by Kallysten
Marc snorted. “He left out the part where he forbade me to come. Something about his superiors not wanting me to have influence on him or something."
The knot of tension that had tied Kate's stomach loosened, and she let out a shaky breath. “I thought... I thought you were leaving me."
His eyebrows rose at that. His right hand started moving toward her, but fell back almost right away. “Leave you?” he repeated. “I wouldn't... You know I wouldn't abandon you. How could—"
"But I don't,” she cut in, her voice trembling with the sobs she refused to let out. “How could I know when you have barely talked to me since..."
She couldn't finish. The words just refused to come out. If she hadn't been leaning against the desk, her knees would have buckled beneath her. Very slowly, Marc stood and approached her. His hand was shaking when he laid it on her cheek.
"You haven't talked to me, either,” he murmured. “You won't even look at me. I thought..."
Closing her eyes, she stepped forward and pressed her face to Marc's chest. His arms soon closed around her, slowly, almost tentatively. Kate started shaking. As delicate as the embrace was, it was still too tight for her wounded arm, now trapped between them, but she didn't care about the pain. She had endured far worse.
"I miss him so much,” she breathed, the words muffled against Marc's skin. “And every time I see you..."
Marc pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I know,” he said softly. “God help me, I know. I miss him, too. And I've missed you. More than I can say."
His fingers threaded into her short hair and tilted her head up to him. She raised herself to her toes and met him halfway, crushing her mouth against his hard enough to hurt. He pulled her tighter against him still, his tongue pressing against hers as though trying to make up for lost time. Kate's free hand clawed at the cool skin of his back before sliding down to the waistband of his sweatpants. She started tugging them down as she rocked herself against Marc's growing erection. He gasped, breaking off the kiss.
"I'll leave the squad,” she panted against his neck. “I'll go with you and—"
Marc's hand closed over hers before she could push his pants down. He squeezed once and then led her hand to his mouth. His lips brushed a soft kiss against her knuckles.
"You've got to go with them."
To Kate, the words felt as sharp as the tip of a knife slicing her heart.
"But I want to stay with you,” she mumbled. She twisted her hand to thread her fingers with his. “I can't—"
He covered her mouth with the trembling fingers of his free hand.
"You have to stay with Simon.” His voice had never been as empty of emotions. “Daniel said Simon has been experimenting. He's still trying to open a breach. Maybe once you're near another breach, he'll figure something out. Maybe he'll think of a way to bring him back, or help us find him."
She grabbed his hand and pulled it away from her lips. She had both his hands in her left one now, and she held on to them as tightly as she could, dimly wondering if she was hurting Marc, like he was hurting her.
"Simon can't help us,” she said, the words uneven as her pain roiled through her like waves. “He said he can't. You were there. You heard him."
"I did.” He freed his hands from her, but rather than putting distance between them, he held her close to him. She sighed when his arms closed around her again. “But I also know Simon. If you're there to push him, to remind him it's about—"
Kate closed her eyes and braced herself. Hearing the raw pain in Marc's voice when he pronounced Blake's name was like a blow, every time.
"—about him,” Marc finished, “Simon will keep trying to figure out something. And when he does, you can send word to me, and I'll come."
"How?” Kate opened her eyes and had to blink several times before Marc's face emerged from the blur of tears she refused to acknowledge. “How will I contact you? Where will you be? What will you do?"
As Marc's mouth opened and closed without a sound, Kate stumbled upon a realization that froze her down to her bones. He didn't know the answer to any of these questions. He didn't really think Simon would ever find a way to get Blake back, did he? He had just given her hope again, only to snatch it back right away.
Her heart broke just a little more. She pressed a shaky hand to his shoulder and pushed away from him. She wavered a little, but she forced herself to stand straight, closing her fists to give herself confidence. Her arm hurt, blood and pain pulsing through it. She didn't care.
"Either you think we'll never find Blake again and you're making excuses so I'll go quietly,” she lashed out, “or you don't care if we find him. I don't think I want to know which it is."
Turning around, she started for the door. He tried to catch her arm, tried to stop her—"Kate! That's not..."—but she didn't stop, didn't wait to hear the end of it. She shouldn't have come to talk to him. All she had done was inflict more wounds on herself, like she wasn't hurt enough already.
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Chapter 9
Seventeen months later
Light and shadows were dancing across the ceiling when Kate opened her eyes. She hadn't closed the curtains the previous night when falling into bed, too tired to do much more than strip, wash away the worst of the grime at the sink in the corner, and climb between the sheets. Even if there had been a shower in her room, she might not have found the energy to use it. She was lucky enough to have a room to herself—even if it was little more than a closet crammed full with a narrow bed, small dresser, and sink—rather than having to sleep in the dormitories with the rest of the squad.
She groaned as her body awakened, along with every little ache. Her last patrol had been brutal, with too many demons jumping out at the squad, and they had needed to retreat to cut their losses. Kate hated running away from a fight. It always drained her, mentally and physically, in a way that actual fights didn't. At least, she had told her discouraged troops as they returned to the camp, they had to be getting close to the breach if the demons were so intent on stopping them. She wished her heart did not tighten so painfully still every time she thought of a breach closing.
