by J. J. Bonds
That shuts Vlahos up. It’s pretty hard to argue the numbers.
“The fact that one of your own waged this war should tell you something,” I argue.
Smirnov appears unmoved when he replies. “Anastasia hasn’t been one of us for a very long time.”
“Aldo wanted this as well. He too believed it was time for change. It’s why he named me his heir.”
“With all due respect, Elder Lescinka, he named you his heir because there was no one else.”
My cheeks burn at Tarik’s comment, but I bite my tongue. Lashing out now won’t help.
Fortunately, DeVanie steps in. “That is enough, Tarik. We must remain focused on dealing with the Order.”
“How many dead vampires is it going to take to convince you?” I challenge him, reminding myself that I only need one more vote. I only need to convince Cardoso. “We add seats, we don’t take away. Each of your covens will remain intact. Nothing changes except that the mixed-bloods have a voice. We’ll be stronger together than we are divided. By birth or by bite, do we not all originate from the same bloodline?”
“This is blasphemy!” shouts Nakamura. He looks to the other Council members for support and finds it in Yao.
“You want to enter into a treaty with the rebels who killed my father and your uncle?” Yao asks with a look of disgust. “Or perhaps their deaths don’t matter to you since Aldo’s demise elevated you to the Consiliul de Batrani.”
I stand and press my palms to the table, leaning toward Yao. He’s really pushing my bitch switch now. “Don’t you ever presume to know what I am feeling. In exchange for the seats, we demand Anastasia Lescinka’s surrender. Someone has to take responsibility for the recent acts of war.”
Wolff snorts. “You think she’ll just roll over and come in because we ask nicely?”
I expected this question, just not from him.
“We put the word out. Print the terms of the treaty in every vamp-owned publication in the world and wait for the Order to call again. Hell, give them a deadline. No matter how you set it up, Anastasia will have to yield her freedom to make good on the promise of independence for her people. It’s a deal she can’t afford to ignore if she is truly devoted to the cause.”
“It could work,” DeVanie says, shifting just past neutral.
“I have to believe the mixed-bloods want the violence to end as much as we do. With this deal, the Council gets justice, but we will also have an opportunity to show mercy and honor. It’s a step in the right direction. For our people… the ones we’ve sworn to protect.”
“The best way to protect our people is to hunt down and punish each and every one of these rebels,” argues Rinaldi.
“We’ve tried applying pressure with no success,” DeVanie says, folding his hands pensively on the table. “And we’ve spent many hours debating this issue with little progress. It is time we put it to a vote.”
My stomach drops. If this doesn’t work, I don’t know what will.
DeVanie clears his throat. “All in favor of adding two seats to the Consiliul de Batrani to be held by vampires of mixed blood?”
The vote starts to DeVanie’s left and moves clockwise around the table. As expected, Tarik and Yao vote nay. Witte is the first to proudly vote aye, drawing a few hostile glares. She ignores them, chin held high. Vlahos is a highly vocal nay, followed by consent from both Lefevre and Garrott. Nakamura and Smirnov also vote nay, as does Rinaldi. I vote aye and so does Wolff, bringing the vote to five in favor of DeVanie’s motion and six against.
That leaves Cardoso and DeVanie. I only care about Cardoso’s vote. I already know DeVanie will say aye if the thirteenth vote is needed. If we get Cardoso, DeVanie will vote the tiebreaker as is the privilege of the Council head. I’m on the edge of my seat when the vote moves to Cardoso, willing him to crack and shift his loyalty. His life may depend on it, and death is a pretty strong motivator.
Cardoso takes his sweet-ass time deciding, drumming his fingers on the table and avoiding the stares of the other Elders. I’m ready to climb across the table and shake the crap out of him by the time he utters his vote.
“Aye.”
My nerves bottom out and relief fills me. It’s not unanimous, but it passed. Finally. I’m light as air, knowing that Aldo will not have died in vain. Change is coming. It won’t be easy, not for any of us, but we’ll be stronger for it. Some day.
When everyone else has gone, Viktor approaches.
“Aldo would be very proud of you. You have shown great potential as an Elder, seeking a diplomatic solution.” He pauses, considering his next words. “The old Katia would have hunted Anastasia to the ends of the earth and back in the name of revenge.”
He’s fishing, wondering if I’m up to something. I just smile innocently and shrug. Thank Hades he can’t read minds. “Yeah, well, day’s not over yet, is it?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The sun rises hot and heavy on the day of the treaty. It’s one hundred and twelve degrees of sizzling misery at Witte’s Arizona ranch. With its resort-like facilities, it was gracious of her to offer it up for the signing of the treaty, but bloody hell, is it hot. I’m pretty sure it isn’t hot enough to boil blood, but it damn well feels like it as I stand on the terrace, taking in the dry, cracked desert. It’s cooler in the shade where I stand, protecting my skin from the harsh afternoon sun, but not by much.
