There was silence as the group digested this new information. Bliss saw Lawson’s brothers look at him in a new light, and even Ahramin was gazing at Lawson with a respectful air.
Lawson frowned and crossed his arms, looking uncomfortable with all the attention. “You don’t know that for sure.”
“But think about it,” she said. “You can enter hallowed ground, and you can make portals through the worlds, something the other wolves can’t. And you said so yourself, after your escape there were many others who followed your path to freedom. ‘We freed ourselves.’ You certainly did. Marrok knew who you were. It was why he encouraged you to escape, why he risked stealing the chronolog. Because it was time. Because you are Fenrir.”
“Well then,” Malcolm said. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go to Rome.”
THIRTY-ONE
Lawson kept his eyes on Bliss as she held the chronolog in one hand and used the other hand to position all the hands on all the faces, lining up the dates and the latitude and longitude positions and then pressing the button on the side of the device. The gears below started to whir and the arms descended onto the points. The device began to buzz, its gears grinding like those of a windup toy.
Entering the timeline felt different from before. The previous trips through the passages had been dizzying, with the bright light rendering Lawson unable to see their movement through history, but now it was as if the chronolog was physically moving him, stopping on occasion in locations that clearly weren’t Rome, at least not yet.
One pause: he felt a warm fire at his back and the chill of a winter breeze at his face. Up ahead he saw footprints in the snow. A pair of figures stood in the distance. They wore heavy coats of fur and walked on snowshoes around a circle of tall stones. The image receded. His head ached and his ears felt funny. He turned to Bliss, but before he could speak, the darkness of the passage enveloped them once more as they moved through the timeline.
Another pause: now there was light snow on the ground. They stood in the center of another circle of stones. Beyond the gray monoliths, Lawson saw an earthen mound and a pit. It looked like another portal, another entrance to the passage, just like the serpent mound.
One more: the air darkened, and when they stopped again, Lawson was standing in front of a grouping of stones. They were arranged in long rows. He turned around to see Bliss, Rafe, and Malcolm, who looked dazed. Edon and Ahramin were not far behind.
Lawson tapped Malcolm on the shoulder. “Where are we?”
“I don’t know,” Malcolm said. “I think we’re in France. Maybe Carnac.” He placed his hand on the gray stone. Fresh chisel marks littered its rough face.
The light dimmed again, and the darkness returned. Lawson closed his eyes, then opened them to see stars streaking through the black void of the passage. No more pauses now; they were moving quickly through time, through a long patch of nothingness that continued until his whole body ached. He wished for the journey to end, though he knew things would only get harder once they stopped. He clenched his teeth, and his mind lost track of how long they had been traveling.
“It’s okay, we’re here,” he heard a voice say after what seemed an eternity. “Open your eyes.”
Lawson felt a warm hand on his back. Bliss. He opened his eyes to a bright Mediterranean sun. In the distance he saw snowcapped mountains stretch downward to a city that was nestled amid seven hills. They were finally in Rome, at the beginning. Red banners stretched from all the buildings; the streets were packed with carts; the buildings’ limestone facades shone in the sun. This was the city at its very first breath. This was the dawn of the empire.
They were standing on a third-story balcony overlooking the city. The street below connected to a vast piazza; in the open space a large crowd gathered at the steps of a grand building. At the top of the steps, a red-robed figure, flanked by a group of centurions, waved a golden staff. Everywhere red banners waved in the warm sun as soldiers paraded down the avenue carrying a statue of a ferocious-looking man with a long flowing beard and a trident in one hand.
“Neptune,” Malcolm whispered. “You did it. We’re here.”
“What do we do now, though?” Bliss asked.
“We’ll need to blend in,” Ahramin said, taking charge. “We can’t go out there like this.” She indicated their grimy outfits. “Split up—Edon and I will check the lower floor; Mac, you and Rafe check this one. Lawson—you and Bliss whistle if you hear anyone. I think everyone’s out at the festival, the place feels empty. I bet not even the servants are around.”
