Blurred Nights (1st in the Blurred Trilogy)

by Kallysten

"We need to talk about what's going on between you and Blake."

  She glanced up, so briefly he thought he had imagined it. Her hand shook just enough for him to notice when she picked up her coffee.

  "Nothing is going on. There's nothing to talk about."

  He leaned forward. “I saw you two last night."

  Her face turned crimson. She kept her eyes resolutely away from him and took a sip from her coffee. He waited, but she didn't answer.

  "You slapped him...” He paused, dreading the answer she might give to his next question and what he would have to do if his fears were confirmed. “He didn't force himself on you, did he?"

  That finally brought her eyes to him for more than a passing glance. She seemed puzzled. “No, of course not. I just—” She clamped her mouth shut and a muscle twitched in her cheek. Her gaze hardened. “Why are we talking about Blake? What does it matter to you that he kissed me? You were trying to push Simon at him before."

  Marc swallowed back a sigh. “It's not that he kissed you that matters. It's that he's going to hurt you."

  "What—"

  "Listen, Blake is..."

  He stopped and pinched his lips together. He had planned what he would tell her, but now that he had to say the words, they wouldn't come. He couldn't manage to voice that Blake was playing with her.

  "He's like ... a bee,” he said at last.

  The right corner of Kate's mouth twitched. She seemed to relax a little. “A bee,” she repeated.

  "I mean, he goes from flower to flower. He never looks back, never thinks of what he's leaving behind when he moves on. And he will move on. We're only here until the breach is closed."

  The beginning of her smile faded before it even bloomed. Her face suddenly expressionless, she observed him for a long moment. Marc started hoping that she understood his warning, but a few words, more bitter than his coffee, made him wonder why he was warning her against Blake when he was just as dangerous.

  "I see,” she said as she stood, picking up her tray. “But tell me one thing, Marc. Do you think of the flowers when you move on?"

  Head high but smelling of fresh wounds, she stalked off. Marc could do nothing but watch her go.

  * * * *

  It was only after Marc left their room in the morning that Blake finally managed to fall asleep. Until then, he kept his teeth clenched so he would neither apologize nor ask Marc just how much he cared about Kate exactly. Enough to stay with her when it was all over? Enough to send Blake away?

  Blake wasn't sure he wanted to know. At least if he didn't ask, he could keep his illusions.

  He woke up with a start after a few hours of restless sleep. When he got out of bed, he scowled at the small room in the dark. He had never liked enclosed spaces, but the so-called bedroom was awakening his claustrophobia. It was a good thing he didn't need to breathe, or he might have been hyperventilating. He put on jeans and a t-shirt and, barefoot, hurried out. Even the large open space of the common room wasn't enough. Hands in his pockets, he tried to walk at a normal pace to the main door. It opened on the eastern side of the building, so he'd find shade outside. As he went, he could feel eyes following his every step. Marc didn't need to know how bad it was this time.

  As soon as he stepped outside, the weight lifted from his chest. He closed his eyes against the slightly uncomfortable afternoon brightness and took a deep breath. The loose soil and blades of grass beneath his toes felt almost warm after the coolness of the smooth concrete floor inside the building.

  "So, you're suicidal now?"

  He opened his eyes at the half mocking, half worried words. Kate sat on a tree stump a few yards to the right of the door, a knife in one hand and a slim piece of wood in the other. He was moving toward her before he even knew it.

  "It's only direct sunlight that's bad for my skin,” he said, strolling to the edge of the shadow cast by the building. “But thanks for caring."

  Her eyebrows arched as she scanned his face and exposed arms. She shook her head, and her lips settled on a grim expression. Dropping her eyes to the piece of wood in her hand, she resumed her whittling. “So that's how Marc got his bruises, huh?"

  Blake sat down on the ground on a patch of grass, knees raised in front of him, his arms thrown back to support his weight. He observed her in silence. Each of her movements was precise, methodical, designed to create a sharp, even point on the crossbow arrow. She hadn't asked how he had gotten hurt; she had commented about Marc's bruises. He doubted she had chosen her words lightly.

