Really, anything that got Dorian to speak aloud, in a normal voice, was an event.
“Clearly it is something you want very much,” Brick observed. “Speak it, beloved friend. You know there is little I would refuse you.”
Dorian glanced up from the fire.
His glass-like eyes still reflected those flames, making the normal scarlet of his irises even more vibrant than usual. His long, perfect jaw tensed slightly, right before he looked back at his king, meeting his stare without blinking.
“I would like you to grant me permission,” he said. “To train him.”
Brick’s eyebrows rose.
For a few seconds, the only sound was the ticking of the grandfather clock that stood against the wall by the heavy curtains covering the balcony doorway behind his desk.
When Brick spoke, his voice bordered on a warning.
“Train… him?” His lips quirked in feigned puzzlement. “Who is ‘him,’ pray tell?”
Dorian didn’t bother to answer that.
He looked back at the fire, that faint hardness to his face growing more pronounced.
There was another silence.
Then Dorian spoke into it, still staring through the flames.
“You are too busy to do it,” he said, his voice unerringly polite. “You, begging my forgiveness… are too lax with him. You are too fond of him to do it properly.”
Dorian paused, perhaps waiting for a rebuke.
Hearing none, he looked back, staring at Brick’s face. The lordly vampire’s expression reverted to its usual pose, growing as flat as stone.
“Lucia is worse than useless with him,” he continued. “She doesn’t restrain him at all. She is allowing him to form bad habits. She encourages them, by finding them amusing.”
Dorian’s lip curled visibly.
“…She is a pup with another pup,” he added, his voice cold. “She is too weak for him. Too young. She will get him killed. Or simply make him uncontrollable. He needs to be brought to heel. It should happen now. Before San Francisco.”
Dorian fell silent.
He stood there, motionless, clearly waiting for a response to his words.
Brick was frowning, now more in puzzlement than annoyance. Leaning his arms on the chair’s armrests, he steepled his fingers, studying his friend’s face.
“This is important to you?” he said.
Dorian’s jaw firmed.
“Yes,” he said only.
“Why?” Brick said, curiosity reaching his voice.
Dorian didn’t answer that, either.
He only stood there, an ethereal, marble-like statue with blood-red eyes.
“Are you refusing my request?” Dorian said.
Brick blinked.
The question hadn’t been rude.
It hadn’t contained even a whiff of passive-aggression.
Stripped entirely of emotion, it had been carefully polite, without subtext, without any gradation of insubordination. Still, the other’s obvious interest in this, his decision to come forward to ask Brick directly, to make an issue of it, to term it as a favor––all of it made Brick more than a little intrigued.
Dorian clearly didn’t intend to share his motivations with him, however… at least not without less gentle prompting from Brick himself. It was Dorian’s right not to share his inner workings, of course, especially since he was making it clear he would honor Brick’s decision either way. Brick was not the kind of leader who required everything be known, certainly not when loyalty to him remained steadfast.
Still, his silence definitely sparked Brick’s curiosity.
Brick’s lack of knowing the precise nature of Dorian’s pull to this task didn’t influence his final decision, however.
“No,” he said, making that decision as he looked up at his second’s face. “No, Dorian. I am not refusing you.”
Pausing, he added,
“You may train him, beloved brother.” Seeing the faint relaxation of the tightness around the other vampire’s mouth, Brick made his voice warning.
“You will not break him, Dorian… not in any way. You are not to break his mind, his body, his spirit. You will not break anything about him. Not permanently.”
Grunting slightly at his own words, Brick waved a hand gently.
“Really, I’d rather if he weren’t too terribly broken even temporarily,” he added in a mutter. “I agree with you about the need for this to happen prior to San Francisco. Yet we cannot put that trip off for much longer, either. So you have one month, brother. Do you hear me, Dorian? One month. And he must be in near-pristine condition when we are ready to travel. No visible marks.”
Brick met those red eyes, frowning faintly.
“Are those conditions understood, brother?”
Dorian’s expression remained as still as stone.
“One month is sufficient,” he said only.
“No breaking.” Brick scowled, shaking a finger at him. “I mean it, brother. I don’t want him dented in that way. You can test his true stress points once he’s grown into being one of us, if you still so desire it. Not now. Not when he is so young. And I want regular updates. We will discuss this daily, my beloved friend.”
“Thank you, my king.” Dorian bent in half, lowering his upper body and arm in a formal bow. “I appreciate this favor very much. Because of it, I am indebted to you even more than I was already.”
Brick watched him complete the motion.
He followed the tall vampire’s fingers as they trailed neatly along the surface of the hardwood floor.
The puzzlement never quite left him, however, even after his second turned to leave, walking out the door without a backwards glance.
* * *
“LEAVE. NOW.”
Naoko stiffened.
His eyes darted back and up from where he’d been shouldering on a tailored coat in front of an antique wooden wardrobe. He stared at the tall, empty-faced vampire with the white-blond hair standing in the doorway of his room.
Nick took in his complete lack of facial expression before glancing at Lucia.
The female vampire had been dressing next to him. She’d just finished wrapping a gauzy black shawl around her shoulders and over a dark green dress when Dorian spoke.
