by Roh Morgon
“Where are you?” He nods. “Meet you at the office in a few hours.”
I hand him his helmet when he returns to the bike, feeling guilty for the way I reacted after what he shared with me on the mountain last night.
But I didn’t ask him for that. And yet, as I climb on behind him and grab on to his waist, I can’t help but think about what might’ve happened on the mesa if the sun had been a little farther from making its morning appearance.
Some of the San Francisco streets seem familiar, and as we turn onto a particularly steep one, I recognize the corner where Taz and I waited for Redd after the airport. Halfway up the street, we stop at a pair of wrought-iron gates set within a stucco archway and a camera whirs awake, its shutter opening and closing as it focuses on us.
The gates hum and swing inward. We ride into a small courtyard surrounded by an elegant, early-1900s mansion. Taz parks in a shrub-bordered alcove off to the side, next to Redd’s bike. We dismount and take off our helmets, then he loosens the bungee cord and hands me my bag of clothes. But he refuses to even look at me.
Taz stands next to the bike for a moment, staring out toward the street, then shrugs off his jacket and drapes it across the handlebars, his movements slow and deliberate. He starts toward the front door, and as I fall in beside him, he stops. With a deep breath, he turns and faces me. The shadow in his gaze doesn’t mask the desperation building in the fading remnants of his blood.
“Sonya. I…” He reaches toward me.
“Don’t.”
Don’t say it, because I can’t handle it right now.
Sadness and regret flicker across his face, only to be replaced by a look of utter darkness. His jaw tightens, and fingers curling tight against his palm, his arm drops to hang stiffly by his side. His blood in my veins turns to ice.
Without another word, he heads toward the house, and I follow him.
We’re greeted by what I can only describe as a butler—a human one. But as we walk into the chandeliered foyer, I noticed two brawny Chosen bodyguards armed with Uzis. Their auras mark them as Nicolas’s. They study us with cold gazes, but make no other movement.
“I’ll announce your presence.” The butler’s purposeful walk as he heads down the marble-lined hall makes me realize I’ve once again entered the formal world of sophisticated and highly manipulative Chosen—one in which I never felt at ease. In retrospect, Taz’s crude environment doesn’t seem so bad. I sense the hidden dangers here are much worse than the obvious ones in his social circle.
Taz stands near the door, his arms crossed and expression closed. His stillness matches that of the bodyguards, and I feel increasingly uncomfortable. I’m almost relieved when the butler returns, but the feeling is short-lived as I contemplate the impending meeting.
“Follow me, please.” With a nod of his head, the butler turns and heads back the way he came. Taz falls in behind him, dwarfing the man. The black braid swings against the stiffness of his back in rhythm with his long and easy stride. His power and confidence wrap around him like a mantle, his pride glitters like a crown, and despite his savagery, he strikes me as though he could be a king among our kind if he wanted to.
I wonder what he’d have been like if we’d met under different circumstances.
But I’ll never get to know that Taz, the one I glimpsed in quiet whispers and brief caresses, who blends with the wild even easier than I do and offered me the precious gift of acceptance of me as I am.
Regret twists within me. My goal of finding Nicolas—the one driving force that’s kept me going—is now even more tainted with uncertainty and doubt.
When we enter what looks to be a tastefully decorated waiting room, Redd leans forward in the deep seat of an upholstered antique chair. Thankfully, Chia’s nowhere in sight.
“Had me a little worried, bro. Shit’s been hittin’ the fan, if you know what I mean.”
Taz grunts and, without waiting for the butler, walks past and opens the ornate door at the end of the room. Frowning, the butler hastens to close it behind him.
I’m left standing in the middle of the waiting room, feeling a little lost. Spotting a gilded mirror on the wall across from Redd, I undo my braid and finger comb the hair the best I can, then re-braid it. I notice Redd watching me in the mirror.
“Redd. Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure, lassie.”
“What is it you and Taz do? What’s your job?”
Redd scratches his beard.
“We’re Hunters. We patrol the territory and make sure no foreign Chosen come in unannounced.” He fixes me with a curious stare.
“What do you do when you find them?”
He squirms in his chair.
“Well, lassie, here’s the thing. When we find them, and we always do, no matter how clever they think they are…” Redd tips his head. “We kill them.”
“You what?”
“We kill them. Maybe after a little interrogation first. But usually? No questions asked. It’s territory law, and everyone knows it. Gotta ask permission to enter first; otherwise, it’s a guaranteed form of suicide.”
My hand flies to my mouth.
“Why… why didn’t you kill me?”
“I’ve been asking myself that since Taz spotted you. You’re not the first pretty thing that’s snuck in without an invite, but you are the first to live to talk about it.”
I swallow and think back over the last several days. Taz’s voice rings through my ears as though he’s standing right before me.
Been tracking your every movement for weeks.
The door opens. Taz emerges and strides right past me like I’m not even here.
If I wanted you dead… you’d be dead.
Doesn’t say goodbye, doesn’t look at me, nothing.
I exchange blood with no one. But with you, I would.
