by Tes Hilaire
“Mike!” she called, refusing to chase after him, but willing to meet him halfway and offer some sort of olive branch at least.
He spun around, his brow raised in question. She opened her mouth but he must have seen something he didn’t want to see in her face because he held up his hand, fending her words off. “Nope. Don’t say anything now. I’ll call you in a couple hours with whatever I’ve found at the apartment building.”
She ground her teeth, but tried to keep the hostility out of her voice. “And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe see a doctor. Get that damn stubborn head of yours examined,” he added as he spun around and stalked off.
Chapter 11
Logan fiddled with his cell phone while the rest of the council milled about, slowly filing out of the room. The stubborn piece of electronics remained frustratingly inert in his hand. No vibration meant no calls. Not that he’d necessarily get them. Even if there wasn’t the little problem of not being entirely in one realm or the other, Haven, though only a couple centuries old, was a maze of elaborate stonework, hand-smeared stucco, carved timber beams, and thick iron bracings. Logan wasn’t sure how much of the archaic design had been done as a hats off to the true origins of the Paladin order and how much of it was because its builders were simply old sticks-in-the-mud, but the result was something right out of the medieval era, and played just about as well with technology.
Normally Logan kind of liked the cut-off feeling he got when he was inside Haven. But there was nothing relaxing about being here today, at least not for Logan.
Jessica was out there. Unprotected and at the mercy of his enemies. Logan worried he’d made a fatal error—fatal for her that is. Trying to find a compromise between what the council would want and what he could stomach, he blocked her memories of the demon and made it virtually impossible to keep her safe. She had no idea the extent of the danger she was in. And she certainly wasn’t going to let him help her, not when her opinion of him had plummeted from an already dubious person of interest to stalker. It didn’t matter that he saved her from her two other attackers. In her mind, what obviously mattered was that he’d been following her.
He should have erased all her memories. Then at least he could have continued to discreetly follow her. As it was, however, she’d be watching for him and be just as apt to drag him in and stick him in a cell then to let him protect her.
“It was nice of you to show up, even if you were late.”
Logan lifted his head. The room was empty, the others having finally left after the long meeting. Logan would have gone too, anxious to get out and see if he’d missed any messages, but one look at his father’s face as he started to stand had been enough to make him sit back down.
Better to just get the verbal whipping over with. Logan had been late for the weekly council meeting after having missed the last one. Such infractions by the future leader of the council did not set a very good example, and were, therefore, completely unacceptable to his father. As the last pure-blooded Paladin, Logan would follow in his father’s footsteps, whether he wanted to or not.
Funny, he’d never minded the responsibilities of that fate before.
“I was unavoidably detained,” he said, slipping the cell phone back into his jeans pocket.
His father’s brow winged up. “By something more important than your duties? My, you shall have to tell me about it.”
Yeah, as if that would happen. His father would definitely not want to know about the human who occupied all of Logan’s waking hours—as well as most of his non-waking ones—for the last couple days. Not that dallying with a human would set his old man off—his father knew better than to play pot and kettle—but the fact that he allowed this particular one to become such a distraction?
Logan was still trying to rack his brain for a reasonable and acceptable excuse that could be twisted to fit within the confines of the truth when his father spoke again, startling him.
“Alex tells me you had to put a block on a human’s memories the other night.”
Logan blinked, barely managing to snuff the rest of his reaction. “We ran into her on the streets while chasing a succubus.”
“So Alex said.” His father leaned back in his seat, his eyes earnest as he looked at his son. “What Alex also said was that you ran into her again the next day.”
“We did,” he answered after a moment of hesitation. Damn, couldn’t Alex have given him a heads up on what exactly had been told to his father? Yeah, it would’ve been nice if the warrior could have not said anything at all, but truthfully, Logan didn’t expect that. His father was a tenacious bastard when it came to extracting information, and lately Logan and his activities were of primary interest. Especially since learning that Logan had associated with a vampire for the last ninety-four years…even if that vampire was once one of their own.
His father waited a couple beats, swirling the brandy in his glass. “I understand also that you recently saw your sister?”
“And if I did?” Logan asked.
“Nothing.” His father looked down at the amber liquid, as if it held all the answers to his questions. “I just wondered how she is.”
Logan folded his hands in front of him on the table. This was new. His father never asked about Karissa. Never. The fact that he did was a major breakthrough. One that sparked hope in Logan that the messed up family unit they had could someday be salvaged.
“You could ask her yourself,” he suggested carefully.
His father waved his hand, his tone suggesting he was sorry he’d said anything. “It doesn’t matter. Not after what that thing did to her.”
Logan’s fingers curled against the hardwood. He had to breathe deeply and force them back open. Calm and logical won with his father, not emotion. “It’s Roland. And he is one of us.”
His father slammed the glass down on the table, liquid sloshing onto the dark wood. “He is a vampire!”
“Not quite. Not any longer. Nor is your daughter.”
“Close enough,” he growled, picking up the glass, his hand rolling it on its edge against the table.
