by L Ann
“Two clips and two maybe three rounds – then I’m out.” Morgan eased over the side, scanning the darkened warehouse floor. “I can’t see or hear anything moving down there.”
“I’m on my last clip.”
Morgan chewed on her bottom lip, thinking. “We need to get out of here.”
“You think?” Taz sighed. “We both know this was a trap. What we don’t know is why he’s willing to kill off so many of his pack.” He looked around while he spoke. “I think I can see the exit over there.” He pointed to a faint flickering light.
“Found you.” The sing-song voice of a young girl came up at them and Taz cursed.
“Guess break time is over.” Morgan drew her gun once more. “Head toward that light you spotted. I’ll meet you there.”
“We should stick together,” Taz protested.
“We will, but if we get separated, I’ll meet you there.”
He caught and held her eyes for a long moment. “I don’t like this,” he said. “We’re supposed to be a team.”
“We can be a team later. Right now, you’re the Nikaran Heir and it’s my job to make sure out of the two of us, you’re the one who gets out of here alive.” She motioned for him to move. “We don’t have time to argue over this, they’re on their way up.” As she spoke, two heads popped up over the level’s edge. Morgan swung her foot and kicked one back, then stamped on the other’s fingers, sending them both howling back to the floor and spun to look at Taz.
“Go!” she shouted, spinning back and firing down at the climbing horde, giving Taz the chance to get some distance away and then set off at a run after him.
A litany of curses played on a loop through Taz’s head as he ran. Leaving her behind didn’t feel right, and glancing behind him he couldn’t see her. The light he’d spotted earlier came into view more clearly, confirming it was a broken exit sign and he slowed, listening to the gunshots being fired some distance behind him. Jumping down from the crates he ran the final few metres to the exist and then stopped with his hand on the door.
“Come on, Morgan,” he breathed, scanning the darkness behind him. Another gunshot rang out and then a cry of pain. “Shit...” he was about to retrace his steps when she came flying toward him.
“Run! Get out!” she yelled. “We have about five seconds. RUN!” As she reached him, she shoved him through the door, flinging herself out behind him and grabbed his arm, hauling him down the alleyway between the warehouse and the building next door.
When the floor shook and a muted rumble hit his ears, Taz stopped dead. “What the fuck was that?”
Morgan had stopped beside him and, at his words, began to laugh weakly between her gasped breaths. “Grenade.” The relief of escape made her move without thought and she rose up on tiptoes to press a kiss to Taz’s mouth.
Startled, Taz didn’t react straight away, then feeling her draw away he lifted his hands to cup her face and followed her kiss with one of his own.
“Are you okay?” He asked her, when their lips parted.
Morgan leaned against him and nodded. “That grenade didn’t sound very loud, did it?”
“No. Probably Cabal magic muffling the sound,” Taz replied. “Or he paid a witch.”
“If it was a witch, there would be some kind of symbolism somewhere to keep the spell active.”
“Yeah, probably.” Taz nodded, while scanning the area, with regard to the main thoroughfare. “I’d say that’s pretty much a given. All that gunfire,” he jerked his head toward the alley entrance, “and no cops or anyone wanting to take a look? Nobody heard a thing or they don’t give a shit. And, at this point,” a sharp pain recalled his attention to the metal still sticking in his arm. “I don’t think either of us are in much shape to go looking for it.”
“You’ll get no argument from me on that,” Morgan replied, pulling back to survey his injury. “I vote we take time to regroup.”
“Seconded. “Taz agreed, and the two made their way toward Morgan’s car.
Chapter 12
The bond in effect? What else could it be, Taz decided.
During an agreed upon stop at the Shadowfall med centre, the two couldn’t keep their eyes off each other. Something, in fact, that did not go unnoticed by either Dr. Chambeau or her attending nurse. As further proof, they left the treatment station hand-in-hand; a situation that continued across the club’s lobby and into the elevator where they occupied a corner (away from their fellow passengers) entwined in each other’s arms like a pair of lovestruck teenagers. Bond or no, not much of a stretch, Taz admitted. She had had that effect on him since day One. But Morgan? There was the eyebrow raiser.
