by Jen Colly
“Your breakfast?” Savard said, a mischievous smile crossing his deceivingly youthful face. “Cat.”
“Cat? Her name is Cat?” Navarre whispered in disbelief, the choppy name feeling strange on his tongue. His people had beautiful names, lyrical names. No vampire would name his child something so curt, so crude. “Shortened from Cataleen? Catherine? Catia?”
“No, not at all. Cat is a nickname,” Savard interjected. “She’s never told me her real name. I get the impression she either can’t remember it, or ran from it.”
“You admittedly know nothing about her?”
Savard shrugged. “I know enough.”
“What is she?”
“You tell me.” Savard pointed to Navarre’s clearly rumpled bed. “No one has ever been that close to her.”
Navarre shook off the implication in search of facts. “It’s not like you to be without details.”
“What I know about her is not important, other than she poses no danger to you or the city. You have my word,” Savard said in all seriousness.
Navarre nodded, allowing the topic of Cat to pass for now. Apprehension sidled through his veins as he glanced around his home. What lay beyond these walls? The last time he saw Balinese, the city was in chaos, death everywhere he turned. “My city. Is all well?”
“Well enough.”
Navarre placed his hand on Savard’s shoulder, sincerely meaning every word when he said, “I’m glad you’re here.”
“It’s only a matter of time before I’m gone,” Savard said softly.
“You keep saying that.”
“Yeah, well, one of these days I’ll mean it.” Savard cleared his throat. “No one knows you’ve woken. I want to keep it that way until you’ve met with the council.”
No longer hindered by cravings, hallucinations, weakness, or light sensitivity, Navarre embraced his captain. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I’m sending you to Elin. She needs to run some tests and check your heart.” Savard clapped him on the back, released him quickly, then headed for the door. Suddenly he stopped and asked, “Why me?”
“You know why,” Navarre’s voice was even, unflinching.
“Seven damn years. You’ll start feeding regularly,” Savard emphasized his demand with a sharp nod.
“Fixed me, have you?”
“No one else will,” Savard said, his shoulders relaxing only slightly. “Don’t do this to me again.”
“To you?” Navarre asked, concerned.
“Yes, to me. Running your city was hell,” Savard admitted.
“I owe you my life, Savard,” Navarre said sincerely. “And more.”
“You don’t owe me a damned thing, my lord. Walk into that council room, take back your city, and we’re even.”
Chapter 7
Navarre opened the door to the council room and reality sank in when the three men sitting around the table stopped talking and looked his way. Jaws dropped. No one moved.
Ivan, Soren, and Vidor gaped at him, unsure of how to react. Suddenly Soren stood, strode to him, and threw his arms around him in a tight hug. Frozen in his own state of shock, Navarre was unable to return the gesture.
This was not his council. Two of his oldest friends, Julian and Bareth, were not here. If they were gone from his council, it could only mean they were gone from this world. The sorrow lodged in his throat, choked out anything he’d intended to say.
Soren returned to his seat, a broad grin fixed across his face. The number of trusted men in his life had been few, and now? Three. Soren, Vidor, and his captain. Navarre rubbed his chest, attempting to soothe the ache there, but this time it wasn’t physical.
“I can’t do this,” he whispered to his captain.
“Yes, you can. Just make it quick.”
Throat dry, Navarre quietly asked his captain, “My council?”
Savard said gently, “I think you already know.”
Gone. From his perspective he’d spoken with Julian and Bareth, laughed with them, just nights ago. Everyone else in this room had years to grieve and move on. Time had passed differently for Navarre, the loss fresh and painful.
Navarre sat at the head of the table. He didn’t know what to say, how to greet the unfamiliar. Savard stood off to the right. The captain preferred to stand guard rather than park himself in a chair. At least that hadn’t changed.
Vidor leaned forward on his right, expectant, but respectfully silent. His presence alone was a comfort.
Soren sat to his left. And Ivan. With Soren’s direct connection to the Guardians, Navarre understood why he had been added to the council. But Ivan? Navarre couldn’t remember when the man had arrived in the city. He did, however, recall that Ivan had once been a Stalker. Since he’d been pardoned, Ivan seemed to live a solitary life here in Balinese.
Yet, other than his experience with fighting demons, Navarre didn’t see the benefit of having Ivan on the council when more trustworthy men had the same experience. Savard must have a reason.
“I understand the things I need to ask you have already been discussed at length in the distant past, but I need to know.” Navarre cleared his throat, attempting to dislodge the grief settling there. It didn’t help. “How many were lost?”
“Thirteen,” Savard answered. “There were many injuries, but it was the council and those guarding you personally who were targeted.”
“Who?”
“Navarre,” Captain Savard cautioned him in a rather parental tone that suggested now was not the time nor place.
“I need to know whom I lost,” Navarre insisted, his body rigid, braced for what was coming. “I was there when Nero and Flynn… Sampson?”
“I’m sorry.” Captain Savard gave him a moment, then pushed on, his voice tight. “And Dr. Murrell. Their mates were lost with them. Julian’s daughter did not survive.”