Logan clamped his mouth shut, a headache almost immediately brewing from how tightly he clenched his teeth. Nothing he said was going to change his father’s opinion. He waited as his father continued to play with his glass, then frowned as he realized he’d never actually seen his father sip from the glass. Not once. Not today. Not last week, month, or year…not in ninety-four years.
Mother. He hasn’t had a drink since Mother died. Logan wasn’t quite sure of the importance of that other than it seemed ass backwards. Shouldn’t his father be trying to drown his sorrows in liquor not sobriety?
Ahhh. Control. His father prided himself on his control. The liquor was a test to see if he still possessed it. A proof that he still had it and would not succumb to his emotions. Logan wasn’t sure whether to be proud of his father’s control or be concerned by it. It was that sort of control, after all, that had allowed the senior Calhoun to take a mixed-blood human lover, impregnate her for the sole purpose of producing offspring capable of becoming a Paladin warrior, then subsequently turn his back on both child and mother when they became unacceptable in his eyes.
“She is good then?” Calhoun Senior asked.
Logan cleared his throat, pressing this discovery and the grief that gripped him at the thought of his deceased parent to the back of his mind. “Karissa is doing exceptionally well. Her bond with Roland has curbed any unwanted cravings she suffers.”
His father’s lip curled back in disgust at the mention of cravings. Logan ignored it, continuing, “Her powers are also becoming stronger. Her empathy has increased in range and sensitivity and she can teleport with a lot less effort now.”
His father’s only answer was a back of the thro
at hum and a rhythmic tap on the table.
“She could use some training.”
His father looked at him sharply. “You just said she was doing well. Increasing in power even.”
“Yes, but her sensitivity to others’ emotions is taking its toll.” He waited a beat for his father to mull that over before offering his suggestion. “Bennett is an empath. He could teach her to shield properly.”
Logan’s father laughed at that. “Bennett, like most of your brothers, thrives on spilling vampire blood. He would as soon kill her as train her.”
“Bennett has already agreed to teach her if the council will approve.”
His father’s lips thinned at this little surprise. He became quiet for a long while. Long enough that Logan nearly stood up to leave him to his thoughts, but then his father said sharply, “Tell me about this human woman. Did there seem to be any slippage in your memory block when she saw you again?”
Logan tried to hide his flinch of surprise, but must have failed as his father sat up straighter, his jaw tensing as he stared down the table at his son.
“Well?”
“It didn’t slip,” he replied, shifting minutely in his seat.
“Then why do you seem so concerned?”
“I’m not, it’s just…” He leaned forward, hesitating for a second as he was torn between the need to know and the need to keep his interactions with Jessica private. “I’ve been, uh, monitoring her. To make sure I didn’t have to take further steps.” He didn’t offer what sort of steps those were—let his father figure it had to do with keeping the Paladin’s existence secret. “Anyway, last night she had another encounter. This time with a couple vampires and a demon.”
His father set his cup down with a snap. “A demon? You’re telling me a demon paired up with a couple vampires and went after a human?”
Logan nodded.
His father pulled at his bottom lip. “And you’re sure she has no Paladin blood?”
“Positive. Which is why I don’t understand why the demon and vampires would be working together. The vampires, yes, because the case she’s working on might have some tie-in, but I highly doubt Ganelon would have interest enough in that to send in his demons. Especially without a strong vampire leader anymore to request such a favor.”
His father’s eyes narrowed. “To clarify, you were following her when this attack occurred.”
“Well, yes. Like I said, I wanted to—”
“And did the demon attack with the vampires or after?”
Logan sucked in a breath as a horrible churning started in his gut. “It, uh, went after her as I was dispatching the vampires.”
“Have you lost your mind, Logan? Of course the demon attacked her. That demon probably followed you to her. You know they’ll use humans as collateral damage if it means gaining advantage in a fight.” His father shook his head in disgust. “I assume you dispatched the demon.”
Logan inclined his head, unable to pass enough air through his tightening esophagus to form words.
“Good. Then she should be safe. Ganelon can’t exactly question the thing if you purged it with His light.”
And all that tightness and churning froze over into icy shards in his stomach. The entire room spun to the point where he had to place both hands on the table, lowering his head.
Oh God, what had he done? He hadn’t used His light. He’d panicked and relied on a traditional banishment spell instead. That demon was currently boiling down in Hell’s tar pit of souls, and though it would take a sacrifice to resurrect the creature into form and substance, it could be done, especially if Ganelon wanted his demonic soldier back badly enough and was willing to pay the price. And given who the creature had been assigned to trail—Logan, one of the hated Calhouns—then there was a damn good chance Ganelon would be willing to do whatever sort of groveling it took to get the creature into his torture chamber.
Oh fuck. Fuck! If Jessica wasn’t already in danger, Logan had certainly put her there. Ganelon was going to get ahold of that demon, and it was going to tell Lucifer’s General about Logan’s unhealthy obsession with a certain NYC cop. At that point, whether the vampire attacks were coincidence or not wouldn’t matter anymore because Ganelon would not pass up the chance for revenge. Not when he could fuck over the grandson of one his most hated rivals by going after Logan’s mate. Logan’s human mate.
