Sunset (Pact Arcanum)

by Arshad Ahsanuddin

  Nick laughed at something Rory said and touched his wrist briefly, just above the point where Rory’s fingerless black leather gloves began. At the moment of direct physical contact, the Nightwalker’s senses sharpened, detecting something else.

  Sentinel.

  Are you kidding me? He quickly touched Nick’s hand in return, giving it a playful squeeze with his bare fingertips. No, not Sentinel yet, but definitely a strong Fire latent. Okay, this is way too dangerous. The taint of the Red Wind he carried would be more than enough to kindle a latent Gift if he let his shields slip in the throes of passion. Rory knew blowing Nick off and leaving the party was clearly the safest course. Yet he felt strangely reluctant to end the conversation. There was something about the way Nick looked at him—the way he paid attention to every word, so animated, so full of life. He wanted to stay. Despite the danger to them both, he wanted to let Nick seduce him, wanted to feel those eyes focus on him with desire. He wondered what it would be like to feel Nick’s hands on his body, those lips on his skin. Wow, that image was not helping. Rory struggled to bring his emotions under control.

  “Looks like the party’s winding down,” Nick said. “I have a room in the hotel upstairs. You want to come up and chat?” The invitation was clear, the anticipation in his scent overwhelming. Rory needed to leave now—right now, before this went any further.

  Instead, he heard himself say, “Sure, that would be great.”

  What the hell am I doing? he thought as Nick led him upstairs. Sleeping with a latent Sentinel was sheer lunacy. If Rory were able to die, it would have been suicide. Do I really want to wake up next to a homicidal vampire hunter? He was still trying to figure it out when Nick let them into his room, gesturing to two couches facing across from each other.

  Nick poured two shots of whiskey from a half-full bottle on the coffee table, then leaned back into the couch, glass in hand. “So, Rory, are you still taken?” Nick didn’t bother dancing around what he wanted.

  Captivated by the naked heat in Nick’s eyes, the desire in his scent, Rory thought, He wants me. It’s been a long time since anyone looked at me like that.

  “No,” he said.

  “His loss.” Nick smirked. “Or was it her loss?”

  “His.” Rory sipped his whiskey, feeling the burn of the alcohol as he swallowed. “I let him go.”

  “Really?” Nick raised an eyebrow at that. “Why?”

  “He deserved better.” God, I don’t want to talk about this. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “It was the right thing to do. There’s absolutely no doubt in my mind. I just didn’t expect it to hurt so much.”

  And just like that, the flames burning in Nick’s eyes went out. He hunched forward over his drink. “Yeah, you never do.”

  Shocked at Nick’s change in demeanor, Rory opened his senses a little more. Anguish. Regret. Loss. Pain. Oh, damn. I was just talking. Nothing I said was meant to wound. He put down his glass and reached out to clasp Nick’s hands, wishing he didn’t have to let the leather gloves come between them. “You too?”

  For a moment, he thought Nick wasn’t going to answer, but when Nick finally spoke, his voice rasped with longing. “I have no right to feel like this. He was never mine. I always knew he was straight, that he wanted the wife and kids, the whole white picket fence. So I never told him. I hid it from him every second of every day. I didn’t want him to feel guilty about not loving me back.” Nick pulled his hands free from Rory’s and slumped in his seat. “It was the right decision. I know it was. But when I see him with her, when I see how happy he is, I just want to die.” He looked up at Rory, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “I never thought it would hurt this much either.”

  Rory felt his heart turning over and over, tumbling into those eyes, so vividly blue—like the morning sky Rory hadn’t seen in more than a decade. “Who was it?” he whispered.

  Nick gave him a crooked smile. “You first.”

  “Takeshi.”

  Nick hesitated. “Scott.” He looked at Rory. “I never told anyone before.”

  “I’m honored.” And he meant it. “It can be our secret, if you like. A confidence between friends.”