It all came flooding back in an instant, the sudden recollection of why he’d been in the château, why he’d raced up the stairs in pursuit. Demons carried six children out of his city, and he’d given chase, trying desperately to save them. One child had been Julian’s youngest, Ivette. Savard didn’t mention Julian’s son, Jovan. Had he survived?
“The children.” His words came out in a breathy rush, like he’d been hit in the chest.
“The rest of the children were recovered,” Savard assured him.
Navarre clamped down on his emotions, pushing away the urge to cry out in anger and grief for the souls of those who were like family to him. He longed to let loose the tears gathering.
Vidor opened his mouth, but Navarre raised his hand, cutting him off before he could make a sound.
Navarre stood and turned away from them. He’d known more than a few Guardians must have been lost, but his council and friends? Julian’s little Ivette?
Navarre turned to his captain and spoke past the lump that had welled there. “Who was targeted and survived?”
“Soren, myself, and you, of course,” Savard answered. “Steffen was severely injured, but we believe he was only collateral damage as he guarded the gate.”
“They wanted my city,” Navarre said, his voice flat.
“That’s what we assumed,” Vidor supplied.
“How many attacks since?”
“One or two,” Soren answered.
Savard stepped forward, drawing the attention of the room. “That’s not exactly true.”
Navarre straightened. “What are you saying, Savard? What have you kept from the council?”
“There have been many small attacks over the years. Most were headed off before demons could enter the city,” Savard said. “Any captured demons were executed discreetly.”
“You said nothing to me. Not a single word.” Soren’s body was rigid, his fists clenched tight, but he did not portray any other signs of anger.
If this had been kept from the acting captain, then what else had Savard kept to himself?
This assault on his city may have begun seven years ago, but with demons continuing to attempt entry, this was far from over. Navarre had nothing resembling a plan. What he did have was an urge to stir the pot. “Gentlemen, someone has eyes on us. Let’s give them something to see. My awakening will be announced to my people, posted on every level. Have a feast prepared in celebration of my return to rule. The people of the city will want to see me in person. And Vidor, I want announcements written in your hand sent to the other three cities in France.”
“What am I to tell them?”
“That Balinese rejoices in the miraculous recovery of her lord after a seven-year healing sleep.”
Vidor smiled. “You want them to come after you again.”
“They’ll come regardless. I’m just making this more tempting.” Navarre glanced around his council table. None protested, but then he encountered Savard’s hard stare. “Yes, captain?”
“You need a bodyguard.”
“I agree. Meeting adjourned,” Navarre sat, feeling somewhat his old self. Everyone stood, headed toward the door. “Vidor, please stay. I would like to speak with you alone.”
“As you wish, my lord.” Vidor unbuttoned his jacket as he sat back down, folded his hands before him.
Vidor had the look of a father preparing to scold a child, which was, in truth, not an uncommon look for him to wear. Vidor and Navarre’s father, Lorencio, had often been side by side in the city, and in life. The aristocrat had been a constant in his life since he was born, occasionally sharing the responsibility of parenting him, as his father was often busy ruling the city.
At the moment, Navarre wasn’t exactly sure of what had happened in his absence, or whom to trust. Vidor had been a friend and adviser to his father, and now to him.
When the room cleared, Navarre spoke. “I need the truth, Vidor. What say you to Savard’s position as acting lord?”
“I didn’t care for you naming Savard your successor. It was done last minute, and without witness. It felt…” Vidor’s hawklike eyes looked heavenward as he searched for the right word. “Underhanded.”
Vidor had been opposed to Navarre officially naming a successor. He’d argued instead to wait for Navarre to marry and produce heirs to keep the royal bloodline intact. Like any vampire, Vidor adhered to tradition. Navarre had conceded, holding out hope for his mate to come along, but waiting had become impossible when the demons attacked.
“I needed a man in charge who knew how to fight the enemy, who would put his life on the line for my city, for my people. You’re a capable leader, Vidor, but not what my city needed in that moment of tragedy,” Navarre said gently.
“As much as it pains me to admit it, the captain was far more capable than I had imagined. Your decision, though rash, had great results. Savard was the right man to name as your heir.” Vidor bowed his head slightly. “Please accept my apologies.”
“What has changed your mind so thoroughly?”
“With everything your captain said or did, I could see how much he cared for the city, and for you. Never did he refer to Balinese as his city or even the city. It was always Lord Navarre’s city.”
Navarre allowed a small smile to cross his face. “Savard is not a power-hungry man, and he takes his duties seriously. I knew he would do well.”
“I briefly considered him part of the plot to assassinate you,” Vidor admitted quietly. “Then Soren told me what he found when he reached the château. Savard had fed you, at great risk to his own life. Apparently your captain had been stabbed in the side, bleeding out even as he gave to you. This was not the action of a man seeking power through your death.”
“Do we have any ideas as to how demons got into my city?”
Vidor shook his head. “We don’t.”
“I take it you looked through the record book listing newcomers?”
“Twice.” Vidor stood and went to the shelf directly behind him. He pulled out the ledger and slid it toward Navarre.