“Logan!”
Logan sat up, realizing his father had said his name a couple times now. “What?”
His father was looking at him with narrowed eyes and a suspicious pinch around his nose. “The human? She won’t remember this either, will she?”
A muscle in Logan’s jaw spasmed. Of all the things for his father to worry over, he would worry about that? But of course, it made sense. His father didn’t know what she meant to him. Not yet. “No. I blocked the encounter with the demon from her memories.”
“Well then I wouldn’t worry about it. As long as your memory wipe holds, we won’t have to do anything more.”
Logan tensed, his eyes narrowing on his father. “What do you mean anything more?”
“What do you think I mean, Logan? You know we cannot allow a mere human to know of our existence.”
Yeah, he did. But duty be damned, he was coming to the realization that he might have no choice but to break that most honored rule. He’d fallen for a human. A full human. And one in danger from an evil she couldn’t comprehend, didn’t believe in, and, warrior that she was, wouldn’t allow him to protect her from. And now he endangered her from another front too, because the thought of what his father might do if he had an inkling of his son’s growing emotional attachment to “a mere human” came to mind—none of them good.
He can’t find out. Ever. Nor would Logan allow her to die. Not when he had the means to protect her.
“This woman, is there anything else you need to tell me about her?”
“No.” Logan shook his head as he stood, pushing his chair back from the council table for perhaps the last time. “Nothing at all.”
***
Valin stared down at the cross in his hand, the citrine gem embedded in its center catching and reflecting the flames of the hearth’s fire. He was alone in the rarely used room—a catchall for all kinds of interesting things. Most Paladin were either too young, not powerful enough, or not smart enough to inquire about the sorts of treasures buried amongst the junk. Valin figured Calhoun senior didn’t realize he knew about the room either—most likely because the elder lumped Valin in with the later group—and doubtlessly would have a shit fit if he knew the Black Knight had been in here uncountable times to handle the holy objects hidden within. As if he might taint them with his darkness. Whatever.
Valin still remembered the shock Calhoun Senior got when Valin had been presented this very cross as part of the ceremony into joining the Paladin ranks. The stuck-up prick had probably assumed Valin was going to stand there, hopelessly clenching the inert relic for a time, before eventually tucking tail and taking himself forevermore from Haven’s sacred halls. What fun it had been to see the old man’s jaw drop open when the relic came alive at his request, bathing him with His holy light. And yeah, Valin probably didn’t need to rub his acceptance into the Paladin ranks with that over-the-top speech about how much he looked forward to serving Him and His chosen council with the use of his “unconventional” gifts, but he had, and been on the head councilmember’s shit list ever since.
Yeah, he’d definitely made his bed that day. The only thing that had made lying in it palatable was the presence of Angeline. With his acceptance as a Paladin had also come the ability to court her properly. Less than a month later he and Angeline were joined in the ceremony that proclaimed them pair bonded. And everything was golden and perfect for a good hundred years.
Until she died.
Valin ran his thumb over the carved etchings on the arms of the cross. Theoretically, if he held nothing but hope in his heart and a willingness to serve, speaking the ancient tongue aloud would open a gateway into His realm. Though, if he were discovered using it for anything other than ceremony he’d probably be kicked out of Haven—if not the brotherhood itself. Hell, there was a good chance it wouldn’t work anyway. He may be a Paladin, but there had always been a blight on his soul. A darkness that, even the first time, during his triumphant moment of acceptance, kept him from ever being comfortable in His light. And since the loss of Angeline?
Fuck. He wanted, no, needed to talk to her. More than his pair bond, she’d been his best friend. The one person he could really talk to and not feel like he was being judged. But what would he tell her? God I miss you, Angeline. Both you and Peanut. Though you’ll be happy to hear I’m finally accepting what happened. That I’m ready to try and live again. See, I think I may have finally found my true mate. Messed up, right, that I’m telling you this? Only I know you’re probably up there cheering me on. Except, maybe not. See, there is a little problem. She’s also a vampire and most likely a merker too. Oh, and though her soul is older, it happens to be trapped in the body of a teenager.
Yeah. That was just… messed up.
More likely the turbulent emotions he felt for the vamp were simply protectiveness. Seeing her in danger last summer, a hairsbreadth from death and still fighting… it had struck a chord in him. Here she was, proof that one could be of darkness and still fight for the light. He’d freed her, and then she’d helped him and Roland save Karissa. And then, before he could properly analyze why she had affected him so, she’d disappeared.
Until the other night. Or so he’d thought, for a brief moment. A very brief moment when he’d first seen the succubus.
But it wasn’t Gabby. Couldn’t be. The woman they chased was a succubus through and through. Not vampire, like Gabby. Yet something in the way she held herself, the angle of her head, the cock of her hip, echoed a memory from another dim street not that long ago. He hadn’t been able to resist the brush of his mind on hers, thinking maybe, just maybe…but all that brief touch had shown him was darkness. Death disguised as sex: the very mark of a succubus.
