by Kari Gregg
Malachi exhaled, reluctantly stood.
“I trust no one.”
“Sit down, Mal. Your word, sworn on your faith, will be your bond.”
He nodded. “I vow before holy God that I will keep your secrets, Garrick, and the confidences of this council. To the grave.”
Garrick ran a soothing hand up and down her arm. “He’ll die to fulfill any promise he’s vowed before God. My involvement, at this point, is irrelevant.” Garrick jerked his head at the other vampyr, the scrawny one. “And Elliot? He was selected as well?”
“No.” Aidan glared at Garrick, as though daring him to object. “He belongs to me.”
Garrick stiffened.
The muscles in the arms he’d draped around Kate molded to steel.
Peter’s wide-eyed stare flashed to the scrawny vampyr, who blushed to the roots of his curly brown hair. A rough growl vibrated the were’s throat and brought the hairs at Kate’s nape to urgent attention. Her heart beat faster, her breath a quiet gasp.
The pack’s other males retreated valuable inches from the vampyr surrounding them. As a unit, their bodies tensed to abrupt alert.
Elliot paled.
The remaining pack members fled the cave, swooping up whelps with them.
Dear God.
“They won’t attack. Will they?”
Garrick watched the pack maneuver to better fighting positions, his features studiously blank. “Not without my orders.”
“Honestly, Peter. That was rude,” Isabel said with a disapproving scowl.
“Since when do rebels enslave their young?” Even Kate could see the were alpha vibrate in equal parts fear and aggression. “Masters are dark. They are all dark.”
“Stand down, Peter,” Garrick said, his voice pitched to a low soothing rumble, but his grip on Kate didn’t slacken. “Let him speak.”
“Why? You won’t believe me.” The prince waved a hand to Elliot. “Perhaps you’ll believe him.”
“Aidan hasn’t turned,” he said on a quick rush, “but he is my master. I’ve been courting him for years.”
The adoring glance he shot at Aidan held so much admiration and frank devotion Kate squirmed.
“Why shouldn’t I pursue him? Are any of us older than Aidan? More powerful?” The scrawny vampyr smiled, flashing brilliant white teeth at Garrick. “Actually, the legends about you and Luc gave me the idea.”
Garrick frowned. “Explain.”
The young vampyr pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “When you and Luc partnered together, no rogue could touch the two of you. No other headhunters could match your skill. You were unstoppable, but when you went to ground to wait your mate, Luc weakened. Not that he was an inferior hunter. He was adequate, but that makes my point. He wasn’t as agile, as strong, as proficient.”
“I must admit, the boy recognized an incongruity I hadn’t. I had my eye on you, Garrick, but not your partner. Not Luc,” Aidan said. “Even paired with you as his elder, he should have fought less skillfully. He should have been weaker. As he was when you went to ground.”
Elliot nodded. “I realized, all those centuries, he’d been feeding from you.”
Kate’s forehead furrowed.
Of course Luc fed from Garrick.
Garrick grunted. “Hunters swear a blood oath, a necessary evil.”
“Necessary only once. You fed him before every fight, didn’t you?” Elliot paused, waiting for a response that didn’t come. “I know I’m right. You rationalized it at first. Luc was practically an infant among our kind when you escaped the stables, or so the legend goes. He would’ve died if you’d left him, but you wanted vengeance. To fight beside you, Luc would’ve needed strengthening.” Elliot shrugged. “So you made him better. More powerful. Just…more.”
Garrick glared, first at Elliot, then at Aidan. “I was never Luc’s master.”
“No,” Elliot said, leaning forward. “You were his father.”
Malachi yawned.
“Every dark master keeps a stable of males to man his defenses, to tend his stronghold, and as a hasty blood meal to increase his fighting strength when needed. But every once in a while, one of those slaves pleases his master. He begins tutoring the slave, grooming him, feeding him.”
“Yes, we know,” Garrick said. “Servant vampyr. We’ve all destroyed the poor wretches.”
“But there are stories about masters adopting servants. A son who enjoys greater autonomy than servants, more short-term power due to more frequent feedings from his father. The master gains a valuable assistant who is absolutely obedient to him. The more blood he gives, the greater the son feels compelled to obey. It’s really an elegant arrangement.”
