Sunset (Pact Arcanum)

by Arshad Ahsanuddin

  Her eyes widened. “Reception?”

  “Mr. President, are you telling us that this is your wedding night, and you’re spending it with us?” Jason asked incredulously.

  “Your son gave me back control over my life, sir. I needed to pay my debt to him before I could let myself live it. Jeremy understands.”

  Jason sighed. “Shit.” He stood and walked up to Nick. “I hate you, Nicholas Magister Luscian. I really do. But my son forgave you for what you did, so who am I to judge?” He held out his hand. “I will see you at the memorial service.”

  Nick reached out and shook his hand. “Yes, sir. You will. I grieve for the loss of your son. If there is ever anything I can do for you, for either of you, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “Thank you for carrying out his wishes,” Margaret stared at the bound books on the coffee table.

  “It was my honor, Ma’am.”

  She nodded and reached out to pick up the book with her name on it, still not looking at him. “Goodnight, Mr. President. I think it’s time for you to leave now.”

  Nick turned to her husband, whose face was twisted with equal parts anger and despair.

  “I think you’re right,” Nick said.

  CHAPTER 47

  Armistice Embassy, Ottawa, Ontario

  Rory watched as Take and Jeremy concentrated, totally absorbed, on the chessboard in front of them. Despite the music and the dancing all around them, Jeremy had flatly refused to go anywhere near the dance floor, so several of the reception guests had taken time away from the festivities to watch the game. It had taken subtle maneuvering on Rory’s part to rope his lover into playing, but he knew Take would be hooked once presented with a tactical problem to solve.

  Satisfied that the two were completely engrossed, Rory went in search of his quarry. It didn’t take long to find him. He was standing alone at one end of the banquet hall, watching the last light of the setting sun slip below the simulated horizon. “Imperator Ruarc.”

  Lorcan, dressed in a beige suit embroidered with the seal of House Diluthical surrounded by a serpent biting its tail, turned to face him. “Redeemer,” he said with mild surprise.

  “How are you coming along with the Fifth Council, Huntmaster?”

  “As well as can be expected, my Lord Traveler. They couldn’t oppose my elevation, since I had the most seniority in the Court after I assassinated the rest of the Fourth Council, but they’re certainly less than pleased to have a Daywalker set over them, let alone to have House Diluthical raised to primacy. The only thing that would have angered them more would have been if you, Nicholas, and Prince Layla had not chosen to withdraw your names from contention. The next century or two will be most critical in cementing my authority, but I’m confident I will eventually get them to fall in line without having to kill them all again.” He turned to face the darkening horizon. “And yourself, Redeemer? How do you find life as second to the Archangel?”

  “I could ask the same of you, Primogenitor Luscian.”

  Lorcan turned back around and smiled ruefully at him. “My Lord, Nicholas has released me from that duty, just as you released him from his. A head of state can owe no higher allegiance.”

  Rory smiled pleasantly, but his eyes did not. “Magister Diluthical, do you honestly expect me to believe that Nick is not your Master, no matter what titles you carry?”

  Lorcan scowled, tacitly conceding the point. “What do you want, my Lord?”

  “I want you to walk with me for a bit, Ruarc, before Nick returns from his errand.”

  “For what reason?”

  “Because I would rather not spoil Nick’s happiness today. If I wait until he’s here, the talk I want to have with you will probably end in bloodshed, and it doesn’t have to.”

  Lorcan’s eyes narrowed. “Do I take your meaning correctly, my Lord?”

  “Yes, Ruarc,” said Rory. “It is time for us to dance.”

  Red sparks chased themselves across Lorcan’s irises, but he kept his bloodlust tightly leashed. “Then lead the way, Magister Jiao-long.”

  Turning, Rory walked out of the banquet hall with Lorcan following close behind. Taking the stairs up to the second level, Rory made his way into Nick’s former office, now his own. He closed and locked the doors behind them, and then used his access codes to shut down the cameras. Making his way behind the desk, he removed two champagne flutes and a small bottle made of black glass from a cabinet, setting them on the desktop. “Join me for a drink, Imperator.”

