Weaken the Knees (The Immortal World Book 6)

by Shannon A. Hiner

  All she could think of was Kendra. Kendra-fucking-Willits. Rene vouched for her to Will. Defended her. And that bitch had been a spy for Ignatius. Did she know that Rene was in Ladyslocke? Did Ignatius know she was? Had they engineered to have her held captive?

  “Holy shit,” she whispered. “They’re working with the werewolves.” The floor slipped out from under her, or her legs—Rene wasn’t sure which—but one moment she was standing and the next she was on her ass in the dirt.

  The Fraccas were working with the werewolves. She had to tell someone. Hadrian. She had to tell Hadrian. Rene stood up again, wobbling, and walked to the door without seeing it. She stopped in front of the dead body, staring at it blindly.

  “I’m trapped,” she said. Trapped and losing her mind. Where did she think she was going? “Hadrian.” Rene closed her eyes and willed her body out of the cell, aimed her mind straight for Genocide, for Hadrian’s office. She opened her eyes to find the same stone walls, dirt floors, and dead body. “Right, I forgot.”

  Sitting down next to the body, she leaned over and whispered in its ear, “Don’t worry, I’m going to die here too.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Will growled as he reappeared on his back, on the floor of his own apartment.

  He rolled over and got to his knees. Pressing his fingers against his shoulder as blood and silver liquid spilled forth and dotted the carpet, Will stood. His balance wavered.

  Thank God vampires didn’t react to silver the way werewolves did. A wolf whose bloodstream came into contact with silver nitrate would be dead in a matter of minutes. Vampires? It just hurt like the very devil.

  The werewolf had gotten a few other chunks out of him, though most of the claw marks and teeth grazes were already healing and fading. Will felt like he’d battled an entire pack. That werewolf was fast. And experienced.

  And telling the truth.

  Will had seen it in the creature’s icy eyes. He’d been tracking the wrong pack. Terrorizing the wrong canines. How much time had he wasted?

  A knock sounded on his front door. He glanced at it with a frown.

  “Will, it’s Serena. Are you home?”

  Why hadn’t she called first? He wasn’t in any shape to be—oh. Will looked down at the counter and the phone that he’d left behind. Three missed calls from Serena.

  “Will?”

  He sighed and winced as he walked over to open the door. “Now’s not the best time, Serena,” he said, holding the door in one hand and his shoulder in the other.

  She smelled the blood immediately and her eyes went wide. “What happened? Is that silver?” Serena reached to pry his fingers away from the wound.

  “I was sloppy,” Will said. “Wolf got my gun.”

  “Did you get him?”

  He sighed again, and batted away Serena’s hands. “I’m fine. Don’t fuss at me. It was the wrong pack. I don’t know why the trail seemed to lead to them, unless it was a purposeful diversion.”

  “So what’s next?” She turned such hopeful eyes on him, Will couldn’t bear it.

  He turned away and sat on one of the counter stools.

  “Will?”

  “I don’t know.” His voice broke. “There’s no trace of her. She just . . . vanished. Like, like—” ashes in the wind. Will rubbed his hand over his face.

  “You don’t think she’s . . .”

  Will shook his head. “No. No, I can’t think that. I don’t know what I’d do.”

  Standing again, Will wandered over to the sink to rinse off the bullet hole in his shoulder. Silver had poured down his arm, expelled from the wound as his body reknit from the inside out. The skin was pulling together again. He’d lost a few pints, but it wasn’t the blood loss that made him lean against the counter and bow his head.

  “I don’t know what I’d do, Serena,” he whispered.

  Chapter 24

  “Idon’t understand.” The fire crackled merrily in the Abandon common room. It was more for show—and light—than comfort. No one in the room felt the cold spring evening outside. Vampires from all four clans were present, milling about and mingling. Rene’s eyes wandered over them, noting that the majority were on the young side, less than a hundred years old. “How do you and I fit into all of this?”

  “Grounding influence.”

  She laughed. “You, maybe.”

  Tanner leaned forward in his chair. “Rene, Ignatius had chosen another Second.”