Lawson nodded, a bit annoyed that Ahramin was giving orders, but she knew the lay of the land better; as a hound, she had been privy to the old traditions.
He squinted out the window, at the giant robed figure waving his golden staff. Romulus. How strange to think that something that had happened in the past had been caused by an event that was far off in the future. His birth. Was Bliss right? Was he the one? He remembered what Master Corvinus had said—that he was special, that he was to be Romulus’s heir. Lucifer had foreseen it himself. The Dark Prince had ordered him turned into a hound before he could fulfill his true destiny.
Everything was hanging in the balance—the past, the future, his life, and the lives of everyone he loved. He didn’t want to fail. He thought about the shifting images on the postcard, from kidnapping to murder. History was unfolding before his eyes, and it was his responsibility to make sure the timeline remained intact. He was a wolf, a guardian of the abyss. A keeper of time. He watched Romulus leave the podium, followed by two of his guards. Hounds, most likely. Where was Tala? She had to be close by.
“Someone’s coming,” Bliss warned.
Lawson nodded, preparing to subdue whoever walked into the room.
“Check me out!” Malcolm said. He was wearing a wool toga with red edging; it was short and sized for a child and the hem didn’t come down quite far enough to hide his sneakers. “Nice, right?” The rest of the group were all dressed in similar costume. “We looked out the window, everyone’s in red for the parade.”
“Here,” Edon said, handing folded linens to Lawson and Bliss. “Go and get changed.”
When everyone was suitably attired, Lawson called them together and told them how he intended to preserve the timeline. “Remember, everything has to happen the same way. Romulus has to give the signal.”
“But the orders from the oculus will tell the hounds to take the women—not kill them,” Ahramin said, nodding. “We will take care of it.”
Ahramin, Edon, Malcolm, and Rafe left to find the nearest oculus and change the orders. Bliss had opted to stay with Lawson. She was the only one who knew there was more to his plan than simply securing the timeline and saving Tala.
“You don’t have to come with me. I can take care of Romulus,” he said.
“I know you can. But even Fenrir can use a friend, can’t he?”
For once, Lawson did not argue.
THIRTY-TWO
Bliss followed Lawson through the city. The buildings were cursory structures; the Rome she was familiar with was filled with enormous monuments, basilicas, and temples and palaces, but she reminded herself that they were back at the beginning, before most of those things had been built.
She looked around the plaza, down at the unpaved dirt packed under her feet. The open-air plaza was vast, the crowd overpowering in its size as they waited for the horn that would blow twice to signal the opening of the Consualia, the games that would celebrate Neptune’s day. The red banners flapped and cracked in the wind, and the buildings around them were covered in brightly colored paint and graffiti. Splashes of animal blood dripped from the walls into open sewers and there were flies everywhere.
Rome smelled like a corpse. It was a far more vulgar place than she’d imagined. The air was filled with the scent of incense and smoke from burning effigies of Roman gods, mixed with the stink of people sweating in the woolen togas, as she was. She was starting to be able to tell that
there were some class distinctions—the wealthier citizens wore togas that appeared to be made of cotton, and accordingly, they looked cooler and more comfortable than everyone else, her included.
Lawson explained that the temple Romulus had been standing in front of was the Regia, the home of kings. They walked toward it quickly, past donkey carts filled with fresh produce, and she plucked a date from an open basket and sunk her teeth into the rich fruit. A man jostled her, and cold wine sloshed from his wooden mug onto her dress.
Everywhere Bliss looked, she saw soldiers like the fierce warriors from her memory. The ancient wolves were magnificent and golden, while the hellhounds, disguised in the same armor they usually wore, were darker and smaller in size and bearing. She almost bumped into one as she made her way deeper into the crowd.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
The hound leered at her. He was clearly of a lower order; his armor was made from hardened brown leather, sculpted into the shape of a muscled torso. “Stay a while,” he said.
