by Rebecca Main
“Why?”
“Couldn’t… stop.”
Jakob snarls in contempt, his icy fingers tightening their hold. “How exactly did they overpower you? Nova, I could believe, but Irina? No. Tell me what happened.”
“Can’t… breathe.”
The sorcerer’s face flushes an angry purple-red while the rest of his body pales. With another terrifying guttural release, Jax is flung to the side. His body hits the nearest side table with a resounding thud before it crashes to pieces around and upon him.
“Tell. Me.”
Between hacking coughs and hisses of pain, Jax sits upright and shoots Jakob a scornful look. “Nova was determined to retrieve the rings and be done with this mess,” he says, taking a moment to dust the glass from his lapel. “Irina insisted on going with her.”
“And how exactly did my soulmark make it past your wards?”
Jax glances away. “I took them down.”
The bellow of anger from Jakob nearly shakes the room. With daggers in his eyes, he pins Jax to the sullied ground with his glare and begins to pace.
“Why?” Jakob’s question trembles past his lips.
“Because I would have lost the fight against them, and they’d have gone for the rings anyway. It wasn’t worth it, Jakob. So I released the wards and let them go at their full strength.”
“I don’t believe it,” Jakob says calmly. “The great Jax couldn’t take on two women? The man who boasts of being the greatest sorcerer of the twenty-first century? The man who will change the world?”
Jax struggles to stand, slipping on the glass shards only twice before righting himself. A dangerous frown levels his brow.
“I wasn’t about to let Nova go off on her own. That vampyré has a death wish. It was best to send them both off so they could have each other’s back. Just as you and Ruby did,” Jax says tightly. “They’re far more capable than you give them credit for, or any of us for that matter.”
“Apparently not, for my sorcerer can’t even keep up his own ward!”
“I saved Sebastian’s life. What more do you want?” Jax shouts back.
Jakob stops his pacing abruptly and turns to face Jax completely. “I want my family—all of my family—here. Safe. Under my watch. Under my roof.”
A part of Jax’s righteous anger deflates; his shoulders sag as he shuffles forward a step.
“Jakob—”
“I have treated you as my own son for all these years, and yet you would fail me now?” Jakob asks softly, but his words hit hard as stone. “She owns a part of me, Jax. She is the other half of my soul. If something happens to her,” Jakob says, leaving the latter as a complete statement. The ice-cold fury in his eyes promises all that will come to pass should a single ebony hair be out of place on his soulmark’s head.
“They’re fine,” Jax insists, even though a part of his stomach worries itself into sickness. Jax swallows down his nausea and holds steady under the intensity of Jakob’s gaze. “See for yourself. They’ve gone to the old Pits.”
“He’s waking!” Ruby cries from the sofa’s edge, awakened by the men’s argument. She kneels over Sebastian and brushes back his wayward curls tenderly. “Bash?”
The men ignore the way her voice quivers and make their way over to the leather couch. Ruby doesn’t budge an inch for either man, her voice smoothing out as she recites her brother’s name once more. His eyelids flutter open.
“Hello, trouble,” he rumbles, eyes only half open.
“Hello, Bash,” she says, her hand still running through his hair as she sniffles.
Jax clears his throat. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I survived the plague,” Sebastian croaks. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this terrible before.”
“I’ve got something to help with that, I’ll be back in a minute.” Jax limps away, leaving the vampyrés to one another’s company. Sebastian’s heavy-lidded eyes follow the sorcerer’s departure, his gaze inevitably running into his sire.
A pained look passes between them before Sebastian turns his gaze away. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I was a fool and thought I could trust her… I thought I loved her, and she betrayed us—”
“Save your strength, my childe. Everything has been righted.” A visible shiver takes over Sebastian at Jakob’s words. “Briar is true to you, Sebastian, and our real enemy vanquished. Rest and let your mind be at ease.” Another coarse shiver rakes his body, and a tear slips down the side of his face.
“Thank you.”
“Sleep,” Jakob’s orders once more, watching as his childe does so with little resistance. “Ruby, fetch yourself some blood. Our work is not done tonight.”
