can’t pop in and take over a room like this. They’re a business. Hell, they might have already rented the room out to someone—”
“I will go down to reception and ensure that cannot happen,” he said. “In the meantime, you should sleep. You cannot continue to go on as you are.”
“But the sorceress—”
“May yet be locked in hell, for all that we know.” He placed his hands on my shoulders and gently but firmly pushed me toward the bed. “If you care nothing for your own health, then at least think about the health of our child. Please, get some rest.”
“That’s not playing fair, reaper,” I muttered, as my butt hit the bed. “Besides, we did that whole energize-through-sex thing not too long ago. If you can go on without any other rest and sustenance, I should be able to.”
“When you are full energy, yes, you will be able to.” There was little inflection in his voice, but more than a little impatience in his thoughts. “But you are not that yet. Rest.”
Tiredness washed through me at his words, and I had to wonder if perhaps he was subtly forcing me to obey.
“No,” he said, the impatience evident in his voice this time. “I cannot. It was one of the more unfortunate effects of sharing my life force.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I’d hardly call it unfortunate.”
“It is when you are being unreasonably stubborn.”
I touched his arm lightly, my fingers cool against his more heated skin. “Azriel, I’m not being stubborn. It’s just that we’ve been three steps behind the sorceress up until now. We have a chance—and possibly only a brief chance—to get ahead of her and find the key, and we need to grab it.”
“A few hours will not make a great deal of difference to our chances of finding the key,” he said grimly. “But it might well make a vast difference to our chances of surviving whatever fights the fates have in store for us.”
“Fair enough,” I muttered. “But if you’re going to nag me like this for the rest of eternity, I won’t be a happy woman.”
“If we survive the next few days, then I promise, I will do all in my power to ensure your happiness.”
He was half smiling as he said it, but there was a seriousness—a darkness—in his eyes that had my stomach churning. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing—”
“Damn it, Azriel, you agreed to stop that. You said you’d be honest—”
“And I am.” He took a deep breath and released it slowly. “We are both in a precarious situation. The fates have given no certainty of life for either of us, but that has been our situation since this quest first began.”
“But the fates have said something since this quest began, haven’t they? I can feel it, Azriel. It hangs like a weight in your eyes and your soul.”
“They have done nothing more than emphasize the precariousness of the situation, but that is something we have long been aware of.” He shrugged. “Now, please, rest.”
He was lying. I knew it; he knew it. The fates had said something else, someth
ing he feared to tell me. I swore softly but knew my reaper well enough by now to know he was never going to tell me what it was.
I tugged off my clothes and climbed into bed. As I pulled the blankets over my shoulders, I met his gaze, a smile teasing my lips. “Seeing you’re forcing me into bed, the least you could do is give me a kiss good night.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Is this a required custom here on Earth?”
“Totally,” I said. “And if you don’t kiss me good night, I’ll only get moodier.”
“Heaven forbid that happen,” he murmured, then bent down, his lips brushing mine briefly, before the kiss deepened, becoming a long, slow exploration that had desire curling through me again and heat sparking the air between us.
“That,” he murmured eventually, “is a very dangerous custom. And if you did not need sleep so badly, I might be tempted to join you under those sheets.”
“You still can.” I traced a line down his chest with a fingertip and lightly played with the button of his jeans. “Twenty or so minutes isn’t going to matter one way or another to my strength.”
“Twenty minutes hardly does justice to the fire that plays between us,” he said, and pulled away from my teasing touch. “Sleep, Risa. It is for the best, trust me.”
“You, reaper, obviously have a core of steel somewhere inside that rather enticing exterior of yours.”
“Believe me, I have not.” He caught my hand and kissed it. “I merely wish us both to survive the next couple of days.”
With that, he released my hand and disappeared. I sighed, then snuggled deeper into the blankets. And, despite the desire that still spun through my body, fell to sleep almost instantly.
* * *
A few hours later—feeling refreshed but still somewhat unsatisfied sexually—I leaned back in the office chair and rubbed my forehead. We were now back in the office above the café I owned with Tao and Ilianna, and the sounds of a world going about its business as usual drifted upward—sounds like the murmur of conversation, the clink of cutlery being polished, or the happy whistle of our sous chef as he prepared for the next influx of customers. Normal, everyday sounds in a life that had become far from normal.