It was clear to Naoko, without knowing precisely how he knew, that the command issued from Brick’s second-in-command was aimed at her, not at him.
As if seeing that knowledge in his face, Dorian aimed his next words at him.
“You won’t be going out tonight,” he said.
The silence deepened, growing into a near-living presence.
Then Naoko broke it, letting out a disbelieving snort.
“The hell I won’t.”
The other vampire didn’t flinch.
After a faint pause, he stepped further into the room, until he stood exactly in the floor’s center, and squarely in the center of the antique carpet that covered half of Naoko’s floor. Dorian moved like a shadow––so quietly, Naoko barely saw the shift.
An uninvited shadow, Naoko noted.
“Since when do you give me orders?” Naoko said coldly. “Get the fuck out of my room, you dead-eyed weirdo––”
The vampire cut him off.
“––Since now.”
The vampire’s words verged on indifferent, despite their blunt delivery. He barely gave Naoko a glance. Swiveling his head, he stared at Lucia with those deep scarlet eyes.
“Go. Now. You are not to have any contact with him. Not until I give you permission. That will not be for at least a month.”
Naoko’s eyes widened more. “What in the ever-living fuck––”
“Silence.” That time, the older vampire turned, facing him directly.
Staring into his face, Dorian showed the barest hint of his fangs.
Something in his eyes, in the scarlet seething in those flat, lifeless irises made the younger vampire pause.
Not for very long, though.
“Get t
he fuck out of my room! Now!” Naoko hissed, showing his own fangs. “I didn’t invite you, and I sure as hell don’t need a goddamned babysitter. Tell Brick––”
“Brick has already given me permission to train you, young brother. Every second, with every word that comes out of your mouth, you do nothing but reinforce the urgency of that need.” The taller vampire’s eyes flickered coldly to Lucia. “Get out. Now. I will not say it again.”
Lucia’s already chalk-white skin went a shade paler.
The blond vampire watched, his eyes as lifeless as a shark’s, as she jerked into motion, giving the tall male a wide berth, clutching the gauzy black shawl to her chest as she walked hastily for the door. Her high heels clicked on the hardwood floor once she left the rug, sounding like the claws of a small dog. She glanced over her shoulder at Naoko briefly, her clear, glasslike eyes holding a visible fear.
He honestly couldn’t tell if it was fear for herself, or fear for him.
He truly didn’t give a shit.
She hadn’t even yet reached the door when he moved.
Turning on his heel––he leapt.
He threw his whole weight forward, aiming his body at the nearest way out, crashing through the window of his four-story apartment.
His face and hands smashed through glass––then abruptly met the night air. He propelled his arms and legs harder, trying to get further from the building before he reached the ground.
His only chance was surprise.
Surprise, and a flat-out sprint to get out of the other vampire’s visual range. Unlike a human, he wouldn’t have a scent the vampire could easily track.
He feet hadn’t even kissed the pavement, when hands grasped his biceps roughly, like steel talons. They wound around the muscle so tightly, dug in so mercilessly, they held the flexed tendons in place, forcing Naoko to come down simultaneously with the heavier vampire.
Naoko’s brief elation twisted into fury.
Logic left his attempt to flee.
He twisted in midair, kicking out at the other vampire, using his weight to try and propel him around into a flip in midair.
He wanted to throw Dorian over his head.
He managed it halfway by the time they reached the cobblestones below––meaning, he didn’t fully flip him, but he shifted the taller vampire’s weight over his head, using the other’s greater weight against him. He managed to turn it into a tumble mid-air, fast enough and hard enough that he got Dorian to loosen his grasp on his arms before impact.
For the same reason, when they hit, Nick hit first.
Crashing into the uneven surface on his back fractions of a second before Dorian, Naoko launched himself upwards with the leverage the instant he felt those fingers loosen.
In the process, he managed to force the taller vampire into that flip, following it with a double-booted kick over his head, smack in the center of the vampire’s broad chest. Naoko felt more than saw the taller, heavier vampire sail over the road before plowing his face into the street.
Naoko didn’t wait.
Rippling his body in a swift leap up to land on both feet, he heard an audible gasp from a pedestrian who’d been approaching, likely assuming both of them badly hurt. Naoko shoved past the human, flinging him aside as though he were a paper target.
He broke into a run, darting down the dark street at a full sprint.
Again, he didn’t make it far.
A dense weight slammed into him from behind, so swiftly and unexpectedly, Naoko didn’t stumble––he plowed, head first, into the road. Pain exploded in his cheekbone and jaw, followed by a hard thunk to his forehead.
Rather than stunning him, it infuriated him.
He barely had time to recognize what happened to him––again, those steel-like hands gripped his biceps like a pair of vices, dragging him to his feet, then yanking him roughly back around to face the opposite direction.
Hissing, Naoko threw his head back in a head-butt, felt the solid impact as his skull hit the vampire’s jaw.
Unlike before, the fingers on his arms didn’t loosen.
The other vampire didn’t make so much as a sound.
