Weaken the Knees (The Immortal World Book 6)

by Shannon A. Hiner

  His pack was laughably easy for Kendra to locate, and getting Fin’s attention? Like walking into a club stark naked. Her conscience prodded at her, a dark and heavy call from deep within. She ignored it, burying the feeling under her true loyalty. Her only loyalty.

  Behind her, Fin’s step faltered. Too sharp. She needed to remember how young he was, how easily hurt. Fingernails dug into palms. Hard to forget, but she wasn’t at her best currently. That damned conscience kept digging itself out, shouting over what she needed to do. It didn’t slow her, only made her angry. Angry at herself, angry at the world. A woman couldn’t serve two masters. She knew that now. So only one would be hers, because to choose otherwise would leave her alone. Alone in the immortal world, with only herself to depend on.

  Again her conscience whispered, begged, brought the faces of those who would stand by her to mind. It was a weak effort. She was already on thin ice with Faber. Rene would never forgive her. Serafin . . . Kendra squared her shoulders and threw more sand over that pesky voice.

  “I’ll explain, don’t worry,” she whispered to Fin, softening her voice slightly. “But I don’t want anyone to overhear us.”

  Throwing a glance over his shoulder, Fin sped up a little and said, “We have to be half a mile away already. Silas’ hearing isn’t that good.”

  “You would know,” she teased with a smile. Strained. Cracking. False. Thank God for the dark. He probably wouldn’t notice.

  Fin grinned and ducked his head.

  Regret stabbed through her chest and forced her gaze away from the young werewolf. Look anywhere else, at anything else. Leaves in full decay were turning brown and then to dirt on the forest floor; between them poked the heads of new ferns, spring crocuses, and baby trees the finest green that nature had to offer. Her eyesight was so sharp she could pick up the legs of the beetles crawling over it all in full dark, the lurking spiders waiting for their dinner, hidden and unknown to their unsuspecting prey.

  A familiar presence brushed her mind, enveloped her in warmth and welcome, took away the responsibility of thought, of consequences. No sigh of relief as she’d anticipated though. Instead, her shoulders tensed. Kendra glanced back at Fin one last time. His bright eyes, easy smile, galloping puppy gait. She swallowed. He looked up moment and caught her eyes, smiling for half a second before he noticed the expression on her face.

  “K?”

  “You weren’t exaggerating about his age,” came her sire’s voice from the shadows, all smoothness and threat. “Were you?” His tall, perfect form separated from the shadows to their right, gliding forward as if propelled by angel wings. His light hair and glowing bright eyes added to the effect.

  Fin took a step back in shock and Kendra saw his hackles rising the next instant. Werewolves . . . too much testosterone for their own good. He couldn’t back down even if he wanted to, there wasn’t an omega in his species. She wished he would run. Just go. He might outrun her sire; if he could catch him by surprise. Run. Please run. Run, you idiot.

  He squared his lanky body and faced her sire full on. “I know who you are, leech.”

  Leech. Fin never called her kind leech, at least not to her own ears. But the wolves of his pack did know her sire, rather better than they’d ever wished, she suspected. The old roles were changing though, and they were about to know him in a new way, the way she did, as master and commander.

  Her sire smiled, that beautiful seraphic mouth of his curving at the corner and the light growing in his eyes. “Mutt.”

  Fin’s chest puffed out. It would have been comical, if she hadn’t been so scared for his life.

  “Now, now,” her sire said, holding up a hand. “I won’t call you ‘mutt’ if you don’t call me ‘leech.’ Can we agree on that?”

  Fin growled. His shoulders were bunching in a way she recognized. The wolf inside was clawing at his skin, begging to be let out. He was too young to control it better. When he got too angry, he was liable to fall into the wolf form without warning. His body shook.

