Guardian by Blood

by Evie Byrne

  Chapter Eighteen

  Two soldiers in black technical gear jumped from the helicopter, holding automatic rifles. They stationed themselves on either side of the door, weapons at the ready, faces hard.

  “Get them safe,” Wat wheezed to Gunnar.

  Gunnar understood. Spreading his arms, he addressed his people. “Everyone behind me. Keep your weapons down.”

  “Good.” Wat nodded approval at Gunnar while leaning on Ivar for support. He was running on fumes. Mathilde had managed to spread some cooling salve on his face, but nothing more.

  The ragged crowd of Brunnrheimers fell into loose formation behind the imaginary line Gunnar had drawn, craning their heads at the chopper. They were unafraid—the gods had given them a proper Guardian and the Spring ran red. Still, the mothers sensibly held their children close, hiking the little ones up on their hips. Most of his people had marked their brows with blood from the fountain—for luck. In an out-of-body moment he saw their bloodstained faces, their furs and bone handled weapons, through the eyes of the outsiders. They looked like a pack of wolves.

  The soldiers found new purpose in guarding their prince. Without direction from Eva or that weasel subordinate of hers, Collins, they formed a corridor leading from the helicopter door. The moment the last one fell into place a tall, fair man leapt from the door, landing light on his feet, his cool, patrician features alert.

  That must be Faustin, Wat thought, suddenly feeling not only burnt and tired, but also inexplicably grubby and insignificant. Now, that’s a prince. Seems I’ve never seen a real one before. Faustin radiated power, and not just in his haughty bearing or his fancy, tailored clothing. He actually shone with it. Beside him, everyone else seemed like shadows.

  Apparently satisfied with what he saw, Faustin executed a graceful half-turn and lifted his hand toward the open door. A slender hand grasped it and Alya Adad did not so much jump to the ground as float down. Not that she was insubstantial in any way—he’d never seen a woman so tall—but her every move seemed to defy gravity, as if the laws of physics didn’t apply to her. He recognized her as a fighter—a hunter, even—by the smooth flow of her movements and her preternatural alertness. Then she smiled at Faustin, and he realized she was strikingly beautiful—not as woman is beautiful, but as a weapon is beautiful. Like Faustin, she glowed with power.

  Faustin returned her smile and the blatant intimacy of that exchange disturbed Wat’s old-fashioned sense of reserve. It wasn’t only that he felt exposed to some communication he ought not see, but also that they just didn’t care who witnessed it. It was obscene.

  Hands joined, heads moving in eerie synchronicity, they surveyed the scene, their expressions analytical and detached, as if witnessing it from some high vantage point. The lofty heights of their egos, he figured.

  Out of the corner of his mouth, Ivar said, “I’m trying to imagine one of them farting.”

  Wat smiled despite himself. No wonder Eva feared this woman so much. She hadn’t mentioned Faustin, but he was clearly as dangerous as Adad. Worried, he sought and found Eva—a small, dark figure stepping alone in the no-man’s land between his people and Adad’s troops.

  I am the Guardian. I am the Guardian.

  The words rang hollow in her head. The surge of confidence she’d felt at the changing of the waters evaporated at her first sight of Alya and Mikhail.

  Shit. I hope I’m smart enough for this.

  She was up against the two most powerful vamps in the U.S. People referred to Alya’s organization as “L.A.” and Mikhail’s as “New York,” but, in truth, both held, in fact or by proxy, their respective coasts. L.A. and New York were simply their headquarters— these two already controlled the biggest vamp population centers in the world. Now that they were united as mates, they had the interior states in their sights. They wanted to squeeze the whole country in their unholy embrace.

  Alya wore a long, red, form-fitting leather coat, the hood and cuffs trimmed with thick black fur. It struck Eva as a parody of the local Nanook-wear. She turned her glittering eyes toward Eva, who stiffened, half expecting a blow.

  “Sosa.” Alya purred in her low, throaty way. “Good to see you alive. I’d heard otherwise.”

  Eva bowed. “Apologies, sir. I was caught in the storm and only just returned.”

