by Kresley Cole
“The message didn’t come through the usual channels.” He handed Declan a sealed transcript folder.
“Then where’d it come from?”
“It was recorded. From the listening device you planted in Louisiana. I matched it to an Aston Martin, red, current year, Orleans Parish tag.”
“So? Someone must have driven that car, and we picked up a conversation. Those bugs are voice-activated.”
“The car wasn’t started. And only one person was inside it. Just read the transcript, sir. I suggest in private.”
“I have another task at hand. Tell me who it’s from, and I’ll decide.”
Vincente lowered his voice. “It’s from a Valkyrie named Nïx. She left the message specifically for you, using your own bug.”
How the hell had Nïx found the hidden device? He could only imagine what she would have to say to him.
Without a word, Declan turned back toward his office, ripping open the folder as soon as the door closed behind him.
He started to read. …
—Begin transcript—
Testing. Hello, hellooo, anybody out there? Check, check, one, two. Soft pee. Puh, puh. Resonance! Sooooooft pee. Alpha bravo disco tango duck.
This is Nïx! I’m the Ever-Knowing One, a goddess incandescent, incomparable, and irresistible. But enough about what you think of me. It’s a beautiful day in New Orleans. The wind is out of the east at a steady five knots and clouds look like rabbits … But enough about what you think of me!
Now, down to business—
Squirrel!
Where was I? [Long pause] Why am I in Regin’s car? Bertil, you crawl right back out of that bong this minute!
Oh, I remember! I am hereby laying down this track for Magister Declan Chase. If you are a mortal of the recorder peon class, know that Dekko and I go waaaaay back, and he’ll go berserk (snicker snicker) if he doesn’t receive this transmittal. …
Chase, riddle me this: what’s beautiful but monstrous, long of tooth but sharp of tooth and soft of mind, and can never ever tell a lie?
That’s right. The Enemy of Old can be very useful to you. So use him already.
P.S. Your middle name’s about to be spelled r-e-g-r-e-t.
And with that, I must bid you adieu. Don’t worry, we’ll catch up very soon. …
[Muffled] Who’s mummy’s wittle echolocator? That’s right—you are!
—End transcript—
Declan sank back in his chair, muttering, “Jaysus.” Why in the hell would she communicate with him?
And she’d alluded to him being a berserker. Fighting it all the way down … Why would she say she’d be seeing him soon? Perhaps she planned some kind of incursion to free Regin?
Regret about what?
He called Vincente to his office. “Did anyone else see this?”
“Only the one who transcribed the message.”
“Bury it.” Declan scowled at the transcript. “And bring me Lothaire.”
TWENTY-TWO
“ Gods, Magister,” Lothaire said as soon as a cadre of guards left him in Chase’s office, “try to contain that.”
From behind his desk, the magister demanded, “Contain what?”
Lothaire’s cuffed hands fisted behind his back. “That frenzied energy rolling off you in waves.” It distracted him from his seething need to disembowel the man.
Chase had a look in his eyes, an almost demented light. The man was losing it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, vampire.” His visage was pale, his scars seeming more prominent.
Hate scars. I’m physically flawless—why can’t everyone be? Everywhere Lothaire went, people stopped and stared. Of course, then they usually ran. “You don’t? Ah, if only I could lie so easily.”
The magister didn’t address that, merely observed, “You appear … saner today.”
“Alas, you are remarkably less so.” Demented and not quite mortal. What was he? Lothaire had contemplated this for days. “It seems we are to meet in the middle.” I don’t have time to be maddened—because of you.
“But you’re not healing as I would have expected,” Chase observed.
The torture had left Lothaire wasted. “That’s because Magister Chase’s hospitality leaves much to be desired.” The Order provided no blood for vampires—Lothaire hadn’t fed in weeks. And without blood, he was barely regenerating.
Beneath his shirt, ash remained where his flesh should be. There were gaps in the skin that should be covering his ribs.