“She’s with me,” Lawson said.
The soldier spit at the ground but did not fight. Bliss moved nervously away, and Lawson held her hand as they made their way closer to the Regia.
The crowd was edgy and boisterous; it had the air of a mob, restless and eager for trouble. More soldiers were arriving, pouring into the arcades and gathering in groups on the roofs of the crude houses just outside the plaza. The crowd was growing more anxious by the minute. Bliss felt an elbow hit her in the back as two women pushed past her. Another dashed behind them, also elbowing Bliss. The soldiers scanned the crowd with impassive faces.
The games were due to start in moments, at which point the hounds disguised as soldiers would reveal themselves, beginning the slaughter that would end the line of the wolves.
Bliss felt a rough hand on her shoulder. It was the hound she had jostled.
“There you are, pretty.” He smiled. “Leave this loser and come with me.”
“Leave her alone,” Lawson growled.
“Ah—screw you,” the hound said. “Romulus said we can take what we can before the signal …” He pulled on Bliss’s toga and tore it from the clasp.
Bliss gasped, held her dress together, and turned to the hound.
“No, it’s all right,” she told Lawson, who was ready to throw a punch. If he fought the hound, they would start a fight, and the hounds were ready for bloodshed. Ahramin and the boys had to get the orders changed—nothing could happen before then. They couldn’t risk the soldiers and the hounds jumping the gun.
She turned to the hound, her eyes boring into its crimson eyes and silver pupils. “You dare threaten me? Do you know who I am?”
The hound looked at her and quivered with fright. “No … it cannot be … how is it …” It backed away, fear in its eyes.
“How do you keep doing that?” Lawson asked when the hound was gone. “Who are you? You have never answered that.”
She hesitated as she fixed her strap. Could she lay all her cards on the table? Could she trust him to trust her? “Lawson, at the butcher shop—when I spoke your language …”
“Yes?”
“You asked how I knew Hroll. It was because I saw something in my memory then. I think it was a wolf in his true form. It was an amazing sight. Beautiful.” In her mind’s eye she could see Lucifer standing at the top of a marble staircase, looking down at the magnificent form of the warrior in front of him. Her father had spoken its language. But now, as Bliss closed her eyes and relived the memory, she saw what happened next, and described it to Lawson.
“I saw Lucifer holding out his hand, and the beautiful warrior fell to his knees. There was a blast of smoke, and when it cleared, the warrior was a wolf, wearing a collar, and his golden eyes were silver.”
Lawson stared at her. “What you’re describing is the punishment of the wolves,” he said. “How could you have seen this?”
Bliss shook her head slowly. She wasn’t sure if it was the right time to tell Lawson the truth; she had no idea how he would react. And they had so much ahead of them, so much to do. But she didn’t want to keep the secret any longer. “Because it’s not only my mother’s memories I share. I share my father’s memories as well. I had access to his mind once, and he was part of mine.”
“Your father?”
She flinched. “My father … was Lucifer,” she whispered. “I am the daughter of the Dark Prince of Hell. I was kept alive, hidden by his loyal followers, reincarnated through the centuries, to keep his spirit alive on earth. I did not know. He used me as a vessel for his evil. I have his memories and I am his flesh and blood.”
For a long time, nothing happened. Lawson didn’t speak. Bliss was worried he was trying to figure out a way to kill her in public, without anyone noticing. But when she finally dared to look at him, he didn’t seem angry. Only contemplative.
“So you’re not just an ex-vampire,” he finally said.
“No.” She could see the wheels in his mind turning. He was putting all the pieces together.
“The hounds know,” he said. “They sense it, they sense that you carry the blood of the Dark Prince himself. It frightens them away.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. And I’m sorry for what my father did to your people. But I’m not him. I don’t want any part of him.”
“You are part of him, though,” he said, and finally there was the anger that she had expected.
