Reckoning (The Arotas Trilogy #2)

by Amy Miles

  “I’m sorry.” Roseline walks from the room without a backward glance. The instant she is out of sight, she crumbles back against the wall. She holds her head in trembling hands as tears burn her eyes.

  William rushes to the doorway and calls her name. Roseline turns to look back at him over her shoulder as tears rolls down the curve of her cheek. He winces but shoves his shoulders back, determined. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” she asks.

  “For letting Sadie go.”

  Chapter 4

  Roseline’s bag lies open on top of a bed in one of the many spare rooms in Nicolae’s home. It bulges with fatigues, weapons and miscellaneous supplies. She sinks down onto the maroon down-feather blanket, winding the laces of a pair of military grade boots around her ankles.

  She fights hard not to think about Sadie two floors below. Her intense argument with William lasted nearly an hour before everything fell silent. Roseline’s stomach rolls with guilt.

  She never should have gone to Chicago. Never allowed herself to care about the siblings. It was her own weakness, her selfish desire for a normal life that drove them to this point. She tosses two pairs of pants into her bag, annoyed with herself.

  “I’m surprised you’re still here,” a voice calls from behind.

  She whirls around, dropping into a protective crouch, silently scolding herself for being so careless in a hunter’s home. Nicolae grins, leaning heavily against the dark mahogany doorframe. “Second time you let someone sneak up on you today. I guess I should be proud of that.”

  “Actually it’s the third, but you only get credit for two of those,” she snaps. Roseline instantly chides herself. He did just save her life. “Nice to see you on your feet again,” she amends.

  “It’s good to be alive.” He steps into the room, his hand skirting along the rich navy blue and maroon stripped wallpaper for support. “I saw Grigori downstairs. Looks like you didn’t bother to ask for these supplies.” He points to her small pile on the bed.

  The springs of the mattress creak as Roseline shoves a black tank top into her duffel bag. “I didn’t realize I had to ask permission from your chauffeur.”

  Nicolae chuckles to himself. His fingers run along the wainscoting that hugs the lower half of the wall. “You really don’t pay attention to much, do you?”

  Her hand clenches tightly around a pair of socks. She raises her head to look at him. The flickering light from the golden candle sconces beside his head creates a dim halo around his head. “Do you really think Sorin would have some lowly servant drive him around?” Nicolae asks.

  Of course not. She inwardly berates herself for another slip. Nicolae is right. Four mistakes in one day is beyond pathetic, it’s dangerous. She must focus if she has any chance in tracking down Gabriel.

  “He got in my way. I moved him. Simple as that,” she says, knowing that breaking Grigori’s nose is the most fun she’s probably going to have for a while. The floorboards creak underfoot as she moves to retrieve a pair of black pants from the glossed wooden chest-of-drawers beside her.

  “Well, it’s nice to see you are back to full health.”

  Her head falls to the side as she exhales deeply. The pinched skin around her eyes softens as she turns to face him. “I suppose I should thank you.”

  Nicolae blinks rapidly as through trying to wrap his mind around her gratitude. “Nah. That would make things awkward between us.” He waves her off.

  Roseline scoffs, shifting to lean back against the chest. “More than they are now?”

  Who would have thought she was capable of having a civil conversation with a hunter, in his own home, no less?

  “Good point,” he chuckles with a slow, disbelieving shake of his head. He approaches with a hint of a limp, each step labored. His fingertips brace against the bedside tabletop, as if struggling to ward off a dizzy spell.

  “Are you ok?” Roseline asks, brow furrowing

  “I’m fine.” His chest hitches as he slowly breathes out. “Or at least I will be with a bit of rest.”

  Pursing her lips, Roseline hesitates, but returns to her packing. He is not her concern. She grabs an extra pair of boots and shoves them on top of her gear. It is a tight fit.

  Nicolae’s fumbling draws her attention. His hands flail about under the far bedside table, his tongue thrusting between his lips as he searches for an unseen object. “Ah, here it is.”

  Instinctively, Roseline sidesteps, her hands raised in defense as he raises a dagger.

  “Don’t worry,” he says, “I’m not stupid enough to attack you.” Nicolae offers a bemused smile as he tosses a small silver knife to her.

  He winces, rubbing the fresh stiches from his chest wound. Vladimir’s arrow missed all major organs but the wound will take time to heal. He is still battered and bruised from the earlier battle. The death of his uncle weighs heavily on his mind, as does his responsibility in Sorin’s wake.

  The blade makes a complete revolution before her delicate fingers snatch it from the air. It is small, barely larger than an extended pocketknife, when she removes it from the white sheath. The silver blade glints in the candlelight. Judging by the intricate design, Roseline would guess it to be of French make. “What is this for?”

  “It’s a present.”

  Her eyebrows hike in surprise. “For?”

  Nicolae smiles as he sinks onto a dark blue velvet chaise lounge under the window. Matching pillows, fringed with gold tassels, spill over onto the hardwood floor as he squirms to get comfortable. “Take a look.”