So hungry I can count my ribs. He almost laughed. Not so flawless at present. But Chase would carry his marks to the grave. I will heal once I feed.
If only Lothaire could take down Chase and drink him. His fangs throbbed at the thought, his gaze rapt on the man’s neck.
Chase noticed. “You sick son of a bitch. You think to take my blood?”
“When I truly want it, you’ll know. Because my fangs will be shoved deep in your neck.” Lothaire shrugged, turning to survey Chase’s office.
The only discernible hint of his personality was that there was no hint of his personality. Lothaire strode to one of the windows, gazing out over the rainy landscape. She was out there in the world. Both his doom and his salvation. He wondered how strong this glass was. Drink Chase, break the window. …
But he couldn’t leave this place without his ring. “What do you want, Magister?”
“You’re the oldest immortal here, and it’s said you know more secrets about the Lore than almost anyone.”
“True and true.” For eons, Lothaire had crept through the night to drink his enemies down. And with each drop of blood taken from the flesh, he’d harvested knowledge.
His victims were legion.
“Most important, you’re a natural-born vampire, so you can’t lie. And I need information.”
“Why should I assist you?”
“I’ll torture you otherwise,” Chase said so easily, still thinking himself the master of his domain and all within it. But not for long.
“Perhaps I’ll make you go through the motions,” Lothaire said. “I did relish your frustration when you couldn’t get me to talk last time.” Even when those lights had melted his flesh from his bones. …
“Then so be it.”
Foolish! the Endgame admonished. If you don’t survive the Gilded One, then your female will be in jeopardy. And to survive, Lothaire needed supplies from this magister. “I do wonder why you’ve not tried to bargain with me? Immortals enjoy a good bargain.” I know this well.
Lothaire’s nemesis Nïx might be the Ever-Knowing, but he was the Ever-Doing—forever collecting debts. Over the millennia, he had amassed an army’s worth of debtors.
And every move I make serves my Endgame, the ultimate prize.
“What do you want?” Chase asked.
“My ring.”
“Out of the question.”
“Keeping it here invites the wrath of an unimaginable power.” La Dorada, the Gilded One, a sorceress of pure evil. The waters recede more each day. …
Just before his capture, Lothaire had spent weeks traveling into the deepest part of the Amazon, following the Valkyrie archer Lucia and her werewolf lover as they sought Dorada’s hidden tomb. At the last instant, Lothaire had swooped in to steal that ring directly off Dorada’s mummified body, knowingly triggering the tomb’s floodgates and waking her from her slumber.
He smirked now. He’d left the Valkyrie and the wolf in the lurch to deal with the cataclysmic aftermath.
“An unimaginable power?” Chase exhaled impatiently. “I suppose I’ll just have to chance it. Unless you’re ready to tell me what the ring does.”
“No. I am not.” Lothaire’s smirk faded. Now I am left in the lurch, imprisoned here for Dorada to find, trapped without the ring.
She would bring her vicious guards here with her. “I will answer one of your questions—unrelated to me or my ring—if you have twenty pounds of sodium chloride placed in my cell.”
That earned a doubl
e take from the unbalanced magister. “You want … table salt? Why?”
“Why? I believe that is a question related to me.”
Chase glowered. “I can’t authorize your request.”
“You can authorize anything you want. Remember, everything goes through you. This is your realm. Call your hulking minion, and order him to stow salt in my cell. It’s that simple.”
“I give you my word it’ll be done.”
“But you don’t keep your word, Magister Chase. You promised the witch that she and her ward would be released if she brings you the demon Malkom Slaine. But we both know they won’t be freed, even if she succeeds. You would be stupid to do so.”
Chase didn’t even have the grace to flush. At length, he radioed Vincente. “I want twenty pounds of salt placed in Lothaire’s cell. You heard me. See it done.”
Lothaire inclined his head. “Ask your question.”