“That sword that you have … I used to kill his spirit inside me. I wanted to die rather than live with what I had done. Please,” she said. “Please believe me. Look.” She pulled down her neckline to show part of the scar across her torso, right across her heart. “That’s all that’s left. I’m not lying. I thought I would die, but instead I became mortal.”
“We owe you a debt, without your memories, we would never have been able to use the chronolog. But after this is over … we will part ways. The wolves owe no debt to the vampires. We will fight no demons in your name. Now leave me, for I have no wish for your company. I have a hound to kill.”
THIRTY-THREE
There were tears in her eyes when she turned away from him, but Lawson hardened his heart, even though the sight of the vicious scar on her chest had given him pause. She was a distraction; he was here to kill Romulus and save Tala; he couldn’t spare a moment to think of Bliss. If she was working with the enemy, then it was better that he had sent her away. If she was who she said she was, an ex-vampire, an archangel’s daughter, then she would still be safe. The hounds would not harm her; he saw that much.
The crowd was restless for the games to begin, but he knew they had some time; only Romulus could signal the opening of the games, and Romulus had not yet returned to the balcony. Lawson planned to find Tala first, then kill the general only after Romulus had given the signal. History must be allowed to flow as it had. At the steps of the Regia, he tried to sniff out Tala’s scent, but the smell of the hounds masked everything else, the stench of their evil filling the air.
The Regia was enormous, easily the largest of the surrounding buildings. Lawson evaded the guards watching the steps and slipped into the main chamber, unsure which of the numerous corridors to follow. Where would Romulus keep Tala? Lawson would have expected that he’d keep her by his side, but he hadn’t seen her on the podium with Romulus when he stood before the crowd. She must be here. But where?
Lawson began exploring the palace. He wandered through room after room on the first floor. The dining room, filled with recliners for royalty to lie on during their meals. No chairs for the elite, not in ancient Rome. Some of the recliners were clearly meant for one person; others were semicircular and could seat a number of people. An interior kitchen, with a fire pit for roasting meat and long tables and serving stands. Bedroom after bedroom, with sleeping couches holding high, fluffy feather beds, covered in blankets and pillows. If Romulus was keeping her by his side, then she’d be in a room closer to Romulus’s chambers, or even in his cham
bers themselves. The thought twisted his stomach, but he had to keep going.
Corridor after corridor, room after room. Finally, he saw a door that bore the sigil of the republic. Romulus’s quarters. She had to be in there. Tala, where are you?
The bedroom was larger and more elaborate than any he’d seen so far. The bed was enormous, the mattress higher off the ground than any of the others. Lawson sat down and sunk deeply into the plush feather bed. Apparently firm mattresses were a thing of the future, he thought. He tried to picture Tala here, to pick up her scent. Nothing.
He heaved himself off the tall bed and explored the rest of the room. Wooden shelves held togas, spare armor, leather sandals. The togas were lighter and softer than the one he wore, some made of cotton, some of silk. Too bad there weren’t any extra weapons lying around. No sign that a woman had been here; none of the tunics looked like dresses, like the ones Bliss and Ahramin were wearing.
Except …
He turned his head to the corner of the bedroom. There was a pile of what appeared to be laundry sitting in the corner. Funny how some things stayed the same, no matter what century you were in, he thought; people still left their clothes on the floor. But then he looked closer. The clothes appeared to be silk; they glistened as he moved toward them. He picked up the fabric and saw that it was a woman’s tunic, soft to the touch and beautifully cut, as best as he could tell.
And covered in bloodstains.
Lawson felt as if he couldn’t breathe. Tala … where are you? What happened here?
It couldn’t be hers, could it? But it had to be. Romulus had taken no mate, and he’d shown himself to be insistent on doing whatever he could to destroy Lawson, to destroy whatever power he thought Lawson possessed. He didn’t want to think about what Romulus had done to her, about the prospect of never seeing Tala again. It couldn’t be true.
Wolf Pact: A Wolf Pact Novel Page 14