  Lorcan watched, his expression calculating.

  “Please. It’s important.”

  Lorcan picked up the unlabeled black bottle and carefully stripped the metal foil from the neck. Using telekinesis, he drew out the cork. Then he poured a generous measure of red liquor into each of the two flutes and warmed them before placing the bottle back on the desk. “What shall we drink to, Redeemer?” he asked, picking up one of the glasses.

  Rory tapped the other flute against Lorcan’s, making a high-pitched chime. “To endings and new beginnings.”

  “To endings and new beginnings,” Lorcan said, closing his eyes momentarily as he took a sip. His eyes flew open immediately. “This is Selene.”

  Rory nodded. “Yes. Can you tell who they are?” He took another sip, savoring the taste.

  Lorcan rolled the flavor across his tongue. A small, involuntary sob broke from his lips. “Oh, Nicholas,” he said sadly. “Do you love him so much?”

  “They were meant for each other, Ruarc. The two of them will be together as long as Jeremy is alive. I have no doubt in my mind.” Rory took another sip, larger than before, focusing his attention completely on the soul echoes within. “But that’s not what I wanted you to understand. Taste again. Focus only on the echo of Nick. Find his heart.”

  Lorcan took a larger sip and concentrated deeply. Then his eyes opened, staring straight ahead. He blinked finally and turned in wonder to Rory. “Jeremy. Scott. You. Me. We are all here.”

  Rory set his glass down on the desk. “He is at peace, Ruarc. He’s finally living his life as he wishes, without our interference.”

  Setting his glass down beside its twin, Lorcan asked, “Why have you shown this to me, Traveler?”

  “Someday, hopefully a long way in the future, there will be just two of us instead of four.” Rory focused all of his senses on Lorcan. “I once told you that if Nick found it in his heart to love you, I wouldn’t stand in his way. Can you make me the same promise?”

  Lorcan snarled. “I will never yield to you, my Lord.”

  Rory shook his head. “I’m not asking you to. I’m asking whether you can yield to Nick, if I do the same. Can you stand by and let him choose, without trying to influence the outcome?”

  “You would have me simply sit back and wait for him? Are you so naïve to think I will do nothing to bring him back to my side? You expect me to just cross my fingers and hope he turns to me?”

  “He might choose you,” said Rory. “He might choose me. But eternity is a long time, and not everything lasts forever. He could always change his mind. He may even find a way to be with us both.”

  Lorcan regarded his rival with surprise. “That is not possible, my Lord. Formal matings are always monogamous. It cannot be otherwise.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, Huntmaster, Nicholas rewrites all the rules. He doesn’t give a damn about convention when it comes to following his heart. Right now, we’re both in the running—but only if we let him decide for himself. If we continue to fight over him, sooner or later I will be forced to kill you, and he will lose another person he loves. Do you really want to put him through that?”

  Lorcan sighed. “No.” He drew himself up straight. “Sean Magister Jiao-long, if Nicholas finds it in his heart to love you, then I will not stand in his way.” He smiled, a predatory grin that revealed his gleaming fangs. “However, your alternate proposal is one I hadn’t considered. It bears careful thought. Perhaps, if each of us declines to press our own suit
forward, we might instead pursue a more, shall we say, cooperative arrangement?”

  Rory raised his eyebrows. “Wait. You’re not suggesting we actually try to seduce him, are you? Both of us together?”

  Lorcan’s face grew somber. “Someday, Redeemer, when the time comes, he will need our love and support to survive. He has tied himself to too many mortals: Jeremy, Scott, his family. Their deaths will gnaw at his spirit forever afterward. We have been friend and lover to him. Who better to catch him when he falls? We need not fight, my Lord, if the outcome is already decided between us that we shall both win.”

  Rory regarded him thoughtfully. Then he reached out and picked up his glass of Selene once more. “Ruarc, my name is Rory. Feel free to use it.”

  “It is my honor to know you, Rory.” Picking up his own champagne flute, Lorcan tapped the rim against Rory’s. A pure tone chimed in the silence. “To a long and fruitful partnership.”