  The detail is extraordinary. Each design has been hand carved into the malleable surface. Roseline cannot help but marvel at the workmanship. “Look closer,” he urges.

  She draws the blade to eye level. At first, the inscription is not noticeable in the dim light, but there, entwined with a blooming flower, is a message. Her hand covers her mouth as she reads the words: Immortal Rose.

  Roseline stares at the inscription. Her finger strokes it, her eyes darkening as the painful memories surface. Memories of a love shared and lost a lifetime ago. “Fane.”

  Nicolae watches as she gently cradles the knife to her chest. “I stole it from Sorin’s room when I was younger. I am not really sure why, but I felt like I was supposed to have it. It wasn’t until last night, when Fane risked his life to save you that I realized it was meant for you.”

  She carefully tucks the blade into its cover. Slouching onto the bed, she bows her head. Fane’s handsome face fills her mind, sawing her heart in two as she relives his suggestion to turn Gabriel. No, it was more than a suggestion. He had given his permission for her to love another and finally proclaimed his own surrender.

  Her voice is barely above a whisper when she finally speaks. “I remember this now. Fane bought this dagger for me as a token of our time spent together in Paris but I never received it.”

  “I went on ahead of him,” she says, her voice cracking, “he was supposed to follow within a day, so as not to raise Vladimir’s suspicions.” She turns and places the knife into her bag, wishing she could tuck away the painful memory just as easily. Pulling the sides of the bag together, she seals it.

  “What happened?” Nicolae leans closer.

  Her countenance shifts. Sorrow melds into anger. Her head rises, an icy glare rests on him. “Fane was ambushed before he could give it to me.”

  The chair creaks as he shifts. He draws back against the pillows, darting a furtive glance in her direction. “I know this story. Sorin must have told me a thousand times. He was so proud of his accomplishment: cornering Fane in Notre Dame Cathedral.”

  Her chin trembles. Sorrow cascades into her chest as she hugs herself. “I waited for days. Each night as dusk fell, I would sit in my room, staring at the roots of our beech tree, where he promised to meet me, praying he would appear. Three weeks passed and I had all but convinced myself he was dead.”

  Nicolae shifts closer. “Why did it take him so long to return?”

  R
oseline pulls her arms away from her waist as her vacant expression clears. Burning resentment replaces sorrow. “Your uncle hacked Fane to pieces.” Her nails pierce deep into the flesh of her palms.

  “Nearly every muscle was torn from his bones, but somehow Fane managed to strike back with that blade.” Her gaze pulls toward the knife hidden in her bag - Fane’s saving grace.

  “He endured unimaginable agony, refusing to use human blood to rejuvenate. Sewer rats and baby sheep kept him alive long enough to journey home. I have no idea how he had the will to survive. Animal blood will keep you alive but it won’t heal you. Fane had to wait for his wounds to repair on their own.”

  Nicolae’s fingers clamp down around his kneecaps as a look of revulsion settles onto his handsome face. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry?” Roseline hurls her bag across the room. It explodes in a shower of clothing. “Fane is a good man. He did not deserve to be hunted and slaughtered, like an animal. He never wanted to hurt anyone.”

  “I know,” Nicolae whispers. His eyes bulge as Roseline snatches him by the neck and slams him against the window beside the chaise. The frame rattles and the floor length curtains billow. Her nostrils flare as she fights for control.

  “Release him!” Grigori leaps into the doorway, his gun zeroed in on her heart. He is not alone. Five other men cover their commander’s back in the darkened hall beyond. The fleshy scar carved into Grigori’s face puckers as he squints into the scope on the top of his gun. His swollen eye and broken nose makes the task difficult. Twin tissues, stained red with blood, clog his nostrils, making his command sound nasally.

  “Its fine, Grigori. You may leave.” The giant of a man shakes his head, refusing to obey Nicolae. His boots remain glued to the threshold. “Leave. Now!”

  Grigori lifts his head, his index finger hovering over the trigger. He glowers at Roseline as her hand twitches against Nicolae’s neck. In half a second, she can tear his head from his shoulders or shove him out the third floor window. Either way, Nicolae is completely at her mercy.

  “That’s an order.” Nicolae’s breathing grows heavier and louder as he stares the hunter down. Grigori backs slowly and deliberately out of the room. His men fall away, disappearing out of sight. Grigori’s intense gaze flickers between Roseline and Nicolae before he leaves.

  “Don’t forget to close the door behind you,” Roseline shouts. Foul curses follow Grigori down the hall but the door remains wide open.

  “Please,” Nicolae grunts, gasping for breath as he places a hand over her arm, “it doesn’t have to be like this anymore. We both want the same thing.”

  How could he possibly know what she wants?

  “I’m listening,” she replies, releasing her grasp marginally. She tips her head to the side and waits.

  “Are you going to let me down?”