The petite vampyré stiffens, but nods. Standing without protest, she hobbles over to the blood bar and pours herself a glass.
“Are we going to fetch the girls?” she asks after a long drink.
“We are,” Jakob replies. “But I have a feeling we’re going to need a bigger knife.” Ruby’s head tilts to the side as Jakob darts away. He’s back seconds later, a sickle-like blade in his hand. Ruby’s eyes run over the ancient blade as she downs her second glass and licks her lips.
“Is that what I think it is?”
Jakob smiles slowly. “Vogart’s blade?” He makes a show of twirling the onyx blade lined in quicksilver in his hand. “But of course.”
++
There is a single-mindedness to the two vampyrés movements throughout the grand underground palace. Ruby trails behind her sire, in part because of her injuries, as well as to watch their backs.
They receive their fair share of curious stares as they pass by the few who seek out the more private corridors and minor hallways, but none gives chase. Their own needs supersede what secrets they might garner from following the Vranas—not to mention the want to keep their heads firmly attached to their shoulders.
When they near the former fighting ring, the scent of blood lingers in the air. The smell grows stronger as they race into the abandoned arena. Jakob pauses for less than a heartbeat to assess the casualties before zipping over to Nova and the hybrid hovering near her side.
“Finally,” Nova grumbles, but her relief is palpable.
A dark pool of blood gathers beneath her wan form, and the dark handle of a blade protrudes from her stomach.
“All that fighting in the Pit has done you well I see,” Jakob says lightly as he takes a knee beside his youngest childe. The fabric from her outfit has been torn and balled up against the wounds entry point, and Jakob gently lifts the bundle to inspect the damage. He balks at the sight, closing his eyes and cursing.
“Typically, they don’t tamper with the weapons,” she manages to say through gritted teeth. “But perhaps that’s just a staple for the new Pits?”
A rush of wind, and then Ruby is kneeling at Nova’s other side. She smooths her long mahogany hair back, hands trembling as her eyes roam over her body.
“What happened?” Ruby asks breathlessly, turning almond and silver-specked eyes William’s way.
“A fight,” he answers dryly.
When Ruby growls and her eyes bleed crimson, Nova reaches for her hand. The elder vampyré stops her posturing instantly. “We found the rings,” she says, slanting her eyes to the box at her hip. “When we were about to leave, they came. Turns out Omar was ‘promised’ the rings and wasn’t too pleased to hear that Iris and Briar had already taken one.”
Jakob’s eyes do not stray from Nova’s wound. He calmly presses the fabric back against it, applying pressure to staunch the little bleeding that continues to occur.
“We need to take you back to Jax,” Jakob says.
Nova’s sweaty brow furrows. “Irina’s already gone to get him. I’m surprised you beat her back,” she says, ending her sentence with a choking cough. Droplets of blood pepper her cheek and chin when she is finished.
“When did she leave you?” Jakob asks.
“I don’
t know. It feels like ages.”
William grunts and Jakob glances at the man. “She’s been gone about twenty minutes. Maybe less. She was injured as well, but not as bad as this one here.”
Jakob’s gaze narrows. “And how did you come to be a part of this plot?”
“Heard her howl,” he says, straightening and glowering back. “Just because I’m not all wolf anymore, doesn’t mean I go abandoning my kind.”
Jakob rises. “Take her back to our apartment suite,” he orders the pair.
Ruby looks to Jakob in surprise at both his odd tone and the request. “But, Jakob, surely we can’t move her.”
“You moved Sebastian, did you not?” Jakob counters, leveling Ruby with a withering stare. She flinches and ducks her head.
“Of course,” she murmurs before looking expectantly at the towering hybrid. He grunts but drops down to pick up Nova. She lets out a muffled groan as he adjusts her in his arms, but remains quiet otherwise.
“Take the rings as well. Do not stop for anyone. Is that understood?” Jakob instructs.
“The she-wolf went that way,” William chimes in before they are about to set off, nodding in the direction of a narrow passage.
“Your assistance is appreciated,” Jakob says. “But I’ve my own way of finding her.”