  With a sigh, her sire glanced at her. She saw it in his eyes, the hesitancy to hurt Fin, but the necessity for order, cooperation. Kendra swallowed and sent a panicked look back at Fin. He was losing control, about to shift and probably howl. Her sire saw it too. Rolling his eyes, he stepped forward faster than her eyes could follow and grabbed Fin by the back of the neck. Still barely in human form, the touch of her sire caused a violent growl to escape the werewolf’s throat. He threw himself forward, but her sire’s grip didn’t loosen.

  “Come, Kendra,” her sire said calmly. “We have work to do.” He disappeared, wolf and all.

  Kendra looked back the way they’d come, picturing Silas’ face when he noticed his youngest missing. He should have known better. His business with the vampires would never be done. Never be over. He might have put Ignatius on borrowed time, but her sire would prove to be a much more dangerous enemy.

  ∞∞∞

  The glass was tinted so dark it was almost impossible to see out of, still his skin was uncomfortably warm. The heat of UV light in its most natural form was no joking matter, not for his kind. One break in the glass separating him from the courtyard, and his life—his ambitions—would be at an end. Still, he forbore. One should not sentence a person to death if one was unwilling to witness the consequences oneself. In all his seven hundred and eighty years, Ignatius Chesney had never shirked his duty to the sentenced.

  As he looked on, the body dragged itself up the steps, trying in vain to escape the first rays of dawn. Blood curdling, skin peeling back, the body shifted into a thing of charred muscle, melted bone, until it stopped moving halfway up the steps. It stopped moving altogether as the blood dried. Skin flaked and pieces began to catch the morning breeze. Over the course of the day, the rest of the body would wither and fall away. By nightfall, it would be a mess easily disposed of by the others.

  “Who was that?” came Melchior’s casual yet curious voice beside him.

  “Messenger from Hadrian.”

  “Ah.”

  Ignatius liked Melchior. The young vampire wasn’t scared of him, nor was he sick of life and boring as Tanner had been. He had an appropriate amount of regard for Ignatius’ status and power without being irritating. Best of all, Melchior didn’t shrink from ruthlessness. Ignatius had had his doubts about the vampire when Melchior took over the Second’s duties, but those had been put to bed rather quickly.

  “He carried a summons,” Ignatius said, turning from the glass to press the button on the wall that would bring down the steel shutters and shut out all light and heat of the day. “I assume by the way it was worded, that you have news for me.”

  “I do,” Melchior said, following Ignatius back down the hall to his office. “I have just learned that the wolves did not kill Rene Kaplan as you ordered. Instead, she escaped and is currently in Discord.”

  “With the Risqueens.” Ignatius folded himself into his desk chair and leaned back. “Just where I would want someone with her knowledge to go.”

  Melchior wisely did not comment on his sarcasm.

  “She must have been to see Hadrian already then.”

  “What shall I do?” Melchior asked.

  “Gather the remaining bloods into the castle, have them stock the basement with food, close the buildings in Genocide. Be certain they understand: Any vampire found on the premises who is not Fraccas is to be killed on sight.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We’re declaring our independence from the rule of Hadrian Catane, Melchior.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And it’s still ‘Master.’”

  Melchior’s expression didn’t alter a molecule as he bowed at the waist. “Yes, Master.”

  “Go, then. I’ve other business to attend to.”

  Melchior bowed again and left the office straight away. A few long moments passed as Ignatius looked down at his interlaced fingers. Too many moving parts, sooner than he was prepared to make his move. This was going to
be messy. He detested messy.

  “Well, Ignatius,” a bone-chilling voice spoke from the corner of his office. “It seems we are finally to see what you can truly offer our master.”

  Ignatius didn’t look up, already knowing what he would see should he choose to do so. The shadow of bat-like wings, a pair of grotesque, sharply curved horns, an inkpot of darkness blotting out the corner of the room and smelling of embers and blood. And at the center of it, a creature well over seven feet in height, with both the most attractive, and most frightening features to ever be combined in one visage.

  “Yes,” Ignatius said. “I suppose we shall.”

  ∞∞∞

  “Name and appointment, please.”

  “Really? You know who I am.”

  The blonde flicked her periwinkle blues up at Rene with no light of recognition and continued to type. “Name and appointment, unless you would like to call tomorrow and reschedule.”