  "Yeah,” he finally replied when she paused and glanced up at him. “We had a bit of a fight. But we heal fast. No need to worry for me, sweetheart."

  She snorted and gestured at him with the pointy end of the arrow. “One, I'm not worried for you."

  Blake kept his expression neutral even as she confirmed what he had imagined. She wasn't worried for him, but she was worried for Marc.

  "Two,” she continued, unaware of the cut she had just inflicted on him, “call me sweetheart again and I'll shove this through your chest."

  He pushed what he hoped looked like an amused smile to his lips. “You'd really kill me over an friendly word?"

  "I didn't say I'd aim for the heart. You said it yourself, you heal fast."

  He could almost have believed she meant it if not for the grin she couldn't quite hide. He laughed in delighted surprise. Every time he thought he had her completely figured out, she found a way to startle him. “Usually it takes longer before the threats start,” he said, still chuckling.

  Amusement drained from her face. She placed the arrow next to a few others on the ground on her left and picked a piece of wood on her right. She started peeling the bark away in long strips, revealing the tender wood inside.

  "Don't,” she said, so low Blake almost didn't catch it.

  "Don't what, now?” he asked, curious.

  She didn't reply. Strip after strip of bark came off under her skilled touch until she had a piece of bare, straight wood in her hand. Shifting her hold on the knife, she started working on the point. Never looking away from her work, she said, “I had quite an interesting chat with Marc this morning."

  So, that was what was going on. Blake leaned back on his forearms and looked up at the sky. A few fluffy clouds drifted over pale blue, soothing him. He should have known Marc would play dirty.

  "Did he make up some big ugly lie to try to scare you away from me?"

  The knife never stopped scrapping at the wood, the sound like a murmur. “I don't think he was lying."

  Blake grinned to himself. Of course she didn't. “What did he say, then?"

  "That you two will leave when the breach is closed."

  Looking back at her, Blake tilted his head to one side. The wind had shifted, bringing him her scent. She smelled ... hurt, there was no other word for it. That was unexpected.

  "Well, that was the plan from the start,” he said, picking his words carefully. “But if I had a reason to stay—"

  "Don't,” she said again, more coldly this time. “You'll leave, reason or not. I'm not a ... a hobby for you to pass time with. I don't have time for this. In case you hadn't noticed, we're at war."

  She finished with a hard glance in his direction, as though daring him to contradict her. He considered it, but decided against it. Throwing her off was his best bet now.

  "You're right."

  The knife stilled mid-stroke. Frowning, she looked up at him again. “About what?"

  "It was a game, at first. Marc liked you, and I figured I'd beat him at his own game."

  Her eyes widened in outrage, and acridness peeked in her scent, mirroring her anger. “You're—"

  "Trouble is,” he continued, ignoring her. “I got to know you a bit too much while trying to steal you from under his nose. I know why he likes you. And I like you pretty much for the same reasons."

  She bared her teeth at him in a twisted sardonic smile. “Don't be ridiculous. You don't know a thing about me."


  "Don't I?” He sat up, crossing his legs so he could lean forward toward her and catch her every reaction. “So I'm wrong when I think in your mind, you're a soldier before anything else? I'm wrong to see your toughness with the other soldiers as the best way you found to make them respect you? I'm wrong to think you named your knives like I named Seneca, though you never told anyone? You didn't spend the night after Aaron was hurt replaying the entire thing in your mind and finding all the places you could have done something different, did you? You don't—"

  "Stop it."

  Her eyes closed tight and she breathed in deeply for a few seconds. Blake waited until her heartbeat had calmed down before he asked, more gently now, “Tell me, Kate. Do I know you or not?"

  Her jaw clenched a few times. She returned her eyes to the piece of wood in her hand and started working on it again. This only lasted for a handful of seconds. Stopping again, she looked at Blake through narrowed eyes. “I know you, too. I know you're only here because Marc is. I know you're mad at him, for whatever reason, but you're still with him."