Jakob catches Ruby’s eyes, and she lowers her head briefly in acknowledgment of his unspoken plan. The three walk away without a word of goodbye.
Certain the trio are out of earshot, Jakob takes a large breath to steel his nerves. The Beast had said his soulmark is hurt, and so he expects the pain when he opens their bond entirely to try and track Irina. He does not expect it to be so… much. Stumbling forward a pace, Jakob drops to both knees. He feels as if he is dying, and then a horrible thought comes to him.
Perhaps he is.
Jakob breaks into a run.
++
Jakob follows his pain to a room his old lover once deemed soundly to be her favorite. The Aviary. His feet fall soundlessly against the old tiled floor as the sound of weeping becomes clear to him. His heart lurches to his throat as he prepares to rush inside, but the voice that speaks up is not his soulmark’s.
“I’m sorry,” a woman whimpers. “I’m so sorry.”
“S’not your fault,” Irina replies softly, her voice barely above a rasp. Jakob’s eyes widen, and once more he prepares to enter when a third voice pipes up.
“Of course it isn’t. Ms. O’Conner is hardly capable of taking a life, although she so easily announces it,” a dark, masculine voice admits. Jakob represses a shiver as fear and rage prickle over his skin. “Truly, I’m surprised you’ve lasted as long as you have, little she-wolf. It has been a long time since I’ve dined on lycan blood. I forgot how well you heal.”
“Go to hell,” Irina rasps.
Adrian chuckles, and Jakob presses his back to the wall to garner a better look at the scene. Irina rests limply against a graying sofa with the banshee at her side pressing her hands to her shoulder. Adrian stands with bored assurance against one of the far-left entryways of the Aviary. He checks his watch.
“Enough is enough, my fair death singer. We all know the fates of those who hear your call. You’re only delaying the inevitable. Come. We must leave this place.”
“But—”
“Silence!” Adrian barks. “Dawn approaches, and it has been a tiring night. Do you have any idea the flames I must tend to? Not to mention those in regard to the Celestial Court’s ruling.”
Jakob startles at the tear that rolls down his cheek. He touches the liquid almost reverently, his body trembling with another wave of taxing pain. He nearly doubles over but instead focuses on the nefarious vampyré idling near his exit. Adrian is still dressed in his court attire, but that is not what steals his attention most. It is the shadowy figure who emerges and bends its head close to Adrian’s ear.
Adrian’s eyes constrict on the two women, growing sharper and colder, and the shadowy figure retreats. Its black-as-pitch eyes hold Jakob’s boldly before it vanishes altogether.
“I said ‘come,’ death singer. Do not make me repeat myself again.”
Jakob steps out from his hiding spot.
“Vrana, what a surprise,” he says unkindly.
“Whatever you do, Claire, do not take your hands off her. Understand?”
Claire's whimpered response is not a reassurance. Nor is Adrian’s cruel smirk.
“Last I remembered, Vrana, the banshee is on my payroll. Not yours.”
Jakob flashes across the room, standing between Adrian and the women. “Last I remembered, your vendetta was against me. Let Irina go—”
Adrian laughs, the sound ricocheting off the walls and surrounding the occupants from every which way. “Let her go? Dear man, she’s heard the banshee’s song. There’s no hope for her now. Really, you should be thanking me for this service. A lycan in your household,” he tsks, his head shaking from side to side. “Haven’t you brought enough shame upon your family?”
“My only shame is not discovering your plot sooner,” Jakob counters. “After all these years… the Vrana family's success is still a bitter pill for you to swallow. How… common.”
A sneer curls the other vampyrés lip, revealing fangs still stained with Irina’s blood. “I vanquished your sire long ago, boy. He means nothing to me, and he never did.”
“Yet your vendetta stands strong against my family. Perhaps your age is getting to your mind. This obsession with my family is driving you to dark places, Adrian. When the others hear—”
Adrian flashes forward. His fangs still bared, he drives his face inches away from Jakob’s. “The others will never hear a word of this, for who shall tell them? You’ll be long gone by then, alongside your bitch.”