  Collins—the asshole—stepped forward, holding out his phone. “Sir, I must report that Hand Sosa is compromised. I have video proving—”

  “I don’t need your video. I can see the truth her eyes.” Alya did not even glance at him. “Leave us.”

  Collins bowed and faded backward, disappointed, but his face was still hopeful.

  “Toad,” Mikhail said under his breath. Alya’s mouth quirked in appreciation, but she kept her eyes on Eva.

  Eva focused all her energy on meeting Alya’s eyes without cringing. Now was the time to grovel. Alya appreciated a good groveling. Sometimes. Eva dropped to her knees. The snow cradled her shins, obscurely comforting her. She imagined drawing coolness from it and strength from the land beneath. “I have wronged my title, it is true, but I hope my wrongs may profit you more than my obedience.”

  Alya arched one brow, skeptical. And she wasn’t buying the groveling. “Get up out of the damned snow. What do you think you are, a husky?”

  Eva jumped to her feet. Alya glanced over at the Spring, which was still burbling blood. “Explain that. Did we miss the buffet portion of the evening?”

  Mikhail flared his fine nostrils. “It’s not human blood. It does not strike me as animal in origin, either. The scent is odd.”

  “But it is animal blood, of course.” Eva waved her hand vaguely at the Brunnrheimers behind her. What else would you expect from animal eaters? It’s certainly not filled with the mystical blood of the Earth Mother or anything like that. "It’s…uh…moose blood.” She prayed neither of them had ever smelled moose blood.

  They both recoiled in disgust. In princely terms, that meant Mikhail’s lips tightened at the corners, and Alya’s eyes widened a tiny bit. Encouraged, Eva added. “Several mooses, actually. Mooses? Meese?”

  From behind her, Wat said, “Moose is the plural of moose—though mooses is an acceptable archaic form.” He could barely stand, but he was lecturing. Bless his heart. What a remarkable, ridiculously stubborn, unbelievably sweet, two-toned, cat-eyed, fire-retardant schoolteacher she had fallen for. Turning around, she found Wat and the whole gang had gathered behind her. She motioned them forward. Both sets of princely eyebrows lifted.

  “Sir. Sirs. May I introduce you to the leadership of this village? You of course know Prince Gunnar. This is Watkin Freysson, his regent. Mr. Freysson suffered sun exposure while risking his life to see me back safely. And this is Maren—” Shit, she didn’t even know Maren’s last name. “Maren. The head of the Women’s Council.”

  “Women’s Council?” Alya said.

  “The Council governs internal matters; the prince, external.”

  Alya sniffed. “How appallingly democratic.”

  “And this is Ivar Freysson…” she hesitated, wondering how to explain him.

  Ivar grinned, his teeth flashing white. “Prince Gunnar’s bodyguard.”

  Alya turned her laser focus on him. “And why are you here? Your prince needs no guarding from us.”

  Ivar shrugged. “I wanted to get a closer look at you.” He actually gave her a slow once-over, his long lashes lowering, and then rising again. The crazy son of a bitch.

  The corners of Alya’s mouth rose. Thank god she was amused. “And are you pleased with what you see?”

  His eyes hooded. “How could I not be?”

  “Are you flirting with me, Ivar Freysson?”

  “Have you been married so long you’ve forgotten how it goes?”

  Alya’s hand shot out and grabbed Mikhail’s arm before he could move—no doubt saving Ivar from having his neck snapped. She smiled. “You have a pair on you, Mr. Freysson. I give you that. And you’re pretty. For a backwoods Jim Mo
rrison imitator, if you like that sort of thing. But believe me when I say you would not survive an hour in my bed.” She shot a speaking glance at Mikhail from under her eyelashes.

  He returned her glance with a look so molten that Eva took an involuntary step backward. Mikhail said, “He’d never get the opportunity to try, my heart.”

  Eva gritted her teeth at the mush. Ivar grinned, unrepentant. Wat studied his own boots. Maren fanned her hand in front of her face. Gunnar proved the most mature of all them all. “Ivar,” he said, all princely. “Be silent, or leave.”

  Now Alya’s attention turned on Gun. “Gunnar, have you grown in the last week?”

  He did not shrink under her inspection. He just answered quietly, “I believe I have.”

  Good prince! Good.

