He had kept up a stoic front for his family and Scott, but as he relaxed he let himself feel his doubts and anxiety over what he’d done that day. There was no going back to what he had been before. He looked around his apartment and the memories it contained, knowing that his old life was gone.
Unlike the others, who had their families to take care of, Nick spent more time in his apartment than at his house in North Carolina. He had taken the time to move in properly and make it more like a home, softening the stark white walls with burgundy paint and covering the existing floor with a floating floor of cherry wood. The couch had been a present from his parents when he’d bought his first house back in Los Angeles, and he’d brought it with him to retain a connection to his past.
The walls were hung with photographs of his family and friends, and the platinum album that, in a moment of vanity, he couldn’t resist displaying. The mahogany table and chairs were another present from his mother, as well as the matching cabinet that held her wedding china and fine crystal. Honestly, Nick wasn’t sure what to do with it all, but his mother had insisted, assuming he’d eventually get over his phase and get married. After a while, Nick just went along with it, rather than fight anymore. At least Toby was straight. Nick thought maybe he’d pass the whole setup to his brother when the younger Jameson finally tired of the perks of fame and stopped being such a ladies’ man.
Nick sighed as he sipped at his bloodwine. From the bedroom, the king-sized bed with Egyptian cotton sheets beckoned invitingly. He knew it was too late for second thoughts. This was his life, for better or for worse, and the apartment was going to be home now; not that he would have much time to spend at home if he understood the Triumvirate’s plans for him correctly. He hadn’t believed Ana at first when the Sentinel had related Takeshi’s words. Ambassador to Humanity. Christ. What the hell were they thinking? Might as well get drunk and enjoy it, because it might be the last night I’ll have to myself for quite a while.
He was just finishing his first glass of Tiamat when a soft tone resonated through the apartment, announcing a visitor. Sighing, he put down his glass and went to the front door. The door was in the center of the large Impressionist mural Rory had painted for him as a housewarming present. He checked the external monitor to see who it was, then unsealed the warded door and opened it.
Lorcan wore a black sport coat over the green T-shirt and black slacks he had been wearing earlier. “Need a friend, Nicholas?”
Nick silently waved him inside. As soon as Lorcan stepped across the threshold, Nick closed the door and sealed it behind him. Then he slammed Lorcan back against the door, kissing him violently. Lorcan’s left hand reached up around the back of Nick’s neck, drawing Nick’s head to him, while his right fumbled with the buttons of Nick’s shirt. Breaking the kiss, Nick pulled his head back a little, his fangs primed, his red eyes locked on Lorcan’s green. “Ruarc, it’s been a hell of a long day,” he whispered as his hands slid up to ease off Lorcan’s jacket. “All I need now is to feel your arms around me.”
Lorcan grinned. His eyes changing color and his fangs fully extending, he let go of Nick just long enough to let his jacket fall to the ground. “Why, Nicholas,” he said mockingly, “aren’t you a romantic tonight?” Then he grabbed a fistful of the younger vampire’s hair and levered his head back and to the side. Abandoning his attempt to undo the buttons on Nick’s shirt, he shredded the fabric with his claws. His lips brushed Nick’s neck as he breathed in the Daywalker’s scent. Then he bit down, driving his fangs into Nick’s pulsating jugular.
As Lorcan fed, Nick felt the blood magic bridge the psychic gap between them, filling his thoughts with images and memories from his lover’s mind. At the same time, he knew his memories were running through Lorcan’s mind in turn. He shifted in Lorcan’s arms, trying to reach the Nightwalker’s neck, but Lorcan held tightly to his fistful of hair, preventing the Daywalker from feeding. Not until he had lifted his mouth from Nick’s flesh, healing the incisions of his fangs, did Lorcan allow the younger vampire to feed. As he closed his eyes in the ecstasy of the blood magic, Nick’s talons ripped through the cloth of the Nightwalker’s T-shirt, tearing it to pieces in his haste to expose more of his lover’s flesh.