She had helped close three breaches in the year and half since she had left Lakeview. All three times, when she had stood close to the breach itself, almost close enough to touch, the same thought had crossed her mind—what if she jumped through? Would she find Blake on the other side? Would she die like he had?
Pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes, she chased away the memory of that rectangle of light, and the two silhouettes stumbling to the other side. They would find the next breach soon. Then they would close it. Thinking of what or who might be on the other side of that breach helped nothing.
A year and half. Simon had never found anything. He had invented three dozens spells that Kate knew of—and she suspected he had sometimes tried without telling her—but while they all seemed to work when he cast them on other people, he'd never been able to tell if Blake was alive, never been able to pinpoint his location. It didn't mean anything, he assured Kate every time. Blake was in a different dimension, the rules of magic might be different there; everything might be different.
A year and half. Simon still hoped. Kate wasn't sure she did.
Without thinking, in a gesture that had become as habitual, as necessary as breath, she touched the two raised scars on her neck with the tips of her fingers. Sometimes, she could hardly remember what Blake's smile had been like—his real smile, the one he reserved for intimate moments, when he wasn't playing or teasing anymore and was simply happy.
Did Marc remember, she wondered at times. Did he still think of Blake, like she did, every time he raised his sword, every time he fought a demon? Did he still think of her, like she still thought of him?
A loud trill chimed on her night table. She reached for the phone without thinking, expecting to hear Daniel, surprised when it was Simon's voice instead that rose from the receiver. He sounde
d agitated.
"Kate, you've got to come down to Central Command. Fast."
She sighed. She was tired, and she had earned her day off. “What is it?"
The phone changed hands; next thing she knew, Daniel was repeating Simon's words. “You have to come down here, Kate. You've got to see this."
With another sigh, she promised him she'd be right there. By pure habit, she strapped her knife sheaths to her arm and leg after getting dressed then headed out. She doubted she would have to fight, but she always felt naked without the knives.
Central Command was across the street, and she slowed her pace as she exited the barracks, turning her face up to enjoy the sun a little more fully. As soon as she stepped into the building, she headed toward Daniel's office on the left, but quickly noticed the unusual commotion on the right of the main corridor, where the conference rooms were located. She changed course and forced her way through a circle of onlookers that were gathered around the entrance to the largest room. Dark mutters followed her, but she paid them no mind.
When she entered the room, she noticed the box lying on the conference table at once. It was roughly the size and shape of a coffin, and her stomach flipped unpleasantly at the thought. She averted her eyes, and saw that Simon was standing at the back of the room close to the wall, as though he wanted to push through it or maybe disappear. His complexion had a distinct green undertone; it had been a long time since she had seen him so scared. She turned her attention to Daniel, who was talking sotto voce with one of Leawood's leaders. He nodded when he saw she was there, and she waited for him to be finished, looking back at the box. It seemed rather rudimentary, she now noticed, the planks that formed the sides and top all of irregular widths. A band of metal had been nailed around the sides, as though to hold them together. A second band secured the top in place.
"Kate. Thanks for coming so fast."
Crossing her arms, she turned to Daniel. The man he had been talking to was by the door, giving instructions to his men. “What is it?"
His eyes flicked to the box, and he frowned. “It was found last night on one of the main paths the demons take to reach the town."
"They lost it?” she asked, surprised. Demons rarely left anything behind.
"I don't think so, no.” He handed her a piece of thick paper. “This was nailed on top of it."
She unfolded the note, and as soon as she read the first word, her throat became dry.
Marc,
You lost this and I thought you might want it back
Sorry, but it looks like it broke sometime along the way.
Jen
Looking back up at Daniel, she couldn't help but frown. “What is it?” she asked yet again.
Daniel, whose eyes had been on the box, jerked, startled.
"We were going to wait until we found Marc,” he said very quietly. “But I think we'd better open it now."
"Why?"
A soldier entered the room, holding a large bolt cutter. At Daniel's nod, he started working on the metal fastenings.
"Because,” Daniel said slowly, “whatever is in that box has a heartbeat."
Behind them, Simon whimpered. The same sound wanted to rise from Kate's throat, but she pushed it back. The metal binding snapped with a resounding crack. Daniel and the soldier pushed the top of the box off. Kate peered in, torn between curiosity and dread. When she saw him, she thought her heart would stop.
Marc had been feeling the tug of the bloodline for a week and a half already when he entered Leawood. It had awoken him, one early morning, the sensation of a rope wrapped around his heart and pulling him forward intensely familiar. He had given his regrets to the group of soldiers he had been fighting with and left their camp that same night to follow the direction indicated by the bloodline.
He had known, when he had parted ways with Daniel, that they would meet again, sooner or later. It didn't matter what Daniel or his superiors thought; a part of Daniel needed his Sire, needed to be taught, and shown what it was to be a vampire. It had only been a question of time before Daniel caved in to his instincts and came back to Marc—or called for him.