  Alya sighed. “Well, if this is the whole Scooby gang, let’s get to business. Where can we talk?”

  Eva knew none of the Brunnrheimers would let Alya Adad into their homes. Not even Wat, not without pleading. Maren stepped forward. “Come into the Grove, Miss Adad. It is the correct spot for parlay. The gods are present, and they listen.”

  Alya turned to Eva for explanation.

  She gestured toward the stand of trees. “The Grove is like their church, sir.” And she was amazed they’d invite outsiders in. They hadn’t even wanted her to go in earlier, and she wasn’t the Great Satan from Los Angeles—just Satan’s helper. But Wat didn’t seem surprised, so she figured it was yet another custom of theirs that she didn’t know about.

  Ivar loped ahead to clear the Grove of stray Brunnrheimers and dogs. The rest of the party followed more slowly, Gunnar supporting Wat, an armed escort flanking Alya and Mikhail. At the gate to the Grove, negotiations ensued. Maren said the escort could not come in, and that everyone must leave their weapons outside. Alya and Mikhail countered that they could not enter the space outnumbered. Maren explained it was a sacred space, where violence was absolutely forbidden. Alya insisted that she and Mikhail should be allowed arms to make up for their lack of a guard. This the Brunnrheimers rejected absolutely. Tempers flared. Eva thought the negotiations would end right there.

  Ivar broke the standoff by volunteering to stay outside with Alya’s guard. “Wat’s too crisped to cause any harm, Maren can’t hit worth a damn, Gunnar is all feet, and Eva is a midget. With me out of the picture, what have you two got to worry about?”

  Smart of him to put their pride on the line. The royal pair agreed to go in on the condition that Mikhail be allowed to enter the space first, alone, to search for traps. Maren, hands tucked up her sleeves, nodded amicably. “You’re welcome to look around, sure. But you still can’t take in any weapons.”

  Eva covered her mouth to hide a smile. How long since anyone had dared tell these two what to do? Mikhail gave Maren a curt nod and stripped himself of weapons, pulling one handgun from a shoulder holster, another from his belt, and handing them to one of his guards. Next came the knives. One slid out of his sleeve. Another came from his belt. A third came from his boot…

  Wat leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “Did he bring his entire armory?”

  “This is nothing,” she whispered back. “I bet that is what he carries every day.”

  “Imagine living that way. Sad.”

  Faustin went into the Grove. While they waited, Eva thought about what Wat had said. She’d never considered a prince an object of pity. When Mikhail returned, long minutes later, he looked…she couldn’t place his expression. Puzzled, perhaps. It was odd to see any expression on his face.

  He and Alya shared one of their speaking glances. Without any further conversation, she twitched her two favorite throwing knives from her sleeves, pulled another from her right boot, and handed over her beloved hammerless Laughridge .45. Maren took a work knife from her belt and jammed it into the doorpost. The pocked wood there told Eva this was how the locals left their weapons at the door. Wat did the same as Maren. Gunnar didn’t have a knife. Eva pulled the little curved from her pocket and prepared to thrust it into the post.

  Wat raised his hand. “That isn’t an ordinary knife. It can go inside.”

  “It must always stay with you,” Maren added.

  Eva turned to Alya. Alya eyed the puny three-inch blade. “Keep it. It’s a symbol of your defection, isn’t it?”

  “To tell the truth, I don’t know what it is yet, sir.” But she did know she liked holding it her hand. Under her fingers, the handle was the temperature of human skin.

  They filed through the entrance. The moment she entered the Grove, Eva understood cathedral architecture. The vast spaces, the rows of massive columns, the soaring, arching, interlocking vaults overhead—cathedrals were stone recreations of sacred groves like this one.

  She turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. Tiny candle lanterns winked from tree branches all over the Grove, echoing the stars above. In the center of the Grove twelve enormous, bare-limbed trees stood in a half circle. She didn’t know what kind of trees they were, having never taken any interest in trees before, but they were pale-skinned and graceful, despite being so massive. Their smooth branches wove together high above, forming a sort of roof or canopy over what looked like the altar. The trees breathed serenity, but the Grove itself was heavy with a listening silence.

