by Petra Landon
Raoul’s blood-stained fingers grasped the knife stuck in the fleshy part of his upper arm, before letting go with a hiss. The hilt, like the rest of the knife, was solid silver. It burnt his fingers like the bars of the cage had, a few days ago. The exposure to more silver had his body struggling to cope, especially since he’d not yet recovered completely from the previous dose. The pain speared him as he fought to stay steady on his feet. Raoul cursed silently. He would not go down before the Wizards. He gritted his teeth. He would show no weakness before this audience.
“Merceau.”
He heard Roman Durovic call to him. Roman and Atsá had not strayed from his side, standing like sentinels beside him even as the others jumped into the fray.
The Alpha glanced at Durovic, unable to disguise the pain clouding his eyes.
“Brace yourself” Durovic directed, holding his palm out.
Raoul stared at the Ancient, not quite comprehending Durovic’s words. He felt a wrenching pain that drew another muted roar as the knife was yanked out, inch by inch, to lie in Durovic’s palm. This time, it was he who cried out in pain when before, it had been his beast. The abrupt attack and the agony of the plunging silver knife had awakened his beast. But Raoul had not come through the assault last Friday for nothing. His iron-control was back. After the first cry of agony, the beast was back where it belonged, firmly under his control.
“It’s out.” Durovic stated the obvious, glancing down at the blood-stained knife in his palm.
Raoul glanced at his arm. “Thank you” he acknowledged, his eyes meeting Durovic’s.
“Any time” mouthed the Ancient.
Now, the Alpha turned to watch the chaos. He’d had the presence of mind to remind Duncan and Luis that Anderson was not to be harmed. True to his command, they had protected the Guardian from the worst excesses. Anderson now stood at the center of a circle with his loyal Wizards attempting to defend him from the Shifter onslaught. A few cuts and bruises marked the Guardian, but he was otherwise in decent shape.
“Faoladh” Sebastian Thorne pleaded across the din. “Please, you have to put a stop to this.”
With an extended groan, the ornate staircase seemed to finally give up the fight. It came apart with a crack, splintering into pieces. Bits and parts crashed to the floor below with a loud thud and the Wizards scattered in haste, away from the falling debris. A cloud of dust blanketed the area, while debris piled onto the floor haphazardly. Cries from injured Wizards rent the air. Wizards on the mangled staircase scrambled madly to get out, before the rest gave way.
Faoladh shrugged. “I’m not their Alpha” he said. “I can’t call them off.”
Raoul noted that Alpha Ramirez, though not actively engaged, did not hesitate to pull his punches if any Wizards got too close to him in the melee.
“Call your dogs off, Alpha.” Thorne was frantic as the Guardians around him fought desperately to stave off the Shifters converging on them.
“For God’s sake, Merceau. This is not the Guardians’ doing. You have to know that. These are just a few bad apples. The GCW would never sanction anything like this.”
Raoul contemplated him before raising his voice just a tad. “Wyrs, fall back.” The words were said in the ancient tongue of the Wyrs, as was traditional when the Alpha called his Shifters to battle.
At the command, the Shifters started withdrawing back to their old positions to leave behind battered and bruised Wizards, with the tattered remains of their once beautiful reception hall around them. The marble and glass foyer looked like it had been trashed by a stampeding horde — debris from furniture and pieces of the building lay smashed all around, mingling with the glass shards and bits of plaster. The window frames hung drunkenly askew, and the beautiful grand staircase looked like a giant beast had taken bites out of it. Below the staircase lay strewn the missing bits from the ornate structure. Wizards stared at their staircase in numbed shock, their faces frozen and gaping at the damage. Over it all hung a pall of cloud and dust, swaying lazily. As the Shifters withdrew, the Wizards tried to dust themselves off, struggling to their feet, bedraggled and bloodstained, some injured and in need of medical attention.
“Raoul.” It was Duncan.
“No harm done” he assured his friend.