“Are there reincarnations? I need to know if reincarnates exist.” Chase very much wanted an answer to his question. And he very much wanted it to be no.
Curious. “Of course there are reincarnations.”
Chase sank back in his chair, his face paling even more.
“I even know a few. They owe me debts of honor.” But then, most of the key players in the Lore did. When their accounts come due, the world will quake. …
Lothaire studied Chase’s expression: consternated and alarmed, with a touch of belligerence. From the whispers in the ward, Lothaire had learned that Chase was particularly interested in Regin. Now a query about reincarnates?
“And with your question, Magister Chase, all becomes clear to me. The final piece of the puzzle. You are the legendary berserker who returns for Regin the Radiant.” He grinned, baring fangs. “How ironic to say this, but ne za chto—welcome. Welcome to the Lore. …”
TWENTY-THREE
I could be a part of their world. One of Lorekind—a term Declan had always derided.
As he strode toward Regin’s cell—with nothing but a pair of cuffs and burning intent—paranoia rode him hard. He felt as if every inmate’s eyes were on him, but then they could likely perceive his turmoil. Just as Lothaire had.
Time to face the facts, Dekko. Regin might be telling the truth.
Lothaire had confirmed that reincarnates existed. Hell, Lothaire had specifically said Declan was the berserker Aidan.
If Declan could accept that he was a reincarnate, then what would stop him from accepting he was a berserker? And vice versa?
Which would mean that some long-dead warlord was fighting to take over his already damaged mind.
And I’m ceding territory to him.
This would be the first time Declan had felt such a loss of power—and an impotent loss of will—since the night those things tied him down and fed from his flesh. …
Am I more a part of their world than I’ve ever feared? He narrowed his eyes as he passed prisoners. Are they all bloody lookin’ at me?
Going mad. Long time coming.
When he turned to stare one creature down, Declan caught a reflection of his eyes in the glass. Dear God, were they glowing?
He knew how to fool psych evaluations, but how could he disguise a physical reaction like that?
And lying to Webb would prove much more difficult. He could almost see the disappointment and disgust on the man’s aging face.
No, Declan couldn’t accept this, couldn’t simply surrender his entire existence. Fight it all the way down.
Which was why his footsteps were taking him to Regin. She was the key. Hadn’t she said he’d remember all with their first kiss?
He was ready to test it out. Fuck it. To prove either him or her a liar at last.
Chase stood outside Regin’s cell with his eyes blazing, looking … shell-shocked.
For some reason, his soulless, cold façade seemed to be cracking right before her eyes.
He opened the cell without the usual b.s. security protocols, then stormed inside. His hand shot out to seize her upper arm, yanking her to her feet.
Though Regin didn’t resist as he cuffed her, Natalya snapped, “What the hell are you doing, Magister?”
She told Natalya in the old tongue, “This could be my last chance. Let it go.”
The fey backed away and answered in the same, “Good luck, Valkyrie.”
The cell door closed behind them. As Chase dragged her down the corridor, his grip on Regin’s arm was like a vise.
“Chase, let up!”
“Silence.” With another yank, he forced her along the ward to his quarters.
They passed Carrow’s cell. She was indeed absent, but there were three new inmates in addition to the sorceress from before: two more Sorceri—Portia, the Queen of Stone, and Emberine, the Queen of Flames. Both hard-core evil.
And then there was Ruby, the motherless little witch, imprisoned in this house of horrors. Had Chase himself been the one who’d orphaned her?
The girl gazed up at Regin. Her green eyes were puffy from crying, but she put up her pointed chin and defiantly wiped her nose on her sleeve. Kid’s just like Carrow.
And if Chase got his way, Ruby would likely never leave this place. At the thought, Regin’s temper redlined.
When they passed Brandr, he banged on the glass. “What are you doing with her, Aidan? Calm yourself!”
Chase didn’t answer, only tightened his grip on her arm and hastened her past.
Brandr’s roar of frustration echoed down the ward.