  Rory smiled. “To partnership.”

  Lifting their glasses, they both drank to the future.

  * * *

  Layla strolled through the small formal garden behind the embassy, alone now that most of the guests had returned to the reception. Spreading her arms wide, she opened her senses, drinking in the sensations of the cool breeze on her skin and the fragrances of the flowering plants kept vital by warming spells. She noticed a dead space in her psychic field at the same time as she heard the extra heartbeat. Turning to face the intruder, she found Toby standing quietly at the entrance, watching her.

  “Come in, Tobias, if you have something to say.”

  Toby stepped carefully down the worn stone steps to stand in the center of the garden next to her. “Magister Curallorn,” he said, “may I have a moment of your time?”

  Layla lowered her arms to her sides. She’d been expecting a confrontation some time ago, but as the months passed, she had put it aside in her mind. “By all means, Primogenitor Luscian. Have you come to defend your brother’s honor?”

  Toby smiled slightly. “I considered it for a while. I was pretty pissed off when you finished laying out exactly how you had been screwing with his life. A year ago, I would have been all up on your case about it.”

  Layla regarded him with curiosity. “And what changed?”

  “I opened my eyes,” Toby said. “And I learned to appreciate tactics.” He turned his eyes to the garden and bent to stroke the petals of a rose. “You forced Lorcan to leave because you thought Nick was using him as a crutch to avoid forming stronger relationships. And you objected to Jeremy’s entrance into the Armistice because you thought he’d be a distraction from Nick’s duties. Everything you’ve done was to separate him from his support mechanisms. To force him to stand on his own two feet.

  “That’s why you didn’t intervene with the duels—so he would learn to fight beyond his limits, not just for himself, but for someone else, as well. All I know is that he hasn’t shown any interest in drugs since Icarus died. Maybe all your scheming and manipulation finally gave him the strength to live with his problems, rather than escape them.” Toby picked one of the smaller rosebuds and held it out to her. “So for that, I thank you.”

  Taking the red blossom, Layla threaded it through one of her loose braids. “Nicholas had much the same reaction in the end. The two of you have a great deal in common, Tobias Primogenitor Luscian. The same reason, intelligence—the same honest sincerity.” She smiled warmly. “I can see why you both seem to have so many suitors. It is an attractive combination.”

  Toby colored slightly. “Suitors?”

  Layla grinned, the point of her fangs peeping from between her full lips. “I have read your Armistice Security background biography. You left quite a trail of broken hearts over your musical career. I’m surprised you didn’t bring a date to the ceremony, or were you planning to hunt for one during the wedding reception?”

  Toby grinned. “Something like that.” His eyes wandered over the carefully cultivated flowerbeds for a minute, and then he tilted his head to gaze at her with a smile. “Do you like jazz, Layla?”

  Surprise danced across her face. “I keep abreast of the cultures of my people—those the Europeans brought in chains to America. Blues and jazz, while quite different from the music I enjoyed in my youth, entertain and soothe the mind when done well. Why do you ask?”

  Toby subvocalized to his AI and music filled the garden, mostly trumpet and saxophone, with the occasional violin. He held out his hand to Layla, his eyes bright above his wide grin. “Would you care to dance, my Lady?”

  Layla let him lead her through the first dance, but she remained strangely uneasy. There was something less than innocent about Toby’s boyish charm, almost as if he had another agenda. Opening her senses fully to study him, she teased out the threads of emotion that ran through his mind. Pleasure, happiness, calculation, and something else, something she hadn’t seen for some time, something almost like…desire. She froze as the first song ended and a second began.

  Toby grinned at her. “Would you care to lead this time, Lady?”

  Layla just glared at him. “Tobias, I have engineered the rise and fall of entire civilizations. You must believe yourself quite the ladies’ man indeed, if you think you can seduce me.”

  His grin faded somewhat, but he continued to smile. “You are the Master of your house, the spider in the center of your web. I am a Sentinel without a grouping—second-in-command of a vampire house made up entirely of mortals, named Death, for it will surely come for us all. You’re alone at the top, and so am I. Perhaps we could be alone together?”