He felt, on the edge of his awareness, the elevator come to a stop, but it wasn’t until he felt a hesitant touch on his shoulder and heard a cleared throat he lifted his head.
“Uhhh… Highness?” One of the other passengers spoke, his tone careful. “I believe we’re at your floor.”
Taz glanced through the open doors.
“Thanks,” he grunted at the man, wrapped his arm around Morgan’s shoulders and they left the elevator to the muted laughter of the other inhabitants.
“They’re laughing at us,” he said as they headed down the corridor to his suite. “We should shoot them.”
“Not us, you,” Morgan replied.
Taz pulled her to a stop to share another kiss, then leaned his forehead against hers. “Do you think it’s just the bond?”
“Maybe? At the very least, partially,” she said slowly. “It wasn’t there in Vegas.”
Taz laughed. “You shot me in Vegas.”
Morgan smiled and started to walk, forcing Taz to move backwards to keep pace.
“I thought about you a lot after that weekend.”
“Cursing me, no doubt.”
Taz stopped, so that Morgan walked into him and cupped her face. “Yes, I cursed you because I compared every woman I met with you and found each one lacking.”
“Flatterer,” she raised up on her toes to kiss him again.
“Taz, Morgan,” Zuron’s voice sounded behind Taz.
Taz didn’t even bother looking up to acknowledge his father’s presence, instead keeping his eyes locked on Morgan. He reached into a pocket, pulled out the key-card for his suite, opened the door and pulled Morgan in.
“Taz?” Zuron called him again.
“Busy,” was Taz’s only response, and he slammed the door shut and locked it.
“Rude.” Morgan’s one-word reaction was accompanied by an amused chuckle.
“But did I lie?” Taz paused long enough to wait for a response and when none came, he took her hand and moved toward the master bedroom.
“Eager, aren’t you?” Morgan laughed as he released her to tug off the t-shirt he’d picked up from the medic bay.
Taz responded by tumbling them both down to the mattress and all conversation ceased for a while.
~*~
“We should report in.” Morgan spoke up from where she lay, her head resting on Taz’s stomach. “if we don’t check in soon, they’re going to beat down the door.”
Taz glanced over to where their phones lay mixed between their clothing and sighed as his rang, almost on cue. Lifting a hand, he stroked his fingers through Morgan’s hair, brushing it away from her face and ignored the ringing.
“You shot me because you knew who I was.”
Morgan didn’t reply straight away, raising her head and turning so she could see his face. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”
“Hell, no.”
“Okay, then. Yes, but I didn’t know it was you from the start. It was only later. Things you said, places you talked about. But while I didn’t know your name, I could pretend you weren’t the one person I was supposed to be avoiding.”
“But I insisted on giving you my name.”
Morgan nodded. “You did and, as much as I don’t like to admit it, I panicked.”
“And shot me.”
She rol
led her eyes at him. “And shot you.” Her head turned to the side when her cell rang. “They really want to talk to us.”
“Yeah, and they aren’t going to stop until we answer, so…” Taz’s words trailed off as he swung out of bed and snatched up the phone he’d dropped a foot or so away.
“All right! I’m here alre—“ he growled, snapping off the word mid-sentence at the voice on the other end. “Pannie? Why the hell are you calling me cell?”
Morgan sat up and waited for Taz to finish his call.
“Give us five minutes, ten tops,” he said, then broke the connection and stood up, dropping the cell onto his pillow. “We’ve got company downstairs… Cabal company.”
“The Master? No, he wouldn’t? Would he?” Morgan looked startled.
“I could be wrong, but I don’t think it’s him. Pantera said he searched clean – no weapons. He – whoever he is – asked to talk to us specifically. She’s got guns on him, just in case, in her office.”
~*~
Pantera was waiting outside her office door when they arrived, her expression somewhere between wariness and amusement.
“Anything we should know before we go in?” Taz queried.
“Other than he needs to know that Nehru jackets went out with Sammy Davis Jr,” the club’s Chief of Security smirked and glanced back at the door. “He hasn’t moved or said a word since we brought him in. He’s just sitting staring at the wall. It’s creeping me out, if you want to know the truth.”