His boots echo against the marble floor, the sound receding with every step down the hallway, until I no longer hear them at all.
Like the ghostly remnants of a half-remembered dream, slipping further into oblivion with each waking breath, he fades from all my awareness of him.
CHAPTER 56
Redd pauses beside me and pats my shoulder.
“Good luck to ye, lass.” And then he’s gone as well.
I’m still lost in my thoughts when a slender blonde human opens the door. I realize my life’s about to change again.
“You may come in now,” she says, holding the door.
Taking a deep breath, I tuck the clothes bag under my arm and walk across the room, nerves twitching beneath my skin. I knew my search for Nicolas was likely to result in me becoming a pawn for someone in the Game. Guess I’m about to find out who’s next in line.
When I enter, the first thing I see is a huge, dark-skinned Chosen standing in front of a mahogany desk, his frame stark against the ivory draperies hanging from the back wall. An amber-and-violet aura marks him as a member of Nicolas’s lineage, and a curious blend of power radiates from the space he occupies. His tailored suit and rigid stance belong to someone accustomed to command, and I shudder beneath his dissecting gaze. Feeling as though I’m approaching a coiled adder, I stop partway into the room and wait.
“Isaac.” A woman’s soft voice behind him breaks the tension.
His wide nostrils flare, then he steps to one side, revealing the diminutive Alina Dăneşti sitting behind the desk. A pale, jade-colored silk blouse accents her dark hair, which lies in gentle curls around her shoulders and frames her nearly lavender eyes. With her petite, straight nose above delicate lips, and a softly rounded jaw, Alina represents the embodiment of Chosen femininity.
The power signature dominating the room belongs to her.
Nicolas’s aura, the amber and violet, floats about Alina, woven with numerous slender threads in a multitude of colors, similar to the colorful array in Robert’s amber and yellow. But unlike Robert’s, their slow and graceful movements radiate serenity and an air of welcome.
“Sunny. It is so good to see you.” The genuine warmth in her tone surprises me. She rises and beckons to a pair of rose-hued upholstered chairs before the desk. “Please. Sit.”
With a glance at the big Chosen, I take the one on the right, farthest from his looming presence.
“Sunny, this is Isaac. He’s head of my internal security, and a little overprotective at times.” Alina smiles at him and nods. “Everything’s fine, Isaac. You may go.”
He stiffens and seems about to argue, then with a critical look at me, leaves through a door near the rear of the room.
Alina settles back into her chair, her eyes sparkling with an ancient fire.
The same fire that Nicolas’s held.
“How have you been, my dear?”
I don’t even know how to answer that. Glancing down at my lap, I try to form a response that doesn’t sound trite, and fail to find any words at all.
“I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me.” Sympathy colors her quiet tone. “Much has happened since we last saw one another.”
That was at the club, the night Katerina slaughtered the donors and attempted to kill Nicolas. Before Éva ripped the lineage away from him.
I look up into the sorrow barely hidden in Alina’s violet eyes and nod my agreement.
A soft knock on the door to the waiting area interrupts the pained silence.
“Come in, Karen.”
The blonde woman enters carrying a tray with two bottles of wine and a pair of delicate long-stemmed glasses.
This might be awkward. Refusing a host’s offer of refreshment is an insult in many cultures, and I can’t imagine that the upper echelon of Chosen society is any different. But bloodwine, a favorite drink among Chosen, is heavily laced with human blood, and something I’ve sworn to avoid.
“The bloodwine is a sweet port, and the Pinot Noir is one you enjoyed the night of our Council meeting.”
I’m surprised she remembered that. Though I’m grateful for her perception, I suspect this is also a test to see if my preferences have changed.
“The Pinot, please.”
Alina nods, her expression thoughtful.
Karen pours a glass of bloodwine for Alina, then hands me one of Pinot.
“Thank you, Karen. You may go now.”
Leaving the tray on the desk, the woman bows her head and exits the room.
We sip our wine in contemplative silence. Alina finally sets her glass on the desk and leans forward, her slender hands clasped. The sleeve on her left arm slides back, revealing a delicate silver bracelet, a thin band in Taz’s distinctive style.
Huh. A gift for his Elder perhaps?
“So tell me, Sunny. What can I do for you?”
I take a deep breath. Everything for the last five months has led up to this moment.
“I’m hoping you can help me find Nicolas.”
Staring at me, expressionless, Alina shakes her head, then slowly pushes her chair back and stands. She turns and pulls a drapery panel aside, just enough to peek out. The wedge of dark window reflects her face twisting in anguish. She stares into the night for several moments, then releases the draperies and slowly walks around the desk toward me, her expression once again schooled into neutrality.
She stops before my chair and leans back against the desk, her arms folded.
“Do you have any idea what your rejection of Nicolas did to this lineage?” Her voice is now brittle, all trace of gentleness gone.
I look down at my lap, tasting guilt and shame along with the ever-present remorse I feel whenever I think of him.
“Fortunately for you, I’m aware of the underlying circumstances, though I still hold you somewhat responsible.” Her voice softens. “The others, though… it’s good you not did approach any of them, as they would have likely destroyed you on the spot. The only reason Robert did not do so at the airport is because this is my territory, which now makes you my responsibility.”