  Layla was appalled. His proposal was logical and reasoned, clearly not something he had thought of extemporaneously. Having already considered the implications, he was actually willing to give it a go. She shook her head, astonished. “You are twenty-five years old, child. Set your sights on someone reasonable.”

  Toby’s smile vanished. “I am a Fire Sentinel with no team. Those groups are almost all closed to me, and they’re the only ones who might understand who I am. Should I date humans and introduce myself as a musician and part-time combat magician? Who else is left who wouldn’t be more interested in attaching themselves to the Primogenitor Luscian than to plain old Toby Jameson?”

  “You are not plain, Tobias,” Layla said sincerely. “And you are certainly not old. Not like I am old.”

  “You’ve been alive for five thousand years, Layla. Tell me, what keeps you going after all that time? Is there some warmth that makes all the games worthwhile? Someone who took the time to understand?”

  She sighed. Why am I even having this conversation? “There are small pleasures where I find them. But no, I have no partner. No one I have met in thousands of years has been my equal, and I will not settle for less than that.”

  Toby grinned widely, and she realized that somehow she had stepped into a trap—one not of her own making.

  “Maybe you’re looking in the wrong place, Layla, trying to find an equal when what you really need is an opposite.”

  “And you think you are the man for the job?” Her haughtiness was matched only by her incredulity.

  “You could do worse. And so could I.” Toby smirked.

  Amused by his circular logic and brash enthusiasm, Layla studied him carefully. As the third song began to play, she held out her hand. “Then perhaps I will lead, after all.”

  * * *

  Back on the main floor, the teleport gateway next to the banquet hall flared and Nick, flanked by Scott and Ana, appeared in the center of the pattern. The Sentinels immediately sought out their families while Nick looked around for his husband. Finding him, Nick was captivated by Jeremy’s gray eyes, which lit up as they fixed on him. A whisper swept through his mind—a single word echoing loudly between his inner and outer mental shields. “Mine.”

  Nick grinned and reached out to the presence in his thoughts. “Yours,” he silently agreed, walking down the aisle toward his husband. Take, staring down at the chessboard in disbe
lief, reached out and tipped over his king. Muttering under his breath, the Wind of Earth got up to leave as Nick took a seat next to Jeremy.

  “I love you, Leshir,” Nick said, kissing Jeremy’s cheek.

  Jeremy gave him a crooked grin. “I’m not your Leshir anymore, Nicholas. I’m your husband.”

  Nick nuzzled his neck. “You’re still my Leshir, Sentinel Jameson. You always have been.”

  Jeremy’s forehead wrinkled in confusion.

  “Damn. You don’t know, do you?” said Nick, surprised.

  “Know what?”

  “Nightwalker titles have changed over time to mirror human societies, but the word ‘Leshir’ comes straight from Arcolin, to remind the Nightwalkers of what they lost.” Nick rolled his eyes, amused. “All this time and I completely forgot you wouldn’t have a clue what it means.”

  “I thought it meant Prince Consort.”

  Nick traced Jeremy’s cheekbone gently. “That’s just how it’s used, Love. Not what the word actually means.”

  Leaning into Nick’s touch, Jeremy whispered, “Then what does it mean?”

  Nick kissed him deeply and extended a tendril of thought to send the word directly to Jeremy’s mind. “Soulmate.”

  When Nick broke the kiss, Jeremy leaned back in his seat and stared at his husband. Then he smiled and stood, reaching for Nick’s hand. “Come on,” he commanded. “There’s something I read about in the writings of Jacob of Glastonbury, something I’m finally ready to try.”

  Nick let Jeremy lead him down the center aisle to the dance floor. “Jeremy, you hate dancing.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then just relax and let me into your mind.”

  Nick stood silently, feeling Jeremy touch his mind lightly, then more concretely, as the telepath insinuated himself deeply into Nick’s thoughts. Suddenly, Nick was floating, carried along in the current of Jeremy’s telepathic power. His husband’s voice echoed all around him. “Feed on me, Nick.”