by M. A. Grant
“This is creepy,” Cristian whispered to Atlas as they crept down the hall.
Atlas didn’t say anything. He simply reached out and squeezed Cristian’s elbow in agreement.
They were halfway to the door when Cristian noticed the sliver of darkness between door and doorjamb and caught the familiar tang of blood in the air. He sucked in a breath and opened his mouth to speak, but Atlas grabbed his shoulder and squeezed. When he glanced over, Atlas shook his head and pressed a finger to his lips, reminding Cristian to keep quiet. He obeyed, just as he obeyed Atlas’s subtle shift of position, which allowed Atlas to take point on the last stretch to the apartment’s ajar door.
Atlas pressed himself against the wall and reached out a steady hand to push the door open farther. It swung wider with a creak. Blood had been spilled inside, enough that Cristian reacted instinctually, his fangs pricking against the inside of his lip. And there...so faint and slow...a...heartbeat...
Cristian slid around Atlas, ignoring his hissed, “Stop!” and rushed into the apartment. It was dark inside, the curtains drawn, and the few pieces of furniture lurked in shadowed mounds around the edges of the room.
A low, burning dread took root in his gut and he fumbled along the wall to find a light switch. He found it just as Atlas took position at his back, but the scene he illuminated was one he wished he hadn’t.
What was left of Florica’s body lay against the sofa in a sprawl of awkward limbs. Her detached head had been set on a cushion, and her blank stare fixed on a corner of the ceiling. There was no sign of a struggle. There was nothing but blood and viscera and death and his stomach heaved and he couldn’t understand why the heartbeat kept going and—
And a tall, lithe man stepped silently from behind the archway leading out of the living room. His unexceptional dark-brown hair was trimmed short and he wore the artless stubble of a man who hadn’t had much time for personal grooming. His outfit was casual, but expensively tailored, and his shoes were perfectly clean. But it was the lines of his face and nose, the piercing eyes, and the clever smirk that Cristian recognized in an instant. He’d seen them often enough in the mirror, had memorized them on his mother’s face, and he froze, praying Atlas didn’t try to move in front of him.
“Theo Wharram, is it?” Cristian called across the bloody room. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
The scent of Atlas’s fear spiked, mixed with the foul odor of death clinging about the room, and Cristian swallowed hard to keep the bile down. Bryony Wharram had promised him the family would never stop their efforts to bring him home, no matter the cost. The Wharrams would wield their power in the Council to ensure no family member faced consequences for their actions, so long as it brought Cristian back to the ancestral estate.
Theo had carte blanche, and he knew it. His smirk grew wider and he crossed his arms over his chest in a pose of false ease. “Hello, cousin. And cousin’s lapdog.”
Theo’s posh British accent made the insult land all the heavier for its veneer of civility. Atlas growled under his breath, but obeyed the silent plea of Cristian’s body and didn’t move. As long as Atlas focused on their escape, not his own guilt, they might make it out of this mess.
“You found Florica,” Cristian said, gesturing to the couch.
Theo threw the corpse a blank stare. “Is that her name?”
“Yes.”
“There was nothing left in her blood,” he said. The loss of potential knowledge, not the loss of life, was all that mattered, and Cristian’s skin crawled at his dismissive tone.
Trying to focus on Theo while listening for other vampires in the hall behind them was harder than Cristian liked. Well-fed, he could switch his attention without much thought, easily tracking numerous sounds. Now, he struggled to focus on one thing at a time, and hated the way his senses dulled around the edges. He’d gotten complacent, had assumed he was in peak condition, but that wasn’t true. He needed to get away from this situation now, before it blew up on him...and Atlas.
“How did you find her?” Theo asked. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to let me take a quick taste, would you?” He took a step forward and laughed when Cristian bared his fangs. “I guess not.”