Lorcan pulled Nick tightly to him, lifting the Daywalker off the floor, Nick’s fangs never leaving his neck. With ease of long familiarity, he walked them both to the bedroom and eased them down onto the bed. Nick gasped, feeling the blood magic bridge fade and experiencing the usual sense of loss as the intimacy of the connection evaporated. Swirling, myriad shades of red shifting and rippled over Lorcan’s irises.
“Ruarc,” said Nick, his voice hoarse with need, “I want you so much.” He ran his hands down Lorcan’s naked back as the Nightwalker leaned down to kiss him deeply.
“Then come and get me.”
HOUSE DILUTHICAL
CHAPTER 9
The next day
Lorcan woke to the realization he’d slept through the sunrise. He rolled over onto his back, noting Nick’s absence. Lacing his fingers behind his head, he stared at the ceiling. Luckily, the Armistice engineers had carefully considered the needs of the Nightwalker portion of their population. He’d have to take the tunnels to get back to the embassy gateway, which would be embarrassing if he met anyone he knew. He chuckled. He was a superb tactician, having skillfully orchestrated his own meteoric rise through the ranks of his house to second-in-command; only Nick made him so careless. It had been that way from the beginning.
August 2034; Milan, Italy; Five years earlier
Once the sun slipped below the horizon, Lorcan left his morning refuge and walked down the streets of the city to his target. He entered the lobby of the Journeymen’s hotel and immediately felt an interlocking series of mystical defenses slide into place behind him, blocking his way out of the building. At the touch of another mind, he stopped, and opening his mental defenses slightly, he reached out a tendril of thought to the other vampire he could feel on the upper floor.
“Lorcan Consul Diluthical,” Nick said with cold arrogance, “a member of our security team is waiting for you. Identify yourself to the front desk and they will direct you to him so you may be brought up to my suite.” He broke contact before Lorcan could answer.
Lorcan smiled, appreciating the gesture of dominance as a reasonable opening move in their negotiations. He made his way to the front desk and was introduced to the bodyguard, who led him upstairs to stand before the Journeymen’s suite. A few minutes later, the door opened, and the guard showed the vampire inside. Nick studied the Nightwalker, who was dressed casually in a dark purple long-sleeved shirt, untucked over a pair of black slacks.
“Come in, Consul.”
Lorcan stepped forward and made a shallow bow. “Prince Nicholas, I greet you on behalf of the Court of Shadows. What is your answer to their proposal?”
Nick’s eyes were hard. “I do not seek to take up my position within the Court of Shadows at this time. However, I accept their request to have you serve as my liaison to the Court, on the condition that you swear allegiance to me as Praetor Luscian for the duration of your stay and agree to defend my interests and the honor of my house as long as you hold that rank.”
Lorcan gave him a small smile. “An inventive solution. I agree to your terms.” He dropped to one knee. “Nicholas Magister Luscian, I swear my honor to your service for the duration of my duties. My life is yours. I am your blade to wield.”
“I accept your honor, to defend as if it were my own.” Nick held out a hand. “Welcome to House Luscian, Praetor.”
Lorcan stood and shook the proffered hand. “I thank you, my Lord. Shall we be seated? We have much to discuss.”
“Not yet. First I should introduce you to your superior.”
“Superior?” Lorcan blinked. “I was told that no other Luscian vampires survived the Burning.”
“They did not. I’ve had to improvise.” He waved his hands toward the empty room and a shroud of invisib
ility dropped away, revealing Scott.
Lorcan’s eyes widened as he felt the shape of Scott’s unshielded power and realized what he was.
“Lorcan Praetor Luscian,” Nick said with a predatory smirk. “I’d like you to meet Scott Phillips, my Consul.”
Lorcan found his voice. “A Sentinel? You consort with a Sentinel?”
Nick smiled, showing his fangs. “He is Consul Luscian, Praetor, and you will report directly to him.”
“My Lord, please. You must be joking.” Lorcan was completely taken aback. “Sentinels have no honor. How can you allow one of them to speak for you?”
Nick growled menacingly and clenched his fists. A black beam of energy sprang from his right hand and became a longsword forged of blackened metal, the blade inscribed with glowing blue runes and surrounded by a thin sheath of azure flames. Lorcan went completely still at the sight of Luscian’s sword in Nick’s hand.