“Luc was never a servant either.”
“No, you took it that legendary step further,” Aidan said. “Except you didn’t force him. Luc wanted to be stronger. He wanted to please you. He was your son in every way that counts, because he wanted to be.”
Garrick stared at Aidan. “Why?”
Aidan spread his hands. “You said it yourself. He’s the most intelligent vampyr I’ve ever known. We don’t dare lose him.”
Garrick nodded. “Okay.” He glared at Elliot. “Why?”
“Protection.” He shrugged. “And power, I admit. Have you ever fed from an elder?”
Garrick’s face went stony. He glared at Aidan. “Not recently.”
Elliot’s head bobbed up and down. “Total rush. And when I’m older, stronger, Aidan will help me develop powers it’d take decades to learn on my own.” His eyes shone suddenly with far more wisdom than his years. “A guy like me doesn’t stand a chance at winning a mate. If I’m smarter than the others, if I know best how to use the power I can muster, if Aidan helps me at the right time… Maybe. Just maybe.”
Aidan smiled at Elliot, a gentle curving of his lips. “He belongs to me, Garrick. You’ve no cause for concern.”
“He’s not your son?”
Aidan’s lips thinned in irritation. “No.”
Puzzled, Garrick studied the prince.
“If there are no other objections? Fine. Let’s begin.”
Chapter Twenty
Hours later, he slipped from the pallet of blankets he shared with Kate, tugged on a pair of jeans, and padded from the alcove he’d chosen for them. With so many strangers in camp, the weres were restless, but short of an arched eyebrow from Peter as he passed, no one paid attention to him.
Good.
Garrick was nervous enough.
He headed deeper into the cavern complex.
His heart quickened as he bypassed rooms where other vampyr lay, those who hadn’t chosen to wait for dusk to begin their tasks. Malachi wouldn’t be there. Stoic as ever, he’d slipped away to pair up partnerless headhunters the moment their plans had been drawn. Some lingered, though.
Not many.
But some.
When the maze of rooms branched, he veered left and saw the light of their fire within moments. His feet slowed. His anxiety was natural, but no matter how his nerves shrieked to turn around, go back, he kept moving forward.
Toward Aidan’s camp.
When he reached the entrance, he froze. Candles flickered on thin ledges lining the chipped wall, giving the area a soft glow. Thick, woven rugs blanketed the stone floor. Isabel had kicked off her respectable low-heeled pumps, but otherwise lounged contentedly on a makeshift bed of downy comforters. Engrossed, she licked her finger and turned the page of her book—something heavy and musty-looking.
“Garrick.” Aidan met his gaze in the reflection of a mirror fixed inside the lid of a traveling trunk stood on end. “Come in.” He unknotted his tie and arranged it on a bar installed above where the jacket he’d worn earlier hung. Garrick spotted shoes below, fine leather slid into wooden forms in a drawer that gaped at the bottom of the trunk. The crisp scent of cedar tickled his nostrils.
Garrick’s heart pounded.
Aidan and Isabel had entered the caves empty-handed.
&
nbsp; They hadn’t carried so much as a ballpoint pen.
God help him, had Isabel done this?
He’d heard the rumors, of course. Young vampyr thrived on tales of what females were capable of, the powers they developed. Part of him still believed some of those legends. Logic dictated that a nugget of truth must be buried in them.
Garrick hadn’t anticipated that he would be confronted with a display of those powers so soon, though.
His face blanched.
Good Lord, was that Garth Brooks?
His panicked gaze swept the cave, and yes, there it was, an iPod perched high atop a jagged shelf in the rough stone walls.
Garth assured all and sundry that he had “friends in low places.”
Garrick’s eyes snapped shut as he struggled against the alarm flaring inside him.
Isabel’s powers were foreign to him, but his own Kate would one day learn them. Some of them very soon. He should feel comforted by the exhibition, pay attention to what his eyes and ears told him. When Kate began drawing power, he wanted to be in a position to support her and smooth her way. She’d accepted much, tolerated a great deal, but emerging skills like these would terrify her.