Morgan laughed. “Then I guess we better go in before you get twitchy.”
Pantera hadn’t exaggerated even the tiniest bit. The man seated in a chair, surrounded by three of Shadowfall’s S.O’s came right out of a bad remake of a 1960s hippie culture documentary, right down to his Peace symbol necklace and bell bottom slacks. He sat ramrod straight, eyes shut, fingers interlaced, oblivious to the three Sig Sauers situated inches from his head.
At a nod from Pannie, the three S.O’s withdrew, in tandem, and stepped back. A jerk of the thumb and they departed.
“Ah. The lovely warrior and the son of Lord I’Ane,” he spoke without opening his eyes.
“And just who might you be?” Taz responded after a beat’s pause.
The eyes opened then, revealing a piercing blue gaze which settled first on Pantera, then swung to Morgan and Taz. “Call me Custos.”
“Latin for keeper,” Morgan observed.
“It is, indeed,” he nodded. “Also guardian, watchman, attendant and other appropriate designations. Brother Custos, to be more precise.”
Morgan pulled one of the steel chairs away from the table and sat opposite him. “And what are you the keeper of?”
“Traditions, secrets, information.” Custos cast a lopsided grin and leaned forward as though in preparation to leave his chair. Pantera had her Glock drawn and pointed in a nanosecond, prompting him to return to his former position.
“Your chair is more than a bit restricting, my dear. Perhaps you could supply something a little more… commodious?”
“My hospitality has limits,” Pantera replied. “Like my patience.” She threw a quick glance at Taz and Morgan. “But I might be willing to put myself out a little more if you were more talkative.”
“Ah, yes. The lovely warrior’s question.” He nodded to Morgan. “How shall I say this? I am the keeper of traditions, secrets and information – all of which you and Lord I’Ane’s son will need to complete your mission and, hopefully, live through the next twenty-four hours.”
“Pannie, why don’t you and your team go for coffee or something?” Morgan didn’t remove her eyes from Custos. “Send someone back with a seat with more –“ she smiled “-padding for our guest.”
“Morgan –“ Pantera began.
“We got this,” Morgan spoke over her. “Your first concern is the club and its security. This,” she inclined her head toward their guest. “He is ours.”
With a look at both Taz and Morgan that said she was neither happy nor comfortable with the arrangement, Pantera holstered her weapon, gave Custos a parting scowl, and departed.
“Much less stressful, wouldn’t you say?” The Cabal vampire settled against the chair’s backrest.
“I wouldn’t get too comfortable, Brother Custos,” Taz moved to stand over him, nailing him with an eye-to-eye glare. “Unless you make good on what you brought up, the only way you’ll leave here is in a trash bag.”
“You would do well to remember I came here voluntarily, young Prince,” Custos responded. “And, unlike the one you seek, I am more than capable of leaving should you wish it or not.” He leaned forward, steepling his fingers and returned Taz’s glare with a long steady look of his own.
“Taz,” Morgan caught his arm as he started forward. “Bickering will get us nowhere. Why don’t we hear what Brother Custos has come to say?”
“The wisdom of womanhood,” Custos said, flashing Taz a taunting smirk. “Actually,” his attention focused on Morgan. “This will work out much better for all concerned if I hear what you have to say.
“Questions – you must have several?”
“Yeah, I got a couple,” Taz stepped in again. “Who is this guy – this Master? And what is his problem with us?”
Custos laughed. “And there is your first misconception. He is not a Master. That level of achievement was lost to him when his Master, for lack of a more appropriate designation, expired. And that is partially responsible for the current predicament.”
Morgan frowned. “How does his lack of master link to what he’s doing and why he appears to be targeting House Nikaris?”
“He isn’t targeting the House, my dear. Oh no no no, not at all,” Custos assured her, then tilted his head and grinned at Taz. “Well, maybe selective members of the House. He seems to have taken his inspiration, with this situation, from something I believe you were involved in a few years ago,” he eyed Morgan. “A mess involving his master you were tasked to clean up.”
“Yes,” Morgan replied. “You mentioned the next twenty-four hours. Would I be right in assuming we’re about to reach his endgame?”