  “What? I thought a leader could only do that when the Second was dead?”

  His deadpan gaze didn’t waver.

  Heat filled her veins and she started to stand. Tanner was faster, laying a firm hand on her shoulder and keeping her seated. “It matters not. Ignatius and I were never as leader and Second ought to be. You see, Celeste and I already had plans in motion. So it was I who betrayed the bond first.”

  “Only because Ignatius is a—” The look on Tanner’s face stopped her mid-insult.

  “Best not to speak so. We have quite enough of a target on our backs as it is. I’m sorry to have taken you from your home, but I feared you would be punished for my transgressions.”

  “Tanner, you know I don’t care about Ignatius, or the Fraccas, or that damned castle.” Any more than she cared about Celeste, the Acrien, or Abandon, she added silently.

  He smiled as if he heard her unspoken words. “I think it would be best, for the next few decades, that we keep our distance from him and the clan as much as possible.”

  “He won’t appreciate having his plans thwarted.” She remembered the ice in the Fraccas leader’s eyes when something didn’t go according to his plan. The swift, unforgiving temper that accompanied it. “Who did he choose as Second?”

  “Zane Verbostch.”

  “That child?” Zane hadn’t even been a vampire for half a century yet.

  Tanner’s lips twitched. “But he got out of it. And out of the clan.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve half a mind to invite him to the Acrien.”

  ∞∞∞

  She was going to have to apologize to Will.

  Of all the things to be upset about currently, the fact that that one weighed upon Rene most heavily was ridiculous. But dammit, she had standards in her life, and being an absolute bitch to William Rynquist was a contractual obligation. The fact remained, however, he’d been right. And she’d thrown it in his face. She knew what Ignatius was capable of; why had she given Kendra the benefit of the doubt?

  Was it because she herself desired the same?

  A mocking smile teased her mouth. She? Rene Kaplan? Ice Bitch Extraordinaire? She wanted the benefit of the doubt? When she’d purposefully done everything she could to make people believe the worst of her? How pathetic . . . She probably deserved it even less than Kendra.

  Even as the thought of apologizing to him made her stomach turn over uncomfortably, another part of her shied away from thinking about Will for entirely different reasons. As Rene weakened further, she moved less and less, left to lie weak and disoriented in her cell, alone with only her thoughts and memories.

  Memories, she was forced to admit, that didn’t have much happiness in them. The brightest spots were moments with Tanner and Serena and—and this came as an absolute shock—one now resided there of Will. Easy as it was to dwell on the incredible physical reactions those moments in the dark refrigerator had wrought (reactions she hadn’t been entirely certain she ever would or could feel) the real shock was the contentment that burned in deep in her chest during those moments. The feeling of rightness and belonging. Something she’d felt only in small moments with her sire or Serena, but never to the depth or degree that she had with Will.

  Shock layered upon shock. For years she’d pushed him away because of a very different kind of fear. Rene’d been sure she couldn’t let him closer, wouldn’t be able to handle that sort of dynamic with anyone, even someone as obviously good as Will. But to have had those moments, too brief and now gone forever, where she’d just belong
ed . . .

  Curling into herself further, Rene closed her eyes and let herself go back there. It was all she’d ever have, but it might just be enough. And the reality was, if she ever saw him again, she would have to apologize. So maybe it was better that she would die here. Die alone with her contented memories, and never have to face the fact that she’d been so, so wrong about so many things.

  ∞∞∞

  Will rounded a corner and trudged down the main street of Genocide. Hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat, his mind was buzzing away, running scenarios and trying to come up with a new plan.

  “Hey, Will.” A woman’s voice interrupted his whirring thoughts.

  He glanced up to find a tall woman in black smiling at him. Her straight black hair was cut so that it just dusted her shoulders, framing a face that would have seemed stern if she hadn’t had the brightest blue eyes he’d ever seen. River Black was a well-known Venaygo, pretty high up in Hadrian’s guard since her grand sire and sire had met the final death. Not that she hadn’t earned her place. Will had been sent to train with her early on in his second life. It wasn’t an experience he would likely forget any century soon.