Almost as much as they terrified him.
But not nearly as much as Isabel herself did.
Not even close.
He abruptly shook his head, tried to clear it.
He must stop acting like a child.
Garrick had much more pressing reasons to dread this encounter than wallowing in foolish, irrational fears. Isabel could hurt him, badly, if she so chose, true. Very true. If she wanted him dead, there was no doubt in his mind that he would be. Probably before he realized he was in danger.
But he was no threat to Aidan.
So Isabel wouldn’t harm a hair on his head.
He was reasonably confident that nothing would happen in this room that he hadn’t already given his tacit approval of, simply by seeking them out.
That merited all the mind-numbing, blood-freezing horror he could muster.
Not Isabel.
He meant to move forward.
He wanted to move forward.
His feet just didn’t seem to obey him anymore.
A cold bead of sweat trickled down his spine.
Aidan shot an amused glance at Isabel, who closed her book. “Much as it pains me, I’ll give you your privacy.” She slipped into her discarded shoes and smiled. “I wouldn’t have expected you to be so shy, Garrick.”
“Don’t tease him, dear. He might bolt,” Aidan said as rolled his sleeves up tanned forearms sprinkled with fine fair hair. But he grinned.
When she walked to the door, where Garrick still stood stubbornly rooted, Isabel stretched on tiptoe to brush a kiss across his cheek. “A little premature, but welcome to the council,” she said, eyes twinkling. “Go ahead.” When he still couldn’t force himself to enter the room, she laughed and called over her shoulder as she left, “You’ll like it, Garrick. I promise.”
Aidan slid off his watch, laid it aside, and lifted a hand to loosen the first three buttons of his shirt. “That’s better.” He shot Garrick a curious glance, then walked on stocking feet to a camp chair Garrick hadn’t noticed before.
Until then, maybe it hadn’t been there.
His stomach lurched.
Aidan settled in the chair, waited expectantly. “I can’t come to you, Garrick. It doesn’t work that way. Your blood oath must be freely given.”
He gave a jerky nod, and pulse hammering a thundering crescendo, he finally crossed to him. Dropping to his knees when he reached Aidan was not a problem. Garrick was certain his legs would no longer hold him upright.
Aidan smoothed Garrick’s hair with the tip of his fingers. “You’re shaking.”
His tongue unglued itself from the roof of his mouth. “I’m nervous.”
“So I see.” Dark eyes never leaving Garrick’s, he reached for an ornately carved box lying on a tall rock beside them. From it, he withdrew a silver thimble with a single lethal barb extending from its tip.
Garrick stiffened.
His heart rabbited in his chest.
Only his stunned horror saved him the monumental embarrassment of fleeing, grabbing Kate, and running as far as his legs could carry them. Thank God he’d knelt because if he’d been standing, Garrick didn’t think even the shock would’ve spared him. He would have fled. No matter how great their need of the council, every instinct screamed for escape.
He ripped his stare from the lancet, focusing instead on Aidan, whose features were as cool, as placid as ever. If he kept his eyes on Aidan, maybe—just maybe—he could hold himself together.
“You know what this is, of course,” he said.
Garrick felt part of himself slipping into Aidan’s eyes, a peaceful calm settling over him. If it had been anyone else, he would’ve fought the compulsion. But he didn’t resist. He didn’t dare. “I know what it is.”
Aidan slid the weapon over his index finger. “No arguments?”
Garrick swallowed convulsively in spite of Aidan’s soothing influence. “None.”
“Then you’ve no reason to be nervous.”
His control slipped. “I’ve every reason,” Garrick said, unable to smother the foul temper in his voice but glad, at least, that he’d repressed the sneer that wanted to accompany it.
Aidan paused, lips curving in wry amusement. “You’ve done this before, vampyr. No surprises for you. That’s more than the rest of us could claim.”
“Is that why you chose it? To taunt me?” Fresh panic spiked his pulse. “To punish me?”
Aidan’s brow furrowed. “You are our brother, Garrick. No matter what you were before, you’ve proven yourself since. You paid your debt, many times over.” He nodded to the miniature weapon on his finger. “This is no reprisal. We’ve all been bled by it. We’ve used the lancet in the ritual since the council’s infancy.”