  "What bothers you most?” he shot back, barely thinking about what he was saying. “That I sleep with him or that he sleeps with me?"

  Her heartbeat jumped. “Why would I care—"

  "If you didn't care,” he pressed on, “you wouldn't feel so...” He paused, certain he had to be wrong, and breathed in her scent again. “Guilty? Why would you feel...” He blinked as he understood, and a wide grin settled on his lips. “Oh. Now that's interesting,” he murmured.

  Kate stood and stared down at him, the knife clenched in her right hand, the half-formed stake in her left, both pointed toward him. “I'm not feeling guilty! And whatever you think is interesting, you're wrong!"

  Still grinning, he slinked to his feet and faced her. “Am I? So you don't like us both, then?"

  The shock spread over her features, draining them of color. When she blushed, the redness was even more fiery for it.

  "You know,” he said softly, “if you do, neither of us will mind."

  Once again, her heartbeat stuttered. “What are you...” She was shaking as she lost her words. “You're sick!"

  He shrugged. Maybe he hadn't read her as well as he had thought. He might as well lay it all out. “I'm not sick. I'm a vampire. Certain things cease to matter when you're a vamp, like the gender of the person in your bed. Or how many people are in it. It's an eye-opener, really. You don't see things as narrowly as you used to."

  He observed her, waiting for her reaction. It didn't take long and, all things considered, it wasn't as bad as it could have been.

  "Guess what. I'm human. And I want you to stay away from me. Both of you. Tell him that from me."

  She pushed past him and stalked off, striding toward the barracks. Even without the expanse of sunlight between them, he wouldn't have followed. She needed time to think over what he had said. He doubted she would go for it, but it had been worth a try. Sitting on the ground again, this time with his back to the building, he consoled himself by replaying her parting words. At least, in her denial, she was pushing the both of them away equally.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 13

  An hour or so before sunset, Daniel called for his squad to assemble. Every soldier save for the four that guarded the gates and patrolled the perimeter came to sit at the wooden tables, now aligned in one long row.

  Marc had taken a seat at the end of the long table, facing the weapons wall in front of which Daniel was pacing as he waited for everyone to come in. Kate had arrived early. She had exchanged a few quiet words with Daniel before sitting in the front. Too many people crowded the way between her and Marc for him to get a clear view, but she seemed to be avoiding looking in his direction. It didn't surprise him all that much.

  When Daniel stopped walking and faced his troops, silence spread amongst them. The spicy scent of their excitement permeated the air, and even though Marc thought Daniel's optimism was a little premature, he couldn't fight the feeling of anticipation that spread through him. He leaned forward on his chair, resting his forearms on his thighs, and listened attentively.

  "Tonight,” Daniel said, his strong voice filling the space, “we start a new phase in our attack. Tonight—"

  The front door creaked open, cutting him off. Daniel frowned as he looked past his troops and to the newcomer. Just about everyone turned to see who was interrupting him. Marc did as well, but he knew already who it was. Barefoot and his hands shoved in his jeans pockets, Blake seemed completely unconcerned about disrupting the meeting.

  "Go ahead,” he said as he approached. “Don't stop on my account."

  Daniel cleared his throat and resumed his speech. Marc kept a reprobating eye on Blake, who pulled out one of the few empty chairs and dragged it to sit by Marc's side. He straddled the chair, his crossed arms against the back, and rested his chin on them. Shaking his head, Marc focused on Daniel again.

  "I know you're all tired of these recon missions that seem to lead us nowhere,” he was saying. “I am, too. But recon is necessary. And recon will lead us to victory."

  He turned to the board he had dragged out of his office. He touched a corner of it, and a crude map of the City popped to life, black lines crisp on the shiny white plastic.

  "The City.” He touched the corner again, and dark blue stripes covered large spots in the south and east of the map. “This is what we have explored so far."

  Groans erupted at the table. The stripes didn't cover a quarter of the map, if even that. Daniel made an appeasing gesture, his mouth twisting in a dry smile.