With the Alpha’s command to disengage, Hawk cautiously let go of Tasia. He gave her a once over. She looked better, her eyes unclouded with pain, her breathing steadier. Finally allowed to sit up, Tasia glanced at the Alpha. Beside him, Duncan’s knuckles were bleeding. Elisabetta, strolling back to join the Alpha, looked disheveled for the first time since Tasia had met her. Maartje’s old-fashioned hairdo had come partially unraveled, and her eyes still promised retribution. Only Atsá seemed steady as a rock beside the Alpha.
An uneasy silence descended on the hall, broken only by the crashing of debris falling from the ruined staircase and the shuffling noises as the Wizards dusted themselves up. The Guardians looked tense and wary, their watchful eyes on the Alpha. They’d lost the moral high ground. If the Shifters demanded vengeance, an eye for an eye, as Wyr tradition called for, the Wizards had no leg to stand on. The Shifters around the Alpha looked furious, their bloodlust unquenched by the short skirmish.
Sebastian Thorne looked at the First Wizard, for once trying to take his cues from her. Only Faoladh could get the Alpha to back off, and the First Wizard had more leverage with the Wyr than the Guardians. Lady Esmeralda ignored him, her eyes on Faoladh.
Faoladh took a step forward. “What do you want to do, Raoul?” he asked.
Raoul knew what he wanted, but he took a deep breath. He had silver in him. It behooved him to be careful. He glanced around him. Faoladh wore his most inscrutable face, but his Shifters looked spitting mad. They’d be happy to follow Wyr tradition, especially since it would mean punishing a Guardian at Wizard Headquarters. Poetic justice, they would call it. Roman looked alarmed, clearly conscious that despite his best efforts, the situation had slipped beyond control. Atsá’s expression was tight, a mix of fury and watchfulness. Raoul glanced at Duncan, his lodestar and his conscience during the toughest of times. Murderous fury and mayhem reflected in Duncan’s usually calm eyes, but underlying the rage and intent, something in the eyes made Raoul pause. Not trusting his own judgement, he’d looked to the man he trusted the most in the world for cues, and what he saw buried deep in the familiar eyes made him rethink his decision.
If he killed the Guardian, no one would ever know what had been attempted on Russian Hill. The Guardians would rewrite history to hide their culpability in Anderson’s crimes. In the absence of any other information, many would believe the GCWs public relations campaign, and the Chosen would take sides on a matter that most would condemn if the truth were known. After David had so eloquently made his case, it would be a shame to come this far and still allow Anderson to become a martyr to the Wizard cause. Raoul took a deep breath, fighting his own screaming instincts. He was more than the brawny and mindless stereotype the Wizards believed him to be, Raoul reminded himself. With a trial, he could still get vengeance and make the details of the crime public. He had been lucky to have the witchling with him. Another Wyr might not be so lucky. If the Chosen were told the truth, it would prevent another Wyr from suffering through an experience like his, and it might prevent another like the witchling from facing a horrific death. But if he reveled in his private vengeance, it would divide the Chosen at a time they faced a powerful threat most remained unaware of. Lady Bethesda waited in the wings with an army she had been building for nearly a quarter century. The Chosen would need to come together to stop her. If they didn’t, she would destroy their future and create a thousand Raoul Merceaus.
He took another slow and deep breath, ruthlessly burying his Wyr tendencies deep, as the silent foyer waited for his decision.
“Are we done dancing, Thorne?” Raoul turned to the Guardian. “Or do you want to go again?”
Sebastian Thorne let go of the breath he’d been holding. Th
e Wyr was still willing to talk. All was not lost yet. “You might not believe this, Alpha, but this is not what the Guardians wanted.”
Raoul studied him, as the Guardians around him waited with bated breath. “Give me the Guardian and I’ll stop the music.”
Thorne nodded, clearly relieved, as the Guardians seemed to release a collective breath. The First Wizard wilted with relief and Faoladh stepped back to his old position beside her.
A relieved Roman felt anger spike through him. The Guardians were the adults of the Wizard world, and yet had allowed the situation to degenerate to the point where only Merceau’s better sense had salvaged it from a catastrophe. He turned to the Alpha. “I need a minute, Merceau. I’ve something to get off my chest.”
Incongruously, Raoul’s lips twitched. Better Durovic than him. “Go for it, Durovic.”
The Ancient turned to Thorne. “What the hell’s going on, Guardian?” he demanded, giving free rein to his fury.