Garrick flinched.
Panic consumed him.
His body trembled so violently he wondered that he didn’t simply fly apart. “You didn’t salvage it from Nathaniel’s stronghold,” he said over the buzzing in his head.
“No.” Aidan shook his head decisively. He reached forward and cursed under his breath when Garrick cringed from the hand that bore the lancet. Instead, he awkwardly grasped his shoulder with the other. “You are our brother. I would nev—”
“Nor Isaac’s?”
Aidan’s grip on him tightened, his stare glittering sharp regret. “Nor Isaac’s.”
Garrick’s eyes snapped shut.
“We adopted their customs, the ritual.” Aidan’s grasp loosened. “But that is all. I didn’t steal the lancet from them.”
Relief crushed him. His ears rang. “Then I can bear it,” he finally said, though he wasn’t sure he could at all.
“You’ll bear it more easily if you allow my influence to quiet you.”
His heart sank. He hadn’t realized he’d crowded Aidan’s sway from him, hadn’t intended to. That failure spoke volumes of the wounds he’d fought too long and hard to hide. They’d mended. Luc had seen to that. But not without scars.
He opened his eyes, tried for a smile though he knew his was a travesty of it. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I…freaked.”
Aidan stared down at him, his eyes glittering pity.
Which made it all the worse.
“Not that it was a simple thing for any of us, but you’d done it before.” Aidan’s lips twisted to a bitter smile. “I thought it’d be easier for you. That this,” he said, nodding to the lancet, “its familiarity, might be a comfort.”
Garrick fought the horrendous pain that roiled inside him, struggled to overpower his instincts. Every one of which screamed against leaving himself vulnerable to Aidan again. “It’ll be a comfort to me after.”
Aidan snorted at the lie. “If I could spare you, I would.”
His eyes narrowed. “Then you’re a fool.”
“Garrick.”
> The callous reprimand in Aidan’s voice startled a low growl from him, but he choked it back.
Aidan’s fingers rose to his chin, forcing Garrick’s gaze to meet his.
Nausea churned his stomach at the poisonous slide of the lancet’s silver against his skin.
“I sense your grief, and I wish I wasn’t the cause of it. But I will not tolerate defiance. Not now. Not ever. Do you understand?”
Perversely, the severity in his voice, the unbending steel that glinted in his glare steadied Garrick, shattered the walls his instincts had erected around him.
Aidan’s soothing influence poured over him as a flood.
Garrick knew Aidan felt it when his lips slowly curved. “Good,” Aidan said, gently tapping the barbed tip against his cheek. Garrick shuddered, equal parts fear and relief. “Very good. After these many centuries, I finally begin to understand you.”
Garrick quivered, even under Aidan’s mounting influence. “I’m glad somebody does.”
“You are as glad of it as you were to see the lancet.” He chuckled. “But what we like isn’t always what we need.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“You are a case, Garrick. Truly, you are. Good to know the one they chose is as screwed up as the rest of us.” His dark eyes sparkled wicked merriment. “You cannot possibly imagine how much that endears you to me.”
“No, I can’t.” He ignored his embarrassment, let himself sink under Aidan’s pull. “But I can feel your amusement. Share it if I like.”
Aidan’s eyebrow arched. “I forget how dangerous you are,” he said but ruined the effect when he laughed. “But not to me.”
Garrick shook his head. “Not to you.”
“Let us both hope, then, that I live up to your expectations.”
Aidan reached for his hand.
Garrick’s breath caught.
He stroked his wrist, the touch feather soft. “Would you have come to us so quickly if Luc hadn’t been taken?”
“I would’ve eventually. I need the security.” He shivered. “But I would’ve avoided you as long as I could.”
Aidan shrugged a lazy shoulder. “I’d guessed as much.”
Unbearable heat built over his pulse point. Garrick winced at the sharp stab, but the pain was brief, then gone. He promptly dismissed it. “Would you have come so swiftly to Luc’s aid if helping me save him didn’t guarantee me to you?”