They could get back out into the hallway, Cristian decided. They might not have time to close the door before Theo was on them, but they’d at least have more space. He could hold off his cousin long enough for Atlas to get away—
Atlas seized on Cristian’s momentary distraction to grab hold of his arm and drag him back into the hallway at the same moment he reached for the blade at the small of his back. Theo moved, a flash of shadow, only to draw up when the silver blade caught the dim light from the hall.
“We’re going to leave,” Atlas said quietly. “You won’t be following us.”
“The dog has teeth now,” Theo mused. He read the promise of violence in Atlas’s stance and carefully backed toward the archway. “There’s no point running,” he said. “We’ll find you wherever you go. You know that.”
He wasn’t sure if the comment was meant for him or for Atlas. It didn’t matter. Cristian kept a hand on Atlas’s back, and retreated farther into the hall. A sound caught his ear and he glanced to his left. Another vampire stood near the stairwell, blocking their exit.
The world exploded into motion. The new vampire yelled. Cristian tugged at Atlas, throwing him off balance. Theo launched himself forward and Cristian swore. Somehow, Atlas twisted and got the blade up just as Theo reached for him. It should have taken Theo’s hand, but he contorted himself enough to avoid the edge. The flat of the blade still hit against his bare skin.
He screamed from the burn of the silver and flung himself back, out of harm’s way. It wasn’t much space, but it was enough. Atlas and Cristian bolted down the hall to the stairs and the still dumbfounded vampire. Cristian pushed him aside as they rushed past, half running, half falling down the stairs floor after floor. They flung themselves into the car and Atlas peeled out of their parking spot on the quiet street.
“Will they be at the haven?” he demanded, even as their phone lit up with an incoming call from Emil’s number.
“I don’t know!” Cristian picked up the phone and answered, only to be met with the rush of Emil’s bellowed, “What the fuck happened?”
“Why is Theo Wharram here?” Cristian yelled back, not bothering to switch over to English. “And how did he know where to find Florica?”
“Is she alive?” Emil asked.
“Cristian, is there a lot around back?” Atlas leaned forward over the steering wheel, eyeing the rapidly approaching haven. A handful of people stood together on the sidewalk, toeing the line of the haven’s boundary. Several of them watched the door, while the others scanned the street.
“Did you find her alive?” Emil asked again.
“Employee lot out back. We can slip in,” Cristian told Atlas before returning to the phone conversation. “Florica’s dead. Too long to get any memories off her.”
His heart ached under the weight of that knowledge. She’d been alive today, probably up until a few hours ago, whenever the Council arrived. Her murderer must have killed her because of the threat of Theo feeding from her.
“Get out,” Emil ordered. “Leave the county.”
“Where?”
“West. North. Anything. Theo will tell Grigore what happened and everyone will be searching for you.”
“He’s got people in front of our haven already. Call them off. Buy us time,” Cristian told him.
“I can’t—”
“For my father’s sake, buy us time!” He hung up and braced as Atlas sped them into a turn that would take them to the road that trailed around the back of the building. “Fuck!”
“We need our documents,” Atlas said, voice upsettingly even. “How fast can you get the bags packed?”
“Fast enough,” Cristian
promised. He didn’t give a shit about their clothes or toiletries, but he needed to make sure they had Atlas’s medication packed. He’d failed Florica. He wouldn’t fail Atlas too.
“Stop it,” Atlas said. “There’s no time for guilt.”
“I—”
“Sometimes the choices we make don’t turn out as we hoped.”
The admonishment rankled. Atlas’s hypocrisy wasn’t something Cristian wanted to deal with tonight, not after all the other shit, and he didn’t try to reign in his frustration when he asked, “You would know, wouldn’t you?”
The steering wheel creaked under Atlas’s tightening grip, and he pushed the car into another vicious turn with a bit more control than before. “There’s the lot. And only one guard. Hold on.”