“He is not a common Sentinel, Praetor,” said Nick. “He is the Wind of Water, and he knelt at my feet and said the words, just as you did. His honor is my honor.” He raised the sword so that the point almost rested on Lorcan’s shoulder, the blue flames hissing angrily. His voice was soft and menacing. “Are you questioning my honor?”
“No, my Lord.” Lorcan swallowed, the only sign of his fear at the near touch of the Sword of Nightmares. “I was merely unprepared for his presence. Please forgive my discourtesy to your councilor. It will not happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t.” The black sword faded away, and Nick unclenched his fist. With his open hand, he indicated the chairs arranged in front of the couch. “By all means, sit. As you said, we have much to discuss.”
Lorcan sat in one of the chairs and the Journeymen on the couch opposite him. Lorcan looked at Scott. “The Wind of Water? Truly?”
The Sentinel nodded.
“That is unexpected. We were unaware of your emergence.”
“Zachariah Consul Daviroquir kindled his Gift when he attacked me in a restaurant in London two weeks ago. I punished him for his presumption. In any case, we need to discuss matters of house security with you.”
Scott spoke first. “If you’re going to be seen with us, we’ll need to arrange a cover identity for you.”
Lorcan smiled, keeping his discomfort at speaking to a Sentinel well hidden. “It has already been arranged.” He reached into his shirt pocket and drew out a number of laminated cards on a lanyard. He passed them to Scott, careful to avoid touching him in case his distaste became obvious.
Scott flipped through the plastic-coated cards, all of which carried the name Lorcan Kildare. “These are press credentials.” He raised his eyebrows. “They almost look real.”
“They are real.”
They both looked at him, surprised. Lorcan shrugged. “I work freelance, but my writing serves as a diversion from my house duties on occasion. It also gives me a legitimate reason to be traveling outside my home territory when my duties take me elsewhere in Europe.”
“What’s your home territory?” asked Scott.
“Is that relevant, Consul?”
“You’re here to learn about us. Isn’t it fair to ask about you?”
Lorcan’s eyes flickered to Nick’s, then back to Scott. “House Diluthical has held the territory of Ireland for seven thousand years. I was born in Belfast in 1504. I died in 1525. I have held Consul rank in my House for more than one hundred years following my successful negotiation as Praetor Diluthical of the current treaty between House Diluthical and House Daviroquir, which holds the rest of the United Kingdom. I was chosen for this assignment because of my diplomatic credentials and because my house is not party to any current disputes between the five houses whose territories you’ll pass through on the remaining fourteen days of your European concert tour. There is nothing else about my life or death that need concern you directly, Consul. Do you have any other questions related to the task at hand?”
“No,” said Scott, abashed.
“What exactly do you need to know from us to do your job, Praetor?” Nick asked.
“I will need to know the terms you wish me to set in my negotiations with the other five houses and what you’ll actually settle for.”
“No hunting at our concerts,” said Scott.
“No hunting of our staff or the fans outside our hotels and venues,” said Nick.
“No interference with us, either at our hotels or at the venues and fan events,” said Scott.
“Or at dinner,” Nick said sarcastically.
“That will be difficult to arrange.” Lorcan frowned. “How many of those conditions are negotiable?”
Nick looked him dead in the eye. “None of them.”
“You don’t ask for much, do you?” said Lorcan, his irritation showing. “Very well, I’ll try to invent some additional outrageous demands that I can negotiate away. Is there anything else?”
“One more thing, Praetor,” Nick said softly. “I am a signatory of the Armistice Declaration of 2021. As long as you are a member of my house, you will abide by the terms set forth in Article One of that document.”
“My Lord, you cannot ask that of me!”
Nick returned Lorcan’s shocked gaze without flinching. “You will take no human life. You will not kill, except in self-defense, defense of another, or in defense of your honor. You will not feed except on what is freely offered. You will not use magic on human beings with hostile intent without their consent.” He drummed his fingertips on the coffee table. “Four simple rules, Praetor. If you can’t show that much restraint for just two weeks, then what good are you to me?”