  Nick sighed and hung his head. “We’re not going to fuck, are we?”

  “Do you still want to?”

  Nick shook his head. “Not right now.” He reclaimed his glass and took a sip of whiskey. “If we’re not going to have sex, you might as well tell me about Takeshi and why you think he’s better off without you.”

  “Are you going to tell me about Scott?”

  Nick thought for a minute. “A secret between friends?”

  “Of course.”

  Nick smiled, and the light Rory had so desperately wanted to see again crept back into his eyes. “All right.”

  February 2040; Armistice Security Headquarters, Anchorpoint City, Grand Mesa, Colorado; Three weeks after public exposure

  Takeshi entered Rory’s studio from the neighboring office, having changed into black jeans and a thin white sweater. He sat at Rory’s desk, ignoring the green suit jacket draped over the back of the chair. The Sentinel silently regarded the canvas beneath his lover’s suddenly-still brush. It was illuminated by light from the globes of mystic fire that topped the surrounding spires of the city and streamed through the windows now that it was dark enough for Rory to turn off the flare shielding.

  “Good likeness.”

  Rory’s brow furrowed as he looked more closely at the canvas he was painting. He was just going for random shapes, wasn’t he? Then he realized what Take had seen: the suggestion of a face, the lopsided curve that could be a crooked smile, and the bright topaz-blue orbs above. It was Nick, as he had been the night they became friends. Fuck. Even my subconscious mind is conspiring against me tonight. Rory sighed, laid his brush and palette down on the stained wooden cabinet next to his easel, and then drew a cover over the unfinished painting to protect it.

  Rory felt his lover watching him as he silently cleaned the paint from his brushes, inhaling the pervasive scent of turpentine and linseed oil.

  “Are you all right?” Take asked.

  Moving to the window, Rory stared down at Eastern Boulevard below. It spiraled out from the central tower of Armistice Security Headquarters toward the Anchorpoint master gateway on the periphery of the city, which maintained their teleport network connection to the Citadel.

  “I’m sorry, Take.”

  Takeshi sighed. He stood, walked over to the Nightwalker, and wrapped his arms around Rory’s chest. “I understand. Honestly. I know how much Nick means to you.”

  Rory snorted. “Maybe you do, but I doubt anyone else does.”

  Take brought his lips close to Rory’s ear. “Then you’d be wrong.”

  Rory turned to look at Take in surprise. “Wait, what are you saying?”

  “Ana and I both had serious issues with you after Jiao-long,” Take admitted. “But we were still the closest friends and coworkers you had, until you and Nick became friends. I wasn’t the only one who saw how much you changed when you were around him. Ana knew how much Nick suffered because of our failure, and how far you went to avenge him. She saw how you wept after seeing what Luscian did to him. All those years we’ve been together, and she’s only seen you cry when Nick was in pain. She knows you love him. How could she not?”

  Rory swallowed, and stared out over the city lights. “She never said anything.”

  “Not to you. But she said plenty to me. When you and I finally made up, she kept trying to convince me to dump you. She thought you wouldn’t be able to love both of us and still be faithful to me.”

  Rory sighed and laid his hands over Take’s. “I have always been honest with you.”

  “I’m not jealous. I told her you promised never to touch him or tell him how you felt as long as we were together, unless he came to you first. She didn’t buy it, but she was willing to reserve judgment if I believed in you. It took her five years, but she’s finally beginning to b
elieve in you again, too.”

  Rory closed his eyes and leaned into his lover’s embrace. “Is that why she was willing to bury the hatchet? Because I haven’t cheated on you with Nick?”

  “Obviously, it’s not the only reason, but it’s a big one. You betrayed us both when Jiao-long turned you,” Take said softly. “She didn’t think you were worthy of trust. But she’s watched you give up your claim on someone she knew you wanted badly, even though the temptation has been within your reach for years. This last year was especially telling. She knows how territorial Nightwalkers are about their mates, and you continued to yield to Lorcan for my sake.”