Cristian gritted his teeth and held on. Most of the time, he was powerful enough all he had to do was react. But here, with dangerous vampires all around him and Atlas, there was no easy decision to make, no quick reaction that would guarantee his success. He had no idea what the fuck he was doing, and he hated it.
Atlas, on the other hand, proved why he was Whitethorn’s greatest asset. One of Grigore’s followers stood at the entrance of the lot. His eyes widened when he spotted their car coming. Atlas didn’t aim the car at him, but he did gun it and open the door with impeccable timing. The vampire bounced off the door hard enough to make Cristian wince, and Atlas braked hard before throwing the car in park. In a matter of seconds, his seat belt was undone and he slid out of the car. He returned to the crumpled, groaning man, and dragged him to one of the dumpsters.
Cristian hurried to join Atlas. Atlas left the semiconscious vampire slumped against the dumpster as he opened the lid, which gave Cristian just enough time to twist his neck. He’d heal—at least, he would if he’d been feeding—and would stay unconscious long enough for them to get in and out of the haven. They hoisted him up, tipped him into the dumpster, and closed the lid. Atlas parked facing the street and left the car running as he joined Cristian by the back door.
Cristian had already placed their key into the lock and was waiting for the signal to open the door. The door lock buzzed and disengaged. Atlas pulled it open while Cristian retrieved their key. They slid inside and waited for the interior door to open before peeking out into the employee halls beyond. Well, Atlas peeked. Cristian hurried off toward their room.
“They could see you!” Atlas protested, trying to slow Cristian’s pace.
“They can’t set foot on the property without being paid guests,” Cristian told him. “We’re safe in here. The problem is getting back out.”
Atlas swore and followed.
They packed in a mad rush. Atlas did a final once-over of the room while Cristian hoisted the bags over his shoulders. Room cleared, they ducked into the narrow vestibule, waited out the door locking systems, and hurried into the hall and toward the employee lot. Atlas shouldered Cristian to the side as he opened the back door, using his body as a shield. He ignored Cristian’s growl of frustration, but his caution was unnecessary.
There was still no sign of Grigore’s people, which meant the haven’s neutrality clause still held them at bay. Small mercies, it seemed.
The back door clicked shut behind them, and they were halfway to the car when Cristian caught the grinding of a shoe against the asphalt. “Atlas—” he started to say, but it was too late.
Sanda, the woman from the bar who Mircea had warned them about, rose from her crouch near the front of their car where she’d been lying in wait. She flashed them a sharp smile, and Cristian could smell the blood on her breath. He prayed it wasn’t Florica’s.
“The ispán requests your presence at his nest,” she said. “You will come with me.”
“We will not. Don’t forget, you’re on neutral territory,” Cristian warned her. “You shouldn’t have crossed over the threshold.”
“This land is Grigore’s. The Council’s threshold means nothing to me,” she spat at him. Her eyes narrowed as she assessed him, overburdened with their bags, still trying to play by pathetic rules.
For a drawn-out moment, neither of them moved. Then Sanda vaulted onto the hood of the still-running car in the same instant Cristian hurled one backpack toward her. He dropped the other and slipped into a defensive stance. Ioana had done her best to teach him to fight, and some of her lessons stuck. They probably wouldn’t be much against an attack by a seasoned warrior though.
Sanda counted on that. She crested the car roof and lunged. He saw golden irises, fangs, and knew she’d committed herself fully to killing him after having dismissed Atlas as a threat. Grigore’s disdain for humans was ingrained in her so deeply she never even thought to glance at him.
A fatal mistake, that.
Atlas’s swing caught her in the collarbone. Between her forward momentum, and his attempt to swing through her, she had no chance of escape. She torqued when the silver broke her skin. Atlas barely kept hold on the blade handle, but managed to wrest the weapon from the bone it had ground itself into. When it came free, Sanda keened and fell to the ground, no longer concerned with them.