  Rene sighed. She hated power-tripping harpies. “Rene Kaplan. Here to see Hadrian Catane. I’m two minutes late because I’ve been standing here trying to get past you. “

  “Two and a half minutes late, and you’ve only been standing here for thirty seconds. Perhaps I would have been more likely to know who you were had you been on time.”

  Rene could feel her fingers curling in on one another, converging in the center of her palm where the itch to strike out was nearly irresistible.

  “Luckily for you, I believe Hadrian allotted more time for your appointment, knowing that you would be late.” The blonde pressed a button on her intercom, and then went back to her typing. “You may go up now, he is waiting.”

  Passing by the desk with a snarl, Rene made her way up the stairs to Hadrian’s office and knocked. A second later his voice called out from within for her to enter and she did. She was surprised to find he wasn’t alone. While Hadrian occupied his normal position behind the desk, Aubri Pennington was in one of the armchairs across the room reading. So it was true, then. Rene didn’t spare the young Second more than a cursory glance before turning to Hadrian.

  He motioned to the chair in front of him. “Ms. Kaplan, how may I help you this evening?” No comment on her long absence, the effort so many—including his own Second—had to go to get her out. Just a “how may I help you?”

  Fine, if that was the way it was going to be, she could be purposefully irritating right back. “I’m here for my cookie.”

  A sound from across the room sounded suspiciously like a snort.

  Hadrian raised both eyebrows at her. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Yes, well, likely you should, but that’s not what I want.” She plopped herself down in the chair across from his desk and folded her arms. “I did everything you asked of me: I uncovered the Venor, followed the money, and I stopped it. Therefore, I have earned—and come to collect—my cookie.”

  “I . . . don’t believe I ever promised you a cookie.” One side of his mouth twitched. If Rene hadn’t known better, she might have thought he was fighting back a smile. “And what on earth would you do with a cookie, anyway?”

  “Frame it.” She didn’t hesitate.

  “Frame it?”

  “Frame it,” she repeated.

  “That seems wasteful.”

  Rene didn’t respond.

  “Very well,” Hadrian said at last. “Please, report on what you found.”

  Reaching into her coat pocket, Rene dug out the journal, the envelope full of “Mirsad’s” identification and holdings. She tossed them in front of Hadrian and leaned back. The vampire leader took his time going over each individual item. Minutes ticked past slower and slower as Rene watched, then tilted her head back . . . then started to fall asleep. She had nearly passed out when Hadrian’s voice startled her.

  “Sarai, please get Ms. Kaplan a cookie.” He released the intercom button and began stacking up the papers.

  The acidic voice of his secretary crackled back after a few long seconds, “What?”

  Again the snorting from the back of the room as Aubri tried and apparently failed to contain her amusement.

  “Do you have any preference on flavor?”

  Rene thought of the irritating secretary and smiled. “White chocolate truffle. With macadamia nuts.”

  Hadrian only nodded and stowed the papers and journal in his desk. “You know what you’ve brought me, don’t you?”

  “Information.”

  “Trouble, Ms. Kaplan,” he said. “The truth, which is invaluable, but troublesome all the same. It will take some time to work through this information and determine how best to use it.”

  She had to stop herself from looking back at Aubri as she thought of the group of misfits all ready to tear the Fraccas to the ground. “I wouldn’t wait long, were I you. I think there’s a lot of people who may already know the truth.”

  “Thankfully, you are not me. May I trust you to keep what you found to yourself until the right time comes to reveal it?”

  It wasn’t a request, it wasn’t even really a question. Rene knew a command when she heard it. Knew it by the itch in her spine, the tightening in her neck, the sudden uncontrollable urge to do the exact opposite. “I will report to my leaders, and await their instructions.”

  Hadrian’s eyes narrowed on her. Did he knew how involved Wade and Serena were? Did he trust them? Stupid question. Did Hadrian Catane trust anyone?