  Pursing her lips, Roseline releases him. Nicolae’s head slides down the panes of glass as his feet come to rest on the floor. Rubbing his neck, Nicolae sinks back onto the end of the chaise. He clears his throat and looks up at Roseline, who towers overhead.

  “Go on then. Tell me what I want.” Roseline places her hands on her hips. Her patience is quickly waning.

  Resting his head against the wall, Nicolae's shoulders sag. He rubs his throat, clearing it a couple times before speaking. “I want to end the war between hunter and immortal. This feud has gone on long enough. I know now that there are good among your kind and it’s not right to hunt them down.”

  Roseline fights to hide her surprise. What is Nicolae playing at? The war has existed for thousands of years, passed down from family to family. It is the only way of life she has ever known. Although she is uncertain of what event lead to the start of the war, she has felt its effects for over three hundred years.

  Brother killing brother. Mother turned against daughter. Vladimir’s rage drove him to ghastly measures as he began damning the families of hunters. Loved ones became the enemy. Whole generations were slain for the sake of vengeance.

  Even then, Vladimir had thrown around life as if it were worthless. Her brethren tossed before an ax for nothing more than sport. The memories sicken Roseline. Blood has rained down from both sides, and still the battle rages. Man verses immortal. Would it ever end?

  “I’m listening.” She lowers her head, allowing the planes of her face to soften slightly.

  Nicolae takes a deep breath, rubbing his neck. “Whether my men approve or not, by birthright, I am in charge. My decisions become law. If we form a deal together, they will obey it.”

  Roseline snorts. Could he truly be that naïve? She shifts, releasing the tight hold on her arms. The marks of her fingers linger on her pale skin. “You are proposing a truce?”

  “For now. A temporary ceasefire until something more permanent can be put into place. We can end the war, you and I.”

  Her lips press flat as she begins to pace. The candlelight flickers as she breathes past. Shadows cling to the corners of the large room, taunting her.

  “You hate my kind,” she hedges.

  He clears his throat, taking a moment to think as he rubs the back of his head. “It’s not easy for me to admit this, but I was wrong. I spent my childhood hating you for something I know you didn’t do. I can’t promise it will be smooth sailing but I’d like to try to set things right.”

  Roseline stops mid-step. “A hunter admitting he is wrong. I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

  He offers her a wry smile. “We have our moments.”

  The idea of peace is tantalizing, but impossible. The wounds run too deep, the scars unable to heal. “It’s a child’s dream, Nicolae. There cannot be peace between us.”

  He sits up, an intensity glowing in his eyes. “I am not your enemy anymore.”

  She weighs out his words, balancing them against his harebrained rescue in the dungeon. He nearly gave his life for her, was that not proof enough?

  “Perhaps not, but I am not like my brethren. They will never accept peace with you. Your family has broken too many blood-bonds among my kind. That can never be forgiven.”

  “I know,” he deflates, falling back. His face pinches with concern, aged by exhaustion and the events of this night. “Vladimir is creating an army of immortals. Do you know why?”

  Roseline’s steps falter as she whirls around, her boots slick on the waxed wood floor. “Who told you that?”

  “Sorin. His informants have been tracking Vladimir’s progress for the past few years. My uncle was training me to take over operations in America. That is why I was the one sent to watch you. He thought you were helping Vladimir.”

  Running her hands over her face, Roseline fights to control her rising fear. Why has she never heard of this? If Sorin was able to discover Vladimir’s plan then that can mean only one thing: she was purposefully left out of the loop.

  But why? How long has Vladimir been hiding this from her? A year? Twenty? A century?

  Surely, she would have heard something by now. A whisper. A slip of speech. Something.

  And what if it is true? Roseline shudders at the implications of a worldwide army. The damage they could create on humanity alone would be catastrophic. An entire race nearly wiped to extinction. Surely, he would not be that foolish.

  “I know nothing of this,” she whispers.

  Nicolae’s brow pulls together. He rubs his chin. “I assumed as much when I was following you back in Chicago.”

  She resumes pacing, stepping from wood to the looped beige carpet near the sitting area and back again. “Vladimir needs blood to survive. Immortals, who have grown drunk on human blood, will perish without it. He can’t tip the balance.”

  “But what if he does?” Nicolae presses.

  Roseline blanches at the thought. She spins on her heel to face him. “We will all die.”

  Weighted silence expands to fill the room. The shadows seem to creep in from the walls, pressing from all sides. Nicolae’s chest heaves as he sucks air into his tightening lun
gs. “I need your help.”

  Of that, she has no doubt, but can she risk Gabriel’s life on the chance that Nicolae is right? No. Gabriel needs her now. He is all that matters.

  “I’m sorry but I cannot help you. I have my own war to wage.” She says, dipping low to retrieve the contents of her bag.

  Even though she will not join him in his quest, a tentative bond has been birthed. Roseline tosses her bag onto the bed and crosses the room, offering her hand to help Nicolae to his feet.

  He rises, releasing her hand to add cushion to his comfort zone as she steps back. “Have you not realized yet that you are at the heart of all of this?”