My instincts had been right. The little I’d been around Alina in Colorado had given me hope that she might be the most forgiving. But the look on her face right now is making me think otherwise.
“By coming to me, you’ve placed me in a precarious position. Éva’s made it clear that you are not to be welcomed. And should you continue to venture into Chosen territory—anyone’s territory—” She presses her lips together, then takes a deep breath. “You are to be terminated.”
I stare at her, feeling as though I’m balancing on the edge of a knife.
“I just want to find Nicolas,” I whisper.
“I’m sorry. Regret, especially in matters of the heart, can be quite unbearable.” She shakes her head. “And I sense the main obstacle to your relationship with him is no longer a concern. You’ve completed the Change?”
“You knew that I wasn’t… wasn’t full-Chosen?”
“As I mentioned before, I’m well-acquainted with your unique situation. In fact, I probably know more about you than Éva does.” Alina unfolds her arms and rests her hands against the edge of the desk. “Nicolas had me investigating your past.”
Panic rises up in my throat at the thought she may have found Andrea. I try not to squirm beneath her penetrating gaze.
“So far, my inquiries have confirmed that you are nothing more than what you appear to be—an unbound Chosen who was abandoned by her Maker. I am concerned about who that was, however, and what they were doing in our territory.” She pauses, looking thoughtful. “Although, why you were targeted is part of the mystery. It was not just any Chosen who Made you.”
Alina pushes off from the desk and walks back around to her chair. She takes a sip of bloodwine and sits down.
Feeling a little less threatened, I lean forward.
“So do you know where Nicolas is?”
“No, I do not.”
An upwelling of despair tightens my throat and I again study my lap, this time fighting back the bloodtears.
It all seems so pointless. All of it—meeting and falling in love with Nicolas, then rejecting him, only to realize I don’t want to live without him.
“Though I may know someone who does.”
Startled from my self-recrimination, I look up at her through tear-filled eyes.
“But I have to be very careful. Éva is now the head of our lineage, and unfortunately, is also now my Maker. I cannot do anything counter to her wishes, which includes assisting you.” She tips her head, reminding me of Nicolas. A tiny smile plays about her lips. “However, there’s nothing to prevent me from having a meeting with a mutual acquaintance about territory affairs. It’s possible the topic of your Maker might arise, and subsequently, a conversation regarding you. Whether he chooses to help you or not is up to him, and certainly none of my business.”
“Thank you.”
She rises and presses a call button.
“For now, I’ll consider you my prisoner until I decide what to do with you. Éva certainly can’t object to that.”
Prisoner? I stand, about to protest, when Isaac enters the room.
“Take her down to detainment,” Alina says. “Be sure she has everything she needs.”
Grim satisfaction painting his dark face, Isaac gestures me ahead of him.
“And Isaac… she is not to be harmed in any way. Make sure your staff members are clear on that.”
When Isaac opens the door to my new—and hopefully temporary—home, I’m stunned.
Rather than the bleak cell I was expecting, I enter a luxurious suite rivaling that of a fine hotel. With a richly carpeted and furnished sitting area, a full wet bar, and, in a separate room, a king-sized bed that appears fit for a king, this looks more like quarters for a VIP than a prisoner.
The only thing missing is windows.
“If you need anything, you can reach someone on the house phone. Dial zero.” Isaac indicates an old-fashioned dial phone on a desk against the wall.
“Thank you.”
With no further word, he shuts the door—a very solid-sounding door,
its apparent strength reinforced by the click of a stout deadbolt.
Despite the locked door, it sure beats the hell out of a bloodstained couch and a ratty blanket.
But as I wander through the rooms, I realize the luxury is only for appearances. There are no books or magazines, nor is there a TV. And I suspect since we’re belowground, cell reception—if I even had my phone—isn’t possible, leaving no way to contact the outside world.
This is more than just detainment—I’m in total isolation.
Being alone is something I should be used to. But after spending the past week with Taz’s crew, their constant presence is something to which I’ve surprisingly grown accustomed.
As the evening wears on, I find myself wondering what they are up to. I miss Redd’s light-hearted banter and Taz’s gruff silence, and even Chia’s snide remarks.
The hush in my lavish tomb deepens. The only sounds I can hear are in my mind, which slowly fills with regret piled upon regret.
And beneath those dismal thoughts echoes the memory of Taz’s boots ringing out against the marble floor.
I Remember
I remember
Nights of darkness
Darkness of the soul
I remember
Nights of frenzy
Frenzy beyond control
I remember
Nights of red thirst
Red thirst unending
I remember
Nights of death
Death unchanging
I also remember
Finding my love
Finding my self
But mostly
I remember
Losing my love
Losing my self
I once again remember
Nights of darkness
Darkness of my soul
~ CN
WEDNESDAY
CHAPTER 57
I bolt awake to shrill alarms going off in my head. They stop, and as I sit up and take in my unfamiliar surroundings, the sound begins again. Beside me, not in my head.