  Rene stood and, after tucking her chair into the desk, turned to leave. She caught Aubri’s eyes on her as she made for the office door. Was his Second a member of the group? Or a spy?

  Suddenly, no one felt safe to talk to, to trust. Everyone had an ulterior motive. Rene closed the door behind her and made it to the end of the hall before she had to shimmer. Had to put as much space between her and the oppressive air of Genocide as possible. Too many people knew too much. Too many people were waiting for the right moment to move. The immortal world was a tinderbox: One match would set the whole thing aflame.

  Epilogue

  Will found himself wondering for the first time: How had the humans known Faber and Megan were vampires back when their small group infiltrated the Venor meeting?

  Because they certainly hadn’t been trained in the detection of immortal beings. He chuckled to himself. That sounded like there was a course offered on it at the local community college. Of course not. But the humans clearly didn’t know what to look for, or perhaps they were just too confident in their own anonymity to look within their group. Stupid, cocky humans. Well, he wasn’t entirely certain about the night’s mission, but he was one hundred percent certain the Venor were going to regret their oversight.

  Slipping into the back of the hall behind one of the idiots, he matched the man’s pace and casual slouch. More were coming in from other directions. Members of the group alternated which entrances they used, a few pouring in at a time to avoid suspicion. The group had moved locations twice since the fiasco of Stephen Smart’s abduction. His two partners had stepped up into his place, becoming joint leaders. Talk had begun of the Salt Lake City group splitting into two chapters, membership was up lately, and it was getting harder and harder to hide their activities. Not that their activities were all that threatening to anyone. Once a week they met in a dark, covert building and discussed their plans for hunting and destroying all vampirekind. Without the funding of Mirsad, they were forced to push out inoculations, so only the two leaders were now “protected” from the leeches’ bite. In lieu of actual hunting, the humans participated in light sparring matches against each other, and sharing stories of the undead they’d seen that week.

  After hearing a number of their stories, Will was convinced none of them had ever seen an actual vampire. Or any other immortal. Well, perhaps a faerie, but the Fae loved to trick humans, and were probably quite aware of being noticed and mistaken for stereotypical vampires. Hadrian may wish to hear of those instances so he could make a formal complaint to the rulers of Faerie, but aside from that, it was harmless. No mo
re or less than any other imaginative human had ever seen.

  Tonight would be quite different for the humans, though. Marissa had secured a special guest speaker. Someone who had definitely seen a vampire. In fact, this person had killed vampires. And lived to tell the tale. By all accounts, this guest speaker had been located within a club downtown after midnight and was, in fact, mid-vampire hunt. The excitement in the room was palpable. Veins hummed almost as loudly and forcefully as whispered conversations.

  It was the second meeting that Will had managed to secure an invite to. No one keyed on his pale, cool skin—most of them hadn’t seen the sunlight in too long. They didn’t remark on the smoothness of his movements, the extreme stillness when he stopped. No one noticed when he didn’t eat any of the cookies or fruit from the snack table, didn’t sip the water cup he lugged around the room.

  Settling back in his chair, Will listened to the conversations and the wild thoughts with amusement. This group of vampire hunters was more like a hobby club than a serious threat to anyone. Without Smart and Mirsad, they were just vampire-fanatics. Little worse than overzealous fangirls and boys. Looking for the immortal, desperate for some sign that there was more to the world. They wouldn’t be disappointed. A few spoke to him and he answered in kind, smiling and nodding when he couldn’t trust his voice for laughter.

  Ten minutes after arriving, Marissa approached the front of the room. Dressed in a long brownish red skirt, pink blouse, and jacket that matched the skirt, she looked like an elementary school principal ready to give the announcements for the day. And boy, did she have a very special announcement tonight. She clapped her hands together to signal for quiet and the room fell half silent. The rest of the audience—turned around in their chairs to speak to fellow fanatics—had their backs turned to her and heard nothing. She cleared her throat loudly. A few more caught the hint and fell silent. Just like school, some still nattered on without apparently realizing that the rest of the room was now silent and waiting on them. Staring at them. Listening in.