Sebastian Thorne opened his mouth to respond, only for Roman to forestall him.
“No, let me tell you what this looks like. The GCW is in shambles.” Roman lit into the Guardians. “Your Wizards have lost faith in you to safeguard them and their interests. Your First Wizard is unable to guarantee that the GCW will do its job without bias. Your Guardians run amuck in a manner that will bring down the condemnation of all Chosen on your collective heads. You instigate a fight with the Wyrs in your Headquarters to defend a Guardian you should’ve benched a long time ago. And finally, when Merceau comes to you like a reasonable man looking to find a compromise, you attack him. The Guardians have lost all semblance of control. I warn you that matters cannot continue like this. ElThor will hear about this.”
The Guardians paled. Where threats from the Vampires had merely angered them, Roman Durovic’s words alarmed them. He had the ear of ElThor — the First One who represented his kind on the CoC. The Wizards had always looked up to the First Ones as the true Chosen. Descendants of the first Magicks to walk the earth, they’d inherited old magic from the Forebearers. Thus, this threat by the future leader of an influential faction of First Ones seriously alarmed the Guardians.
The First Wizard stepped forward grimly, every line in her advertising her determination.
“On behalf of all Wizards, I proffer my apologies to the Alpha. We stand shamed this evening.”
As the others said nothing, she continued. “Please take Guardian Anderson into your custody, Alpha. I’ve no doubt that he will receive a fair trial. The GCW will investigate what happened here tonight, and who shot at you, contrary to Guardian Thorne’s instructions. I give you my word that any Wizard involved in the attempt to derail the good-faith negotiations between your Pack and the Guardians will be punished.”
Sebastian Thorne, listening to her, chimed in to second her in a rare moment of unity with the First Wizard. “The First Wizard speaks for us all, Alpha. We will ensure that the Wizards responsible are punished.”
Raoul, his emotions back under control, studied Thorne. He didn’t give a damn about Anderson’s minions. He’d give the First Wizard a chance to right this.
“The Pack will be watching, Thorne” he said clearly. “To see if the Guardians have learnt their lesson. Now, you will hand over Anderson.”
Thorne took a deep breath.
“Step back, Wizards” he warned authoritatively, as the posse around Anderson seemed to close in.
Some of the Wizards melted away, but the others engaged Sebastian Thorne.
Mistress Franciszka chose that moment to materialize by Anderson’s side, teleporting so abruptly that few had time to react. She glanced at the Alpha.
“Let me punish him, Raoul.” Her eyes flickered to his arm, making it clear what particular crime she referred to. Her voice was seductively persuasive, the gleam of blood lust in her eyes transparent. “Grant me this, moj drogi” she cajoled him.
For a moment, the Wizards around her froze, nonplussed and confused by her sudden presence amongst them, as well as her utter lack of interest in them, while she focused all her attention on the Alpha.
Raoul contemplated her pleading eyes. He knew he would not be able to stop himself if he laid hands on Anderson now, so enraged was he. The silver in him also forced him to be cautious. But Franciszka would deliver a humiliating and satisfactory lesson to Anderson, one public enough to send a warning to the other Guardians. The Alpha rather liked the idea of a leech teaching the high and mighty Guardians a lesson in their own Headquarters, under the eyes of the First Wizard. Could he control Franciszka if he unleashed her, he pondered briefly. He was confident he could. If it came down to it, he could physically restrain her. Unlike Anderson, with her, it was not personal for him.
“You have three minutes, Franciszka” he said calmly, giving her a last glance that promised retribution if she chose to ignore his diktat.
“Thank you, moj drogi” she smiled, as her Vampires who had waited patiently outside all this while, teleported into the hall to form a ring around their Mistress. “I shall make the most of it” she promised.
The befuddled Wizards could only gasp collectively as she turned to confront a still confident Anderson. Her Vampires touched fingers to make a protective circle around their Mistress and Anderson, preventing the Wizards from getting through. Vampire powers were limited albeit very powerful for all that. An invisible barrier, similar to the magic shield some powerful Guardians were known to deploy to protect their persons, sprung up immediately to prevent the Wizards from getting through to Anderson.