  “Oh. Hey, Riv.” They were standing outside of Fletcher’s pub, which happened to be his own destination. “Coming inside?”

  River shuddered, eyeing the outer windows of the pub as if they were crawling with spiders. “Good Lord, no.”

  “He still sings every time you walk in the door, doesn’t he?” The owner of the pub, a vampire about a century older than William, had singled River out for “special” treatment long ago.

  River grimaced, tugging her black leather jacket straight and edging away from the door like she thought Fletcher might come out onto the street and accost her. It really wasn’t entirely out of the question. “This year it’s ‘Death Valley Queen’.”

  “He’s not even Irish.”

  She heaved a gusty sigh. “Don’t look for logic from Fletch.”

  “You ever going to give him a chance?”

  “No,” she said without hesitation. Her face darkened. “Not again. Anyway, it’s good seeing you, Will. Don’t be such a stranger. You look like you could use some training, and I could use a passable sparring partner.”

  He laughed. “Thanks, I think. See you later.”

  She nodded and started down the sidewalk. Will pushed through the door. Fletcher’s was hopping busy, every booth full and only a few open spots at the bar. The waitress, Willa, was running back and forth as fast as her short legs would take her, and Fletcher himself manned the bar. The owner was in his customary billowing white shirtsleeves, knee-breeches, and black boots. On slow nights, he typically had an overcoat and tricorn hat as well, but the busier it got, the more accessories he shed.

  “William,” the pirate called out in welcome. “Welcome and good evening. Was that my fairest I glimpsed without?” Fletcher brought down a glass from a shelf behind the bar and starting mixing a drink as Will took a seat. “Why did you not bid her join us?”

  “I don’t think she was all that interested, Fletch.”

  “Nonsense. She’s merely playing with my feelings, that one. Teasing me until I beg for her.” Sliding the glass over to Will, Fletcher leaned over the counter and stage-whispered, “I’ve learnt a new verse for her. Would you like to hear it?”

  “I . . . don’t think—”

  Fletcher interrupted, shouting through the bar. “Oy, shut’er yapping gobs, I’ve got to practice for m’lady love!” Then, dropping his West Country accent, he affected an Irish lilt and began to sing a capella,

  “I remember you well from that town,

  You did dwell with the face of an angel,

  In a dump hot as hell.

  When I asked for a kiss,

  You kindly dismissed,

  So I lead my poor heart to the slaughter.”

  He finished with a flourish and a bow and the patrons of his bar broke into applause and whistles. Fletcher grinned, soaking up the attention. Even Will, with his foul mood, cracked a smile. The bar’s noise level went back to normal immediately. Fletcher singing was a regular occurrence. It could be forgiven because he had a passably good voice and the patrons adored him.

  Will caught him looking out the front windows once more though, a yearning, serious look on a face that so rarely held anything but devil-may-care humor. The look struck Will right in the solar plexus. He knew that look. The muscle memory of his own face recognized it, knew the depth of feeling trapped behind it.

  The glass shifted in his hand. Will looked down to see a hairline crack up the side.

  At least Fletcher knew where his lady love was, that she was safe and alive. “Where are you?” he asked under his breath. The glass didn’t answer. Of course he wouldn’t find the answer at the bottom of a drink . . . but he might at the bottom of five.

  Kendra slid down in the booth, keeping her eyes away from William Rynquist’s back and firmly fixed on the book in front of her. Why her sire wanted to meet here, in Genocide, in public, was beyond her. He had some reasoning, she was sure, but he hadn’t seen fit to share it with Kendra. And now he was one minute late.

  “Hey girlie, you need anything else to drink?” The perky waitress rested her weight on one hip and held an order pad ready to make notes.

  A barely touched glass sat on the table, the celery stick a lone island among a blood sea. Kendra glanced at the full glass and then at the waitress. A petite, curvy thing with short bouncing curls and bright eyes, Willa Brown was the antithesis of vampire. And yet . . . she was one, and at least one hundred years older than Kendra, despite appearing a few years younger.

  “Uh, no, thanks. I’m okay.”