  Rory laughed bitterly. “So now I owe my relationship with Ana to that fucking Court flunky?”

  “It opened a door. You were the one who was willing to walk through.” Take reached up and turned Rory’s head to face him again. “Rory, stop beating yourself up about this.”

  “I don’t want to have to wait another twenty years for her forgiveness.”

  “It won’t be that bad this time.” Takeshi smiled. “At least, not once we all get used to giving interviews again.”

  “Interviews?” Naked terror contorted Rory’s features.

  Take laughed at his lover’s dismay. “Nick thinks we can mitigate the public relations damage if we spin you into the poster boy for the Children of Darkness.”

  “Takeshi,” said Rory, gulping like a fish, “Nick wouldn’t do that to me.”

  Take leaned over and kissed him, still smiling. “You might be surprised at just how pragmatic Nick has become in five years. You’re not just the drum line now, Rory. It’s your turn to sing lead. The two of us will be sharing your spotlight this time.”

  “No, Take, no.” Rory began hyperventilating. “This is a terrible idea. I can’t do it. I have to call Nick.” He started to push free of Takeshi’s arms.

  Take pulled Rory back to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around his lover, not bothering to stifle his laughter. “After all these years, and everything we’ve been through, you still have stage fright? That’s so cute.”

  “Don’t make me do this.” He struggled weakly. “Please. I can’t.”

  Take kissed the back of Rory’s neck and began to undo the buttons on his shirt. “Don’t worry so much, baby. Let me take your mind off it.”

  HOUSE JIAO-LONG

  CHAPTER 14

  February 2040; The White House, Washington, D.C.; One month after public exposure

  President Kevin Daniels sighed as the Director of National Intelligence, a career intelligence officer named John Mitchell, finished his report. He turned to look at the rest of the Cabinet. “So, after three weeks, what do we know? Magic is real and is a powerful weapon. Vampires are real. These Sentinels are real. They apparently possess advanced technology that we can only dream of. They have been fighting each other covertly within our borders and across the world for millennia, while we never knew a thing. They are currently organized in North America under an umbrella organization called the Armistice, and they are governed by a ruling council, called the Triumvirate, which has absolute authority. Their laws are apparently designed to prevent fighting among themselves, but are otherwise minimally restrictive of the actions of their citizens.

  He pointed at the surveillance photographs attached to the bulletin board at the foot of the conference table. “There are only five publicly identified members of the Armistice currently at large in the United States—six if we count the terrorist who apparently joined them—as well as about a dozen of their associates we have suspicions about. The unidentified members of the Armistice have complete and undetectable run of the country, their numbers are unknown, and they are free to do whatever they want with their supernatural abilities, as long as they hold to the terms of these two documents.” He tapped the copy of the Armistice Declaration and the Rules of Engagement in front of him and picked up the small blue business card. “What do we know about this so-called embassy?”

  The Director walked to the map of the United States on the wall, and touched the red pin in the nation’s capital. It was one of two-dozen similar pins marking the various Armistice facilities they had identified across the country. “It’s a converted office building in Georgetown. It appears to have a completely self-contained power supply, as well as some kind of energy-field-based security system we can’t penetrate. Similar security systems have been identified at several of the residences and businesses associated with the public members of the Armistice. The building has high-level voice, data, and satellite communications capability, and the firewalls around their computer systems have been completely impervious to our attempts to hack in.

  “The building itself was purchased about eight years ago, in cash, and is owned by a corporation that manages that property exclusively. Our searches have not turned up any of the officers of the corporation anywhere else in our available databases, so they almost certainly represent fictional aliases. The building underwent extensive renovation immediately after purchase by a construction company that is also fictional. Since the renovations began, the building has never been entered by any government or law enforcement official, and their building inspection records have been forged to appear up to date. Whatever is going on inside the building is unknown to us.”