“The entirety of my household knows of your duplicity,” Jakob states smoothly. “And if their testimony does not prevail, then I am sure that of the Roux and Delacroix Households should more than suffice.”
Adrian reels back, and Jakob smiles serenely.
“Iris is dead. Omar is dead. The count is busy hunting down your envoys and family as we speak. Everything has its end,” Jakob purrs, lightning flashing in his eyes as he pulls the blade from out behind his back. “And now is the time for yours.”
Adrian’s fist lashes out first, catching Jakob in the jaw and sending him sprawling into the nearest divan.
Jakob recovers quickly enough. Snatching a birdcage and ripping it from its binds, he hurls it at Adrian’s form. The elder vampyré stumbles, but his eyes are wide and full of determination.
The vampyrés collide. Their fists charge through the air, and their fangs latch on to dead flesh. For a moment, it would seem the elder holds the upper hand. The blade is knocked from Jakob’s grasp with a savage kick, and a hand captures Jakob by the throat.
A triumphant cry is given.
But all is not lost.
Jakob’s face is the perfect picture of incandescent rage, and he quickly breaks the hold. In a series of moves far too fast for the eye to see, Jakob lands punch after punch. Until one knocks Adrian back several unbalanced steps.
The slightly elder vampyré trips over Irina’s outstretched and broken leg, but the lycan can barely afford the action of crying out. The banshee, however, screams and crawls back.
Stunned, Adrian is slow to rise. He pants, watching with wild eyes at Jakob’s slow approach. He is unprepared for the hand that grasps onto his shoulder from behind, forcing him back down. Baffled, he looks back at the banshee, her eyes as wide and wild as his own. Rage quickly morphs his features into a deadly scowl.
“Insolent, girl—”
The blade slides through his chest with great force, the banshee holding on to the handle as if her life depended upon it. It did.
“You—” He grabs hold of her collar and yanks her forward, despite her cry of mercy. “You will pay for—argh!”
Adrian releases the banshee to clutch
at the blade in his chest. With choking gasps, he pulls at it. His back arches to a dangerous degree.
Hatred burns intensely in Adrian’s eyes as he stares aghast at Jakob, now knelt at his side, his hand pushing the blade back into Adrian's chest to the hilt. His own breathing comes in laborious pants, sweat lining his brow line as bruises form across his face.
“Do you like my blade, Adrian?” Jakob asks, his voice soft as velvet. Adrian’s eyes roll back, his hand grasping instead at Jakob’s wrist in an attempt to dislodge the other’s hold. It does not work. “I've tested it only once, but I'm quite certain the results will be the same. You see, when a vampyré is stabbed with this particular blade… something life-changing happens.”
With a flourish, he removes the blade, wiping the blood on Adrian’s finely tailored waistcoat before shakily coming to stand on his feet. Jakob takes an unsteady step back, but holds his ground, watching as the older vampyré writhes in pain on the ground. Spidery gray and red veins scatter over his face and neck, as well as the rest of his body. They spindle toward the wound.
“What have you done?” he heaves, releasing a cry as he claws at his chest.
“I’ve given you back your life,” Jakob tells him plainly. “It’s what Vogart’s blade does.”
Adrian's eyes snap to Jakob's in horror. A second later, his howl of pain is caught in his throat. The veins recede. His arched back collapses. And Adrian breathes.
“No,” he wheezes, hands still tearing at his chest where the wound once was. He struggles to sit up, searching frantically for the incision point but finding only a ghastly red scar. “No!”
Adrian’s heartbeat sounds like a drum to Jakob’s vampyré hearing, though the banshee’s challenges it admirably. Irina on the other hand… Jakob fights not to crumple to his knees.
“Fear not,” Jakob hisses. “Your true age will catch up to you soon enough.”
Pure, animal fear alights Adrian’s face. He scrambles to his feet, but his legs give out beneath him. And so he crawls. The banshee screams once more, but her voice pierces only Adrian’s ears. He casts a look of dread over his shoulder, gifting the others with a look at his rapidly aging face. His body shudders, but time offers no leniency.