The first time was three months after Daniel's siring. When Marc showed up at his camp, the look of surprise on his face had made it clear enough that he hadn't been calling for Marc on purpose. In times of great stress or need, it could be easy to cling to the bloodline for sheer support. Marc had done as much before. He winced every time the memory surfaced. He had done as much, and Blake had returned to him.
Daniel wasn't feeding enough, Marc quickly realized, and taught him again that very first lesson. He stayed at the camp for three days. Kate kept away from him the entire time.
Seven months later, it happened again. Marc was drawn to a different camp, and again Daniel claimed not to have been aware of what he was doing. Marc believed him. The part of Daniel that was pure vampire knew he needed his Sire, even if Daniel refused to see it. He was wounded that time, and not feeding properly again was hindering his healing. Marc tried to talk some sense into him, but Daniel refused to listen. His only recourse was to talk to Kate, tell her that Daniel, consciously or not, was starving himself. She listened, nodded, said she would talk to Daniel, but never so much as looked Marc in the eye. He left that camp wounded twice over, determined not to come back even if Daniel called for him again—and yet aware that he would come, however unwanted he was. Daniel needed his Sire, but Marc's need to take care of his Childe was just as deep.
Eight more months passed before this last call. Marc was only surprised it had taken so long. Was Daniel aware of what he was doing this time?
Although he assumed that Daniel had just reached his limit again, he couldn't help thinking that the call of the bloodline felt strange, stronger than it should coming from a vampire that had only been sired a year and half earlier. Instead, it felt as strong, as direct as the connection Marc had once shared with his Sire. But his Sire was long dead, having found death at a demon's hands just years into the invasion. Marc had never heard of the bloodline being used between anything other than Sires and their Childer, but he was almost wondering if an older vampire from his line might have been able to contact him in this way. It certainly was the feeling that came from the link, and it only became clearer as he neared the source.
Many cities across the continent hid from the demons behind walls as high and as thick as they could build; Leawood was no different. Marc drove all the way up to the metal doors before turning off the engine and leaving the car. A small door opened in the middle of the larger opening, just tall enough for a man to walk through—a short man. A guard walked out, wearing armor over his green uniform, a battered scabbard hanging from his belt. The clipboard in his hands seemed eerily out of place.
"State your name,” he drawled, sounding bored. “And the reason for your visit to Leawood."
"Marc Harding. I'm a vampire—” It was always best to get that bit out fast. “—and I'm here—"
The guard's eyes had widened at his name; he actually started at the word vampire, and didn't let Marc finish.
"They've been expecting you,” he said quickly, already turning back to the door and motioning toward it. “Get back in your car. Park on the left behind the wall. I'll call someone from the squad to take you there."
Before Marc could even get a word in, the guard was heading back to the wall, and there was nothing else for him to do other than what he had been told. Gritting his teeth, he restarted the car and drove in. By the time he killed the engine again, a young woman was jogging toward him, dressed in the familiar black uniform from the squad. For just an instant, Marc thought it was Kate. Her hair was too light, though, and she was too tall, too thin. Kate was shorter, curvier. More beautiful.
He felt a pang at the thought. He had wondered many times, since beginning his journey, whether Kate was still with the squad. He'd wondered if he would see her. If she would want to see him this time. If maybe...
"Sir? This way please."
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Marc nodded absently at the girl's squeaky words—and she was little more than a girl. Had Daniel relaxed his standards? Was he allowing younger people to join? Were things going so badly that he needed more soldiers regardless of their age?
Marc didn't ask any of that. There would be time to get answers later. For now, all he did was follow the girl, and the tugging of the bloodline. He wasn't all that surprised that they were leading him in the same direction. There was no doubt in his mind which one he would have followed if they hadn't.
The girl didn't say a word as she led him through wide, open streets to a military camp just minutes from the wall. Every so often, she glanced at him, and Marc could only wonder what was on her mind. He didn't ask about that, either.
They finally reached a building. Marc stopped in front of it and reached out to rest a hand on the girl's shoulder. She practically jumped at his touch and turned wide eyes to him.
"I'll find my way from here,” he said, trying to soften his words with a smile. “I know where I'm going."
"But Commander Waller said—"
"I'll tell Daniel you did what you were supposed to,” he placated her and, without waiting for an answer, entered the building.
Up, the bloodline called. Down the corridor on the left. Marc listened until he was standing in front of a door. He took a deep breath and then knocked. He only had to wait for a few moments before it opened. Every thought vanished from his mind when, rather than Daniel, it was Kate who appeared across the threshold.
She seemed as shocked to see him there as he felt, her eyes widening and her hand tightening on the edge of the door until her knuckles were white. Deep circles darkened her gaze as she stared at him for a long moment. She looked so tired, so sad...
"Kate..."
Hearing him whisper her name seemed to break her daze. Opening the door wide, she threw her arms around Marc and pressed her face against his chest. Marc was startled enough that he needed a couple of seconds before he returned her embrace. After the way they had parted, after how cold she had been toward him the last time he had talked to her, he had not expected that she would receive him so warmly if they met again.