  “So we’re flying completely blind in respect to these people,” said the President, standing from his chair to step closer to another bulletin board that held photographs and blueprints of the Washington Embassy. “Is that about the size of it?”

  Director Mitchell looked him straight in the eyes. “Yes, sir.”

  President Daniels walked back to his seat and flipped through the dossiers on the table. “The six individuals we know about, what have they been doing since they declared themselves?”

  “The terrorist, Jeremy Harkness, has completely dropped out of sight,” said Mitchell. “He has most likely taken refuge within the Armistice. The other five have been busily trying to generate media support for their organization by giving print, television, and online interviews at secured locations protected by the security systems we have already discussed. Almost all of our information about the history and capabilities of the Armistice comes from these sources, so it cannot be verified.”

  “So we have no answers we can trust,” said President Daniels. “And even so, we still need to make some kind of decision in the public’s best interest as to how to deal with them.”

  “Mr. President,” Secretary Matthews interrupted, “we have only one official information source while the Armistice has access to all the media exposure they could want. News outlets are engaged in a feeding frenzy, without any effort or ability to filter the truth of the Armistice’s claims. The public is receiving completely one-sided information, and we have not taken any action on their behalf that they can see. We are already being bypassed. There is a real danger that the decision about what to do will be taken out of our hands entirely.”

  President Daniels turned back to Director Mitchell. “I want you to set up a taskforce to monitor the Armistice, covering intelligence and covert operations as necessary. Recruit the best and brightest from all of the intelligence services. You have carte blanche as far as funding goes. Get me answers.”

  “It’s already being done,” Director Mitchell answered. “But it’s unlikely to get you anything useful before you will be forced to make a decision, Mr. President.”

  “So be it.” He handed the business card to the Secretary of State. “Set up a conference with the Canadian and Mexican governments as soon as possible so we can put together a coordinated response. In the meantime, start the ball rolling toward diplomatic recognition. There’s nothing we can do to these people, yet, so we might as well open a dialogue to find out what they want.” He stood, eyeing the seal of the President of the United States emblazoned on the wall across from him. “We have been chosen to lead our nation in a historic time, people. We will not falter in our duty, and we will follow this road through
to the end.” He turned and walked out as the other Cabinet members got up to leave.

  The Secretary of State called her assistants and passed on the President’s instructions. Then she looked at the card in her hand and carefully dialed the number printed at the bottom.

  “Armistice Embassy,” a pleasant voice answered. “How may we be of assistance, Secretary Matthews?”

  “I need to set up a meeting with Ambassador Jameson.” She didn’t bother to ask how the voice had identified her anonymous cell phone.

  “May I inquire as to your reasons and requirements for calling this meeting?”

  “I want to discuss the details of the Triumvirate’s application for diplomatic recognition.”

  “Stand by, Madam Secretary.” There was a silence on the other end of the line. Twenty seconds later, the voice spoke again. “Secretary Matthews, the Ambassador informs me that he would be happy to meet with you at a time of your convenience.”

  “Would tomorrow morning be acceptable?”

  “The Ambassador has assured me that he is at your complete disposal, Madam Secretary. The time and place are up to you.”

  Like a duel, she thought. “The State Department, nine a.m. tomorrow,” she said.

  “The Ambassador will be there.”

  “I look forward to it,” she lied and hung up. Glancing around the room at the trappings of power that surrounded her, she said, “We have been cursed to live in interesting times. God help us all.”

  March 2040; Rome, Italy; Two months after public exposure

  Alaricus walked the dark streets toward his home, allowing his senses free rein as he breathed in the night air. On the steps of his townhouse, he reached into his pocket for the keys and suddenly felt a biting pain in his upper back. Curious, he reached up to feel the source. Something small and hard was embedded in the meat of his shoulder. He pulled it free and examined it, taking in the long metal dart tipped with a wicked needle. He was still trying to understand what was happening when unconsciousness overtook him, and he collapsed.