  A shiver passed through her. There’s a lot more here than trees.

  Alya and Mikhail walked forward slowly, cautiously. Even they did not seem tall in the Grove.

  “Once we were many,” Maren said, her voice half-swallowed by the heavy silence. “In the old days, during the Gatherings, we filled this space.”

  Alya shivered. “The only problem is it’s no warmer in here than it is out there.”

  Maren led them to the sheltering half-circle. There stood a three-legged brass brazier, filled with glowing embers. It put out a little heat.

  Maren took a moment to sprinkle incense over the coals and murmur a quick prayer. A waft of warm spice filled the air. “We like to do these sort of talks standing up, right here. It’s not as comfortable as sharing furs and a fire, I know, but it cuts the jawing.”

  Alya nodded—like Mikhail, she could not argue with Maren’s practicality—and shifted into business mode. “We came because the result of this situation is near to our hearts.” Turning to Eva, she said. “Dominick kept me informed of your delaying tactics, Sosa. I was willing to wait to see what you would deliver. When you fell out of communication, we decided to come and evaluate the situation for ourselves, as we were traveling anyway.” She waited for Eva to explain herself.

  Oh gods, ghosts, and talking foxes, help me now if you’re going to help me at all. Eva took a deep breath, clasped her hands behind her back, lifted her chin, and reported to her prince, as she had so many times. “Sir. When I arrived, I realized that the Brunnrheimers were nothing like we’d expected. Different tactics were required. A whole new plan.”

  Alya frowned. “Brunnrheimers?”

  “These people. This village is called Brunnrheim.”

  Alya nodded impatiently, uninterested, but Eva added, “Paul Halverson did not reside here, you know.” And these people shouldn’t be held accountable for his actions. “One of the first things I learned was that the residents were prepared to die in battle or kill themselves outright rather than leave their homes. As you had instructed me not to use violence as my first recourse, I had to take the threat seriously, even if it turned out to be a bluff. As I learned more, I discovered that they weren’t bluffing. This fact is critical in understanding these people. They do not react to threats like a typical population.

  Alya turned to Gunnar, her smile sharp as a razor. “So, you’re not afraid to die?”

  He stood even taller. “None of us are.”

  Alya’s smile did not falter. She added sweetly, “Are you afraid to suffer?”

  Gunnar went pale.

  Eva hurried on. “I’m thankful I stayed and learned more about them. I’ve made several unexpected discoveries, one of which you
might find particularly compelling.” She sensed Wat next to her, bracing for the big reveal. Eva almost smiled. No big chips yet. They might get out of this with the secret of the Gift intact. “The women here have developed an effective female contraceptive. A tea.”

  Wat let out his breath. Eva watched Alya’s reaction carefully. If her prince had been poking around in Halverson’s memories, she already knew about the tea. And if she knew about the tea, she had to know about the sun resistance, too.

  Eva imagined Alya’s mind to be like Bluebeard’s castle, full of locked doors, each door hiding a dead prince. Sometimes Alya opened those doors and pillaged the rooms. In staff meetings, Alya often quoted her fallen enemies, speaking of them as if they’d been her friends. Perhaps in some weird way, these blood-ghosts were her friends. Lord knew she had no others, except maybe Dominick—until Mikhail came around.

  In that brief moment, Eva experienced two realizations. One was that she pitied the woman she’d looked up to all her life. She didn’t want to live like Alya Adad. Not anymore. The second realization was that Alya definitely hadn’t accessed Halverson’s memories. Like a good lieutenant, Eva had spent the last fifteen years reading Alya’s every tiny reaction. She knew her prince.

  Alya’s eyes narrowed briefly—as they always did when something genuinely interested her. Then they took on a subtle, shielded look, which meant she was hiding something. Damned straight she was hiding something—her ignorance.

  Eva hurried to cover for her. No need to ruffle Alya’s feathers. “No doubt you’ve already seen something about this through Halverson’s blood. Perhaps I can provide you with details?”

  Alya tilted her head in a queenly gesture of thanks. “Indeed. How reliable is this contraceptive?”

  “Very.” At least, I hope so.

  Maren frowned at her. Poor Maren didn’t know about any of this.