Without further ado, the Mistress reached for the bemused Guardian to sink her teeth into his neck before he could deploy any magic against her. The element of surprise, as well as the general confusion at her presence, served her in good stead. Anderson screamed once at the pain of the bite, then went silent as the paralyzing agent from the Mistress’ bite spread through his system, numbing his senses from further response.
After the first shock, the Guardians made a renewed assault on the Vampires’ barrier to reach their comrade. But the Vampires’ combined magic was strong and could easily withstand the few minutes the Alpha had granted their Mistress.
Sebastian Thorne turned to the Alpha. “Call off your pet, Alpha” he said furiously, his shock obvious. “He’s a Guardian. His blood should not be a Vampire’s fare.”
“Your Guardian deserves much worse.” The Alpha’s expression was fierce. “You forget that he sentenced a Wizard to death, not once but twice. And a horrific death at that. I won’t deny Franciszka her pleasure.”
Thorne looked taken aback. He had not expected the Alpha to cite the attack on the Wizard when the Shifter had shelved his own vengeance in favor of a trial.
He glanced around him wildly, while the Guardians beside him threw everything they had to break through the Vampires’ magic. It was clear that there would be no support from the Shifters flanking the Alpha, so Thorne turned to Roman Durovic.
Durovic’s eyes flickered once to the Alpha, who was staring at his watch, as if he had all the time in the world. He shook his head at the mute query in Sebastian Thorne’s eyes.
Tasia stared at the scene, horrified but unable to look away. Hawk, aware of Tasia’s terror of Vampires, moved hastily to divert her attention to him. Beside Tasia, Sienna said nothing. There had been too many shocks for her to process today. Jason glanced at David Hamilton to exchange a look.
“Raoul is a Shifter, first and foremost” David said heavily, his own feelings a peculiar mix of shock and disbelief. “We forget that at our own peril.”
“Franciszka” the Alpha called out softly.
The Mistress, in her blood lust, ignored his summons, her fangs deep into the frozen Guardian whose blood she drank greedily.
“Don’t make me come and get you, Franciszka” the Alpha said lazily, but there was a note in his voice that the Vampire heard clearly.
The Mistress wrenched herself away from the Guardian, wiping the blood off her lips as her fan
gs retracted. She turned to Raoul, traces of blood still visible around her mouth and where it had dripped onto her neck.
“Thank you, moj drogi. I’m much obliged.”
With a signal to her Vampires, she teleported in a blink, her entourage following their Mistress a heartbeat later. Without the Mistress to hold him up, Anderson crumpled to the floor heavily. His Wizards rushed in to help him up. As the Mistress’ serum lost its potency in his blood, his eyes blinked open. One of the Guardians made haste to seal the gaping wound the Mistress’ fangs had left on his neck.
The First Wizard roused herself from her stupor to turn to Faoladh again.
“Faoladh.” She stopped, clearly lost for words.
“We are Wyrs.” Faoladh made no effort to keep his voice down, his words carrying clearly to the numbed, shocked and disbelieving audience of Wizards. “I believe in Chosen amity and co-operation, and am willing to do my part in furthering it. But when you lay siege to the core of what makes us Chosen, Wyrs will react as Wyrs. No mercy, and blood for blood. Raoul merely let a leech feed on your Guardian for what he did. I’d have ripped him to shreds myself. We are Wyrs. Remember that. Don’t challenge us if you want to negotiate with us.” He glanced at Raoul. “Are we taking the Guardian into custody, Alpha?” he inquired.
Raoul glanced at Thorne to arch his eyebrow silently. Thorne moved as if in a trance to the Wizards gathered around the reviving Anderson.
“Move away” he ordered them. “Enough damage has been done for one day. Let him go.”
Duncan stepped forward to grasp a dazed Anderson before frog-marching him towards Faoladh. Two Shifters peeled away from the crowd to handcuff the Guardian.
“The Pack gives Guardian Ted Anderson into the custody of Faoladh” Duncan stated precisely, before stepping back to stand with the Alpha.
Anderson ignored the others to stare at Raoul curiously, a confused expression on his face. He had not yet processed what had just happened to him.