  "I know. But wait."

  Another touch to the board brought a new layer; this time, thin red lines covered the southern and eastern parts of the map, becoming progressively closer. It looked like a topographic map indicating elevation. One last touch, and this time green crosses popped up.

  "The density of the fog,” Daniel explained, his finger following a red line. “And every spot where we encountered demons. Do you see what I'm getting at?"

  The pattern suddenly popped in Marc's mind. Sitting up, he wondered how he hadn't seen it before now. They had talked about each element being a clue separately, but now that Daniel had gathered them on one map, they all pointed the same way. Several soldiers gasped. Daniel nodded, his eyes sweeping the room.

  "We'll keep going this way,” he pointed at the path where the fog and demon encounters showed something suspicious going on. “We'll probably meet more demons, so all three groups are working together from tonight on. We'll add four or five more soldiers also. Simon, that includes you."

  A small, squeaky sound erupted at the table, no doubt Simon's reply to that announcement. Daniel continued as though he hadn't heard.

  "When we find the breach, we close it. There won't be any coming back later, and finding the breach more heavily guarded. Even if the entire demon army is waiting for us, we'll fight to give Simon the time he needs. Questions?"

  Murmurs spread around the table. Without trying to discern words, Marc listened to the tone of voices. Excitement covered any doubt. No one had questions, so Daniel called off the meeting. They had an hour to get ready before sunset. The soldiers left in small groups of three or four, still discussing the news. Marc's eyes found Kate. She talked with Daniel for a few seconds before following him back to his office.

  "Think we're really as close as he makes it sound?"

  With a slow blink, Marc turned to Blake. His question sounded innocuous, as though they hadn't fought with fists and fangs the last time they had talked.

  "I hope so,” he replied, cautious. “The soldiers won't take it well if it lasts much longer."

  Blake stood, pushing the chair away. He made a small sound in his throat that could have meant he agreed.

  "Look at me,” Marc requested, standing as well.

  When Blake obeyed, Marc raised a hand to his black eye and touched the darkened skin with butterfly fingertips. Blake flinched away.
r />   "I'm fine,” he hissed.

  "How well can you see?” Marc asked, ignoring him.

  "I'm fine,” Blake repeated. He started rolling his eyes and winced for his trouble. “Demons gave me worse. You're losing your touch, old man."

  Marc forced a smile up to his lips. He had expected many things from Blake, but not an attempt at a joke. “Maybe I need more practice."

  "Maybe you do. You know me, always happy to help.” His eyes left Marc to focus on something behind him. His faint grin faded. “She asked me to tell you. She wants us both to stay away from her."

  In a flash, Marc's amusement faded. He turned just in time to see Kate walk out of the building. “What did you do now?” he asked, very low, as he looked back at Blake.

  Blake shrugged. “Just told her we both had a thing for her. I'm pretty sure the reverse is true as well. She wouldn't admit it, though. Silly humans and their narrow ideas of what they can or cannot do."

  Incredulity came first, followed by resignation mixed with anger. Of course Blake was capable of telling a woman that two men had an interest in her. Of course he saw nothing wrong in suggesting to her that she didn't have to pick one over the other. Of course he had done both things. If Marc talked to him now, he would yell. If he let his hands close into fists, he would start another brawl. Neither would help. Gritting his teeth, he resolutely walked away from Blake, hoping his Childe would know better than to try to follow him now.

  He hoped Daniel was right, and that they would stumble on demons that night. He felt like killing one or two—or an even dozen.

  * * * *

  "Come on, guys. You know the drill by now."

  After four nights of pushing through always deeper into the City, always deeper into the fog, the soldiers did know what to do. Daniel hadn't finished talking before they were already falling into formation. They did so without enthusiasm. The excitement from the first night had faded along with their hopes that it would all be quick now. Kate held back a sigh and took her place, front and center of the first line, a squad soldier on each side of her, Marc and Blake on each end of the line. Four more rows formed at their back, three or four people in each.