“My Lord, this is not the Armistice Zone,” Lorcan said heatedly. “We are at war here. I have no willing donors to sustain me.”
“Then find some,” suggested Nick. “Alternately, I can share my supply of bloodwine. It meets the requirements of the treaty.”
Lorcan grew suddenly intrigued. “You are speaking of Tiamat, are you not? I have heard of it.” He considered his options, thinking of ways to turn the situation to his advantage. “Very well, my Lord. If this is your will, I shall abide by it.”
Scott handed back Lorcan’s press credentials, and then reached into his shirt pocket and added another plastic card. “This gives you limited access to our hotel and venues, as long as we are present in those locations. Our security staff will be instructed to bar your entry when we are not there.”
“I have already warded our staff against mental and magical influences,” said Nick. “I will immediately detect any form of tampering. We’ll book you a room on the same floor as ours. But for safety’s sake, since we’ll usually be traveling by day, we think it would be best if you found your own transport from city to city.”
“Last, but most important,” Scott said coldly, “you are not, under any circumstances, to have any contact with the Magister without me being present.”
Nick turned to the Sentinel in obvious surprise.
Lorcan, watching them, his vampire senses fully primed, immediately saw the unmistakable signs of silently shifting emotions. They were conversing telepathically. “Fire and Darkness.”
The Journeymen snapped their attention back to him. “What’s wrong?” asked Nick.
“You’re one of them—one of Luscian’s hybrids.” Lorcan stared at Nick in undisguised horror. “The two of you are linked, aren’t you? You’re a dyad.”
“Yes, we are,” Nick answered, fixing him with a sour expression. “Is that a problem, Lorcan?”
“No, my Lord,” he whispered, continuing to stare at Nick, overwhelmed by pity. He’s linked to a mortal for life. Could there be anything worse? “If there’s nothing else, I will begin negotiations immediately and report my progress to you tonight after your concert.”
“By all means, Praetor. You are dismissed.”
Lorcan bowed to Nick and felt a window open in the jumper block that surrounded the building. “My Lord.” He nodded at Scott. “Consul.” Then he jumped away, back to
his morning refuge. Immediately, he collapsed against the wall and slumped to the floor. He took a deep breath, and forgot that Nick was his enemy in a rare moment of sympathy. “God help him.”
August 2034; Paris, France; Two weeks later
Lorcan knocked lightly on the warded door. After a moment, Nick appeared, leaning against the doorway and dressed in a faded blue T-shirt and white sweatpants. He left the ward intact, sealing the threshold of the doorway from entry as he frowned at the Nightwalker. “What do you want, Lorcan?”
Lorcan’s gaze was intent, even across the invisible threads of the ward. “Can I come in? I need to talk to you.”
“Can’t it wait?”
“No. I need to speak to you alone. If I wait until morning, Scott won’t allow it.” He smiled grimly. “He’s been quite an effective chaperone.”
“That’s his job. Why would I possibly want to speak to you alone?” Nick asked icily.
“Because I can almost guarantee you won’t want him to hear what I have to say.” He took a deep breath. “Nicholas, I swear on my life, on my honor, and on the honor of House Diluthical, that I mean you no harm tonight. Please let me in. It’s important.”
Nick considered Lorcan suspiciously. Then he reached out and laid his hand on the solid wall of air between them. “The way is opened.” The ward dissolved, and he stepped back to allow Lorcan across the threshold.
Lorcan entered and sat in the chair across from the couch. Locking the door and reactivating the ward, Nick then walked back to the couch and sat. He removed the shroud of invisibility over the bottle on the table, picked up his half-full glass of steaming red liquor, and put it to his lips.
“Would you mind sharing?” Lorcan licked his suddenly dry lips.
Nick pushed an empty glass toward him, and Lorcan filled the glass and warmed it. He sat back and took a sip, savoring the bloodwine. “Triple Voice?”
“Yes.” Nick nodded impatiently. “You said you had something to say to me, so go ahead and say it.”
Sunset (Pact Arcanum) Page 9