It struck Naoko that the vampire hadn’t made a sound since he’d first crashed through that window. If he had, Naoko hadn’t heard it––not even with his vampire hearing.
There was a bare breath where the fingers of one hand released his arm.
Naoko swung the arm, the instant it was free––
––and right as a cold arm cinched his throat.
The arm yanked him back, forcing the length of Naoko’s body against a rock-hard form. Naoko hissed up at him, spat at him, tried to sink his teeth into the coat-covered arm trapping him to the vampire’s chest. Writhing in the other’s grasp, he didn’t stop fighting the whole way back down the street towards their apartment building.
The vampire dragged him, silent, impervious, forcing him forward, oblivious to his swinging fist, his booted kicks, his hissed threats. Naoko managed to land a good number of those kicks and hits, but he never felt the other’s hold on him waver.
Seeing the front door of their apartment building approaching, fury exploded in his chest. Letting out a half-scream of rage, he threw his whole weight backwards, jumping off the sidewalk with both feet and throwing himself into the other vampire with his whole body.
That time, he managed to catch him off-guard enough that Dorian’s hold on his other arm loosened. Naoko didn’t bother to try and hit him. He twisted instead, using the added leverage to try and free his head and neck.
He got halfway out of the hold––
Then those steel-like fingers clamped around his throat.
Before Naoko knew what happened, his back crashed into the brick wall making up the front of the building. He hit so hard that time, he felt the bricks in that wall crack and break behind his spine. He let out an involuntary whimper, hanging briefly limp from the other’s hand, his feet and legs dangling over the sidewalk.
When he looked down, Dorian was staring up at him, fangs fully exposed, his face covered in blood and twisted in a furious scowl. His blond hair was matted with blood. He was snarling, from deep in his chest, the sound vibrating up the back of his throat.
He held Naoko up off the street, his arm in a long, perfect, diagonal line.
“Move, and I will snap your neck,” he hissed.
Naoko blinked.
Then his rage rose.
It flooded his mind, his body, every part of his being in a hot, uncontrollable wave.
Without a single thought in his head, he punched the blond vampire in the face, twisting his waist, putting his whole weight behind it.
He felt his knuckles connect, felt a gleeful, cold feeling of vindication when the other’s fingers briefly loosened––
Then everything went dark.
6
Trainee
NAOKO OPENED HIS eyes.
He didn’t awaken gradually.
He came fully, completely, entirely awake.
Memory flooded his mind.
Images arose within that linear narrative––a long, tensed arm encased in a black coat, a snarling, bloody face, white-blond hair matted with blood, cold, chalk-white fingers gripping his throat like metal.
Adrenaline, or some vampire equivalent, flooded his blood, his very mind. Naoko’s palms found the hard surface where he lay, ready to shove himself up from where he lay on his chest and belly, to bring his body back vertical, back to a fighting, running, maneuvering pose.
He pressed down, throwing his weight up and back––
And let out an involuntary sound of shock.
Something pinned him to the hard floor.
Naoko stopped, briefly, staring around at the wooden planks.
He lifted his head as far as he could manage, then tried to crane it around, to look at his shoulders and back.
He glimpsed something vertical, something metal, that protruded higher than his own skin. He stared at it, then lowered
his head back to stare around at the floor. He assessed his position, his body, the limits of movement.
His legs were free. His arms were free.
Whatever it was, it impaled him to the floor by his body alone. The whole thing was metal. Metal. Sharp. Maybe three inches wide, only a few millimeters thick.
Likely a sword.
Whatever it was, it went through his chest, piercing his breastplate, holding him to the floor.
He should be able to pull it out.
Why couldn’t he pull himself out of the floor?
He was stronger than the wood planks. He’d glimpsed the hilt of it, if it really was a sword. He could see and feel it, as well as the blade all the way through his body. The hilt should give him the leverage to pull it straight out.
“I bent it,” a voice said from above.
Naoko looked up, turning his head to stare at the opposite side of the room, his palms still pressed to the floor on either side of his chest.
He stared up at the vampire sitting there, folded into an antique couch.
The couch was Victorian in style, with an elaborate back made of cherry wood, all carved in roses and the faces of cherubs. The green upholstery of the couch contrasted with the vampire’s white-blond hair, and the dark blue pants and white dress shirt he wore.
Despite his modern clothes, Dorian looked perfectly suited to the couch.
He also appeared to know how to sit in it semi-comfortably, something Naoko had yet to figure out, even though the damned thing was in his room when he moved in here.
Naoko turned over the other vampire’s words.
“You bent it?” he said warily. “The sword?”
Dorian nodded.
Naoko couldn’t help noticing with some satisfaction that the other male’s face still held evidence of their fight. The bruises had mostly faded, but cuts were still closing on his cheek, at the bridge of his nose, on his chin, and near his hairline.
Naoko’s mind returned to the problem of the sword.
If the metal was bent where it pierced the wood, he should still be able to break out.
He would just wait until the vampire left.
“…I also encased it in cement,” Dorian added. “The other end of the blade. And most of the ceiling below you.”
TO BLACK WITH LOVE: Quentin Black Mystery #10 Page 9