“Endgame?” Custos laughed. “You’re making this far more complicated than it is, my dear. Let me simplify it for you without ruining the surprise for you or Dirty Harry here,” he threw Taz an irreverent wink. “The way our system is set up, there are always three in the field – a Master, an Apprentice, and an Ajutor. You would call him or her an aide, someone who attends the master and the student. In this case, the Master expired before the ceremony could be performed that would pass the Apprentice to the next level – that of Master Adept – and raising the Ajutor to Apprentice. This doesn’t happen often, but when it does the unfulfilled student is required by Cabal tradition to surrender him or herself for repaus… or, as you may know it, euthanasia. If this is not completed within seventy-two hours, the Apprentice suffers a slow spiral into insanity and, eventually, death.”
Taz and Morgan exchanged frowns. “So, what we’re seeing here is nothing more than insanity?” Taz shook his head. “I don’t buy it.”
“Me either. If that was the case, the Cabal wouldn’t have sent you here to perform damage control,” Morgan added.
Custos raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”
“Because, if what you’re saying is true, then he will be dead soon. Why would you expose yourself and help us to defeat him if he was simply crazy and had a limited lifespan?” Morgan leaned forward. “Why don’t you tell us the real reason you’re here?”
“I –“ Custos stopped, making a comedic show of sealing and locking his lips as two of Pantera’s S.O’s knocked then entered, carrying a leather upholstered recliner. Without so much as a sidelong glance to anyone present, they retrieved the desk chair vacated by Custos and exited.
“Ah, much better!” The Cabal vampire settled into the recliner, ankles crossed and smiled, as though the world were his own private paradise. After a long moment, he acknowledged the room’s other occupants wit
h almost childlike mischievousness. “Now, where was I?
“Oh, yes! First, I’m not here to help you defeat Rego.” His bottom lip dropped, eyes widening as if he had just spoken out of turn. “Did I mention his name earlier? No? Oh well. Rego… Rego… It has a rather tragic ring to it, does it not?”
“I’m finding it very hard to fight the urge to shoot this son of a bitch,” Taz grumbled.
“Taz, you’re not helping,” Morgan said, moving to place herself between the two. Though it was more for Taz’s sake. “You were saying, Custos?”
“Yes, I was saying… I am not here to help defeat him. For all intents and purposes, I am not here period. No one sent me. No one amongst my brethren knows I am here.” He flashed a brief, nervous grin. “If they did… Well, let’s just say my fate would be most unpleasant.
“What you should know is that the seventy-two-hour clock ran out some time ago. Several weeks, in fact. Seattle was not his first stop. As we speak, my brothers are busy cleaning up messes Rego has left in other areas. News of this mess has yet to reach their ears. But I digress.
“As I said earlier, it doesn’t happen often, and each case is different. This one, though, has taken different to a whole new level. Rego is most assuredly mad, and most definitely dying, but this insanity could continue indefinitely. It could be weeks before he dies, before my brothers catch up to him. And, in the meantime, Rego has found a focus for his insanity.” The playfulness fell from his face, leaving something older, stronger and more fearsome in its wake.
“One reason I took it upon myself to respond to information from my own informants and come here is simple.” He jabbed a finger at Taz and Morgan. “You. For reasons both social and political. Personally, like the rest of my Clan, I couldn’t care less about the mortals of this city. But what do you think would happen if one of ours was responsible for the deaths of, first, the daughter of the leader of the Necuno and, second, the Prince Heir to the House of Nikaris? And, don’t doubt me for a second, that is what he is aiming for.”
“All-out war,” Morgan replied.
“Eventually,” Custos affirmed. “But before that there would be a smaller scale, but equally savage, war between my people,” he gazed at Morgan, “your father and brothers, and doubtless the entire Necuno Clan Alliance. Chills me to the bone just thinking about that.” His gaze shifted to Taz. “And then there’s your father, Lord Zuron, who occupies the most powerful and influential seat on the Parliamentary Council. The Cabal would be politically ostracised. Not that we have ever been fully recognised, but we do have some legislative weight – which works well when we need it, and I would hate to lose it.