“Twice?” Navarre crossed his arms.
“I assure you I was very thorough, but please read through it again. I pray to God you find something I missed.” Vidor sounded disgusted with the lack of answers so long after the attack.
“My concern is that whoever allowed these demons inside my city may still be here, waiting to once again open the gates.” Navarre opened the book, flipped to the last page.
He recognized a name branded to the page in Vidor’s scrolling penmanship. Faith Calburn. A notation had been added beneath her name in a different, sharper handwriting that said: Mated to Soren Rayner. Faith Rayner is now vampire. This must have been the point at which Ivan had taken over the ledgers for Vidor.
The next entry read: Cat (True name unknown). An enticing vision of Cat tucked against him in his bed flashed through his mind. Navarre quickly shook off the image before he found himself lost in a daydream.
The next two names were the last, and completely unfamiliar. “And these last two?”
Vidor came to stand at his side, peering down at the page.
“Ah, yes. Keir and Cleopatra Falderra. Soon after the attack, Captain Savard granted the couple residence,” Vidor said, almost as if conveying some secret knowledge. “They had nothing to do with the attack.”
“Who are they?” Navarre asked.
Vidor shrugged, making a show of his lack of interest for this particular topic. “They came from Galbraith. Keir was the lady’s bodyguard, I believe, and has served as Savard’s personal guard here in Balinese. Cleopatra is of noble blood and a dear friend of the Lady of Galbraith.”
“What crimes could they possibly have committed to send them running this far away from the security of a royal benefactor?”
“Keir contains not a drop of noble blood in his body, except what he extracts from his mate.” Vidor’s smile was fake, a reminder to Navarre of how much his friend despised the lower class associating with the aristocracy.
Many noble families were manipulative and vicious when it came to their children, especially when mating someone of a lower class who would contaminate the bloodline. Though he didn’t necessarily agree with Vidor’s viewpoints, Navarre could understand his disdain for such pairings.
“Would you set up a meeting? I’d very much like to meet Keir and Cleopatra Falderra.”
“Savard gave Keir permission to travel to Galbraith. I believe he recently left,” Vidor said.
“Why go back?”
“The captain of Galbraith, Captain Rye, I believe, disappeared mysteriously. That was years ago, and the last we heard on the matter. From what I understand, Keir frequently returns to check on Lady Arianne. Both seem to hold out some hope they’ll discover what happened to the captain, but if he hasn’t returned by now, I’m sure he went into the sun. Keir should return in a couple days.”
“I’m surprised he would leave his mate.”
“Yes. Cleopatra has no desire to—”
The door to the council room burst open, and a young man barreled through. He was impossibly tall, his broad shoulders boasting of strength.
“Where’s Savard?” he demanded.
“You have no right to enter this room, boy,” Vidor said before Navarre had the chance to answer.
“I want him found!” The young man was angry, half panicked.
“Vidor, would you mind finding the captain, please?” Navarre asked.
“Very well. I’ll find Savard, and make a note to have a Guardian assigned to the council room for our next meeting,” Vidor said with a regal bow, then went to the intercom system on the wall.
The man glanced at Navarre suspiciously, but no recognition lit his eyes. Perhaps he was too young to recognize his lord.
“Is there something I can do to help?”
“Not unless you can turn back time.” The young man paused, then his already deep voice dropped to a deadly octave. “The damage is already done. I only want justice.”
Savard charged into the room, and after taking a quick assessment of the occupants, walked right up to the young man. “What is it? What happened?”
Fists and teeth clenched, he stared down at Savard from his impressive height. “Someone took from her.”
Navarre didn’t speak, allowed his captain to handle the problem. If this young man had come here rather than making a report to the Guardians, then the issue must directly involve Savard in some way.
Savard calmly approached the towering young man. “I can’t help you. What she does is none of your business.”
“It is,” the youth countered, his solid words carrying the full weight of his body behind them. He stared down at Savard, seething anger laced through his words. “You don’t know her like I do. We don’t feed others. We do not expose ourselves to anyone in that vulnerable state. It’s rule number one.”
“She’s an adult, more than capable of making her own decisions. You know this,” Savard coaxed.
The very way his captain spoke and moved exuded patience, control. Navarre smiled. His captain had picked up a few lordly traits over the years.
“No. Feeding is the only thing she won’t speak about, the only thing that scares her, and you know that woman doesn’t rattle for anyone or anything. For someone to do that to her, to take from her—” He clamped his mouth shut, narrowed his eyes, and stabbed a finger toward Savard. “She’d die first, and you well know it. Find the man who did this to her and deal with him. Or I will.”
Vidor leaned down to Navarre, whispered, “You cannot allow this. The boy is threatening to end a life.”
“Calm yourself, my friend. The captain has this well in hand.” Navarre folded his hands, waited for Savard to call in the Guardians, to find this villain who had taken a woman’s blood against her will, to dispense justice.
Captain Savard took a deep breath, then said, “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do. Nothing was taken from her. She made the choice. It is her blood to give.”