“Go!” Cristian pushed Atlas toward the car. He grabbed their bags and spun back, only to find Atlas hadn’t moved. He just stood there, pale and panting as he stared at Sanda, who writhed and screamed on the ground. Cristian swung a bag and hit Atlas in the side, jolting him back to their escape. “Car, now!”
By the time they’d stuffed themselves and their things inside and were escaping the parking lot, several of the vampires from the front of the building were racing around the block, dark, fast-moving shapes in the mirrors. Atlas was a professional though, and soon they were speeding down the straight street, leaving Grigore’s lackeys in their wake.
“I should have finished it,” Atlas declared, despite his hands trembling. He leaned forward in his seat, blade sheathed once more, but uncomfortable to lean back against. His brow furrowed as they passed under streetlights. “She’ll come after us.”
“No, she won’t,” Cristian promised. “She’ll be dead within the hour.”
“What?”
“Silver-plated blade, Mr. Kinkaid. She won’t heal from that blow you gave her.”
The silence in the car took on a new weight as Atlas processed the news. Slowly, carefully, he asked, “And you?”
“It’s too valuable for you to get rid of,” Cristian said, positive he knew where Atlas was going. “I won’t touch it, I promise.”
Atlas hummed, but must have recognized Cristian’s point. Rather than arguing, he asked quietly, “Where do we go now?”
“Grigore’s county extends all the way to the eastern border. Emil said to go west or north.” He pulled up a map on their phone and eyed it warily. “Our best choice is west, through the mountains. There are villages along the way. Eventually we’ll hit someone else’s land.” He hated how Atlas tensed at the suggestion. Returning to the area of the attack was never going to be easy, but he’d wanted Atlas to decide when he was ready to face it. Now, they didn’t have a choice.
Atlas didn’t smell of distress. Cristian couldn’t get a read on his scent at all, but even without that hint, he could tell the man was certainly lost to his mind’s turmoil. He reached out tentatively, and rested his hand on Atlas’s knee, unsure what to say. Atlas didn’t seem to care. He reached down and took Cristian’s hand in his, clutching it tightly as they fled the city.
Chapter Seven
Atlas followed the roads west easily enough, taking them through the bald peaks of the mountain range, but his distant gaze and growing quietude warned the memories were surfacing again. Worse, Emil hadn’t answered any of their calls, which meant they were on their own to find shelter before dawn. The car’s glass would protect Cristian from the sunlight, but Atlas needed more than the room service meal he’d picked at half a day ago, or the hours of light sleep he’d tossed and turned through.
Cristian eyed it warily. The building leaned precariously to one side and was set off on its own in one of the fields. A worn wagon track led to it, but there was no sign of regular use. Either it had been abandoned to its future collapse, or this wasn’t the season it would be used for storage. Either way, its open door was large enough for them to drive through, and Atlas was too exhausted to continue, so he hummed his assent.
Ever the professional, Atlas turned off their headlights and backed up the narrow, bumpy track until their car was well hidden inside the dark, cavernous interior. All the farm equipment and feed was gone. Dried grasses were haphazardly strewn over the floor, leftover bits of the last crop the owners moved out. The wooden walls and roof creaked as they settled after each gust of wind, but the building held firm.
Atlas turned off the car and got more comfortable. Cristian followed suit, reclining his seat and admiring the way the barn doorway framed the picturesque valley beyond. Rustic farm buildings dotted the pasture of the hillsides with a variety of wood and stone fences delineating the different sections. Farther beyond them, as the valley climbed back up into the mountain range, a panoply of trees stretched toward the heavens, their pointed crowns lying against the hillsides like confident charcoal strokes over a page. Stars glittered overhead, their brightness undimmed in the cool, clear mountain air. It was a beautiful sight, almost enough to distract him from the darkness they’d uncovered. Almost, but not quite.
Beside him, Atlas wrestled himself out of his kukri harness and placed the blade at the side of his seat, within easy reach if he needed it. He leaned back with a sigh of relief.