  “Sure?” Willa’s Georgia drawl was as sweet as it was long. “Maybe something else? I keep telling Fletch he’s a little heavy handed on the hot sauce, but I swear that pirate don’t listen to a word that isn’t praise for his genius, his sword, or his beauty.”

  “No, really, I’m okay, just waiting for someone.”

  “Well, all right, but if you need anything you holler for me and I’ll be here in a two shakes of a lamb’s tail, m‘kay?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  The waitress nodded and bounced off to the next booth. Kendra watched her go out of the corner of her eye. She would never have guessed a year ago that vampires were real, and if someone had shown her Willa Brown as an example, she’d never have believed it.

  The bell rang on the front door and finally her sire entered. Dressed in ironed black pants and a button up red shirt with the sleeves rolled up his arms, he looked ready for the runway or a fashion shoot. He didn’t look for her immediately; instead his gaze found Fletcher’s and he nodded briefly. The pirate, formerly listening animatedly to a story from one of his bar patrons, grew serious for a brief moment and nodded back at her sire. The skin around his eyes was tight, a wrinkle appearing between his brows. The look was gone in an instant and he was back to entertaining his customers.

  Kendra watched the interaction with interest. Her second life had been all about watching people and her sire had given her many lessons on expression, body language, and word choice. Combined with excellent eyesight and hearing, she had learned many things. Some she was supposed to and passed on to her master. Others she maybe shouldn’t have and kept quietly to herself.

  “Kendra.” Her sire’s voice caressed her name. He slid into the seat across from her and leaned his elbows on the table.

  Closing her book immediately, she pressed her hands over the cover in an attempt to keep them still. “Hi.”

  One side of his mouth quirked up. “Hi.” His eyes crinkled at the corners briefly, filling her with excitement and dread, hope and misery. The moment was over too quickly, and he grew serious again. “You have been to their establishment, haven’t you?”

  She met his eyes, briefly confused. “Establishment—oh, you mean—”

  “Yes,” he cut her off. Eyes widened just barely and a tiny shake of his
head. He didn’t want her to say the words. Incriminating words. Words like werewolves. And Ladyslocke. Why did he have them meeting in public?

  “Yes.”

  “Was it Ignatius’ will that you go?”

  “I don’t . . .” she trailed off, what was he fishing for? What was the right answer?

  “Did he specifically tell you to go there?”

  “Er, no?”

  Her sire closed his eyes and looked down for a moment. When he looked up again, his light eyes were sharp as bottle glass shards. “Who saw you there?”

  Sometimes, when her sire looked at her a certain way, Kendra had the urge to lie. To hide the truth under whatever she thought he wanted to hear. Like a child afraid of the disappointment and wrath of their parent. She swallowed.

  Her reticence was obvious. His eyes softened slightly and he leaned toward her. “Kendra, believe me when I say, I am looking out for you. Have I ever steered you wrong? Made you doubt I had your best interests at heart?”

  “No.”

  He waited.

  “The young one, Serafin, saw me. He was the one who attack—er, surprised—the doctor the other night.” Watching her wording was going to be difficult if she had to get much more specific. “I think he was the only one.”

  “Why did you go?”

  Because she worried about Fin. He was so young, so full of bravado and stupidity. He was going to get himself killed. She knew what her sire would say: Kendra was young. Kendra was full of the same things. Kendra needed to watch her own back. Except, that’s what she had her sire for.

  She looked down, but knew he read it all in her eyes.

  After a moment he sighed deeply. “We will hope he was the only one, and that he keeps his mouth shut. You mustn’t do it again. Only do what Ignatius tells you. And whatever he tells you to do, do it unquestioningly and without delay. We are in dangerous times, Kendra. I want you to see your hundredth birthday.”

  Kendra nodded. “I understand.”

  “Good girl.” His eyes warmed a little more. “Break’s over. Get back to work.” He stood and exited the bar, brushing past Rynquist on his way out. William looked up and caught sight of her sire’s back. The Risqueen vampire swiveled on his bar stool and his eyes landed squarely on Kendra, narrowing. He set down his glass and stood.