Once they were inside Chase’s office, he clasped her around the waist and lifted her onto the back of his couch. Standing before her, he gazed down at her face. “You wanted us to kiss, Valkyrie?”
Now? He wasn’t the only one who could feel rage. It would take everything in her not to turn away in disgust. Could she control her temper for once?
“Answer me.”
Keep it cool, Regin. Smile and be flirty. Say nothing insulting. But she couldn’t come up with anything else!
“Your lightning’s going off like mad.” His brows drew together. “And your eyes … stark silver. Why are you shaking?”
She bit out, “Waiting. For. Your kiss.”
He exhaled with annoyance, dropping his hand.
“You’re not going to do it?”
“As soon as I’m confident you will no’ bite, female.”
The Valkyrie folded in her lips, as if to stem her words.
Declan had never seen this furious and terse side of her. He found he didn’t like her quiet, had grown accustomed to her informing him of what she was thinking at all times.
The idea that she wouldn’t be receptive to his attentions had never occurred to him. And he wasn’t quite sure how to go about this. She wasn’t even the same species—God preserve me—and he hadn’t kissed anyone in twenty years. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
At last she spoke, words spilling out in a rush. “What’s wrong with me, Chase? Really? What could possibly be right with me? We had a deal. As long as I told you my tales, my friends weren’t to be tortured. Friends like Carrow.”
So that’s what this concerned?
“You knew I’d find out. You know the inmates talk!”
He didn’t bother denying it. “I have a daily transcript of everything uttered in the facility.”
“So you knew, but you just didn’t care. You don’t have to keep your word to a lowly creature like me?”
“She wasn’t tortured, Valkyrie. Not by me.”
“You forced her into a hell dimension—you don’t consider that torture?”
“Not in the strictest sense of the word.”
“Did you kill the little witch’s mother?”
He frowned. “Another got to the job before I could. I was on base when it happened.”
“My gods, you sound disappointed.”
“As you pointed out, my work here keeps me from my hunting.”
“I didn’t mean hunting witches!” she cried.
“They ar
e treacherous and malicious beings.”
“With their enemies, maybe.” She was clearly grappling to check her anger, but her lightning continued to fire. “And what about Thad? Just another broken promise?”
“He was scarcely touched.”
“He’s just a kid.” Her lips drew back from her small fangs. “And how long will it be before you poison me again? How long before you let Dixon cut me open like she’s been dying to do?”
Though he’d been keeping Regin’s exam off the log, he couldn’t stall it indefinitely.
The Valkyrie’s pique didn’t bode well for his aims—but she’d seemed to relax when she’d talked of the past. “I’ve kept you from being examined so far because of your tales. I believe I’m due for one.”
When she merely gaped at him, Declan decided to bargain with her. Trading concessions with the vampire had proved simple enough. “You said you wanted two things from me. Tonight, I’m prepared to offer you one, and possibly both. For a tale, I’ll let you bathe.”
He thought he spied a calculating glimmer in her eyes. But then she smiled, and it vanished so completely he thought he’d imagined it. “I do want a bath. And you do want to watch me take one.”
The most beautiful female he’d ever seen wanted to bathe in front of him. And he was just craven enough to stride to the concealed panel of his room and say, “Then follow me.”
TWENTY-FOUR
“ So this is Declan Chase’s lair,” Regin murmured as she gazed around. I got inside! Somehow she’d conquered the worst of her temper, and now she’d been rewarded.
His quarters were similar to his office—devoid of personality, shadowy, and freakishly neat. The interior had three levels, one with a king-size bed and a massive computer console, a second with a kitchen and what looked like a weapons armory, and a third with a workout area. There were no windows.
Dark and creepy. With a forced smile, she said, “It suits you.”
He sat at the console, still thrumming with tension. Something had happened today that had rattled the hell out of him. But she didn’t give a damn what. She was here only to deliver one heaping order of downfall. The man before her had proved himself irredeemable.