Although my plan worked and the Order has agreed to surrender Anastasia Lescinka and put an end to the violence in exchange for two seats on the Consiliul de Batrani, I can’t take comfort in the fact. Not until the treaty is signed and Anastasia has presented herself for judgment. There are too many things that could go wrong.
The Council’s been busy preparing, as have the Linkuri. The treaty’s been drafted, the Elders have been briefed, and we have more security than any other location in the world right now. Virtually every member of the Linkuri is on-site to protect the Elders. I wonder if it will be enough should things go sideways. While the compound is quiet now, the Linkuri have two blackbirds on standby at the helipad should the Elders needs to make a hasty exit. I really hope we don’t need them, but I’m glad Commander Smith isn’t taking any chances.
A tap on the window behind me demands my attention. When I turn, I see Viktor discreetly waving me inside. Most of the other Elders, including DeVanie, have already gathered in the den. I slip inside and join them, not wanting to be the last to arrive. We’ve still got a few hours until dusk, meaning a few hours to kill before the Order’s representatives arrive. Whatever DeVanie wants, it must be important. A few others file in from the main hall and take seats on the overstuffed white couches before DeVanie begins.
“Today will be remembered as one of the single most important days in shaping our future. I understand that not everyone is supportive of this treaty, but your individual views are no longer relevant.” DeVanie’s eyes sweep the room, pausing briefly on each of us to drive his point home.
Smirnov looks particularly displeased. I’d love to think he has a spine from one of the lovely cacti that dot the horizon stuck on his ass, but it’s more likely he’s still stewing about the Council’s decision to negotiate for peace instead of continuing down the path of violence.
DeVanie continues. “The will of the Consiliul de Batrani will be done tonight, and it will be done without violence. I will not tolerate insubordination. I expect each of you to conduct yourselves accordingly.”
When DeVanie is done scolding us, I wander toward the kitchen in search of blood. Like everything else on the ranch, the kitchen is open, modern, and completely at odds with the word “ranch.” The all-white room, which, thankfully, is devoid of southwestern décor, is being scrubbed by one of the maids when I arrive. I haven’t met this girl before. She looks particularly young, despite the aged black-and-white dress she wears. I give her a brief smile before helping myself to the blood stash in the industrial-sized refrigerator.
I sit down at the massive island with a pit
cher of blood in hand. Without a word, she slides me a white ceramic mug.
“Thanks.” I pour myself a glass, careful not to spill on the pristine counter she’s just cleaned because, you know, I need another enemy like I need a hole in the head.
I roll the glass between my hands, letting the chill of the refrigerator fade as I consider the prospect of facing Anastasia again. My blood runs cold at the thought. She’s the worst kind of murderer as far as I’m concerned, and whatever Commander Smith has in store for her will never be enough. It will never be enough to bring Aldo back or put the world back as it was, but maybe that’s a good thing. I have to believe it is, to latch on to the only good that will come from this nightmare. Our world will be a better place for Aldo’s sacrifice.
I’m not sure how long I sit lost in thought, but it must be a while because the maid’s words completely startle me, causing me to spill blood on the counter.
“The Order of the Red Dawn will honor their word,” she tells me tentatively, as though speaking to an Elder is something above her. If she only knew the truth. “The mixed-bloods are very pleased with the treaty. Despite all that has happened, we long for peace and equality.”
“Well, you’re about get it,” I point out as she quickly wipes up the mess I’ve made. “It was a long time coming.”
She eyes me warily, as though weighing her next words. Or maybe she’s weighing mine, deciding if I can be trusted. “I hope so. There are those who believe the Consiliul de Batrani will never allow a mixed-blood to join their ranks and that they will renege on the peace offering.”
“That will not happen.” I look her dead in the eye as I make a promise I have every intention of seeing through. “The treaty will be signed, and it will be honored.”
**********
It’s a wonder anything the Council does can surprise me anymore. Steeped in tradition, it’s possible we’ll never do anything without an excessive degree of pomp and circumstance. The signing of the treaty is no exception. Like myself, the other Elders all wear their black robes as we file into the dining room where the treaty will be signed. The chairs have been removed from the massive mahogany table, but the parchment—freaking parchment—has been laid on the table and is surrounded by candles, which provide the only light in the room, and silver fountain pens which will be used to sign the treaty.
Linkuri circle the dark room. They stand like statues with their arms locked behind their backs. Each has a sword strapped to his or her belt. Just in case. We move past them and stand at attention beside DeVanie, flanking him as we wait for the Order’s representatives to arrive. I step into line with the other Elders, and Lincoln winks at me, being his usual immodest self, before I turn my back on him and face the door. His presence in this room is a testament to his skill as a swordsman. While the property is overflowing with Linkuri, the best fighters have been placed here, the first line of defense for the Elders. It’s a comfort knowing Lincoln has my back since Nik and Viktor have been assigned other locations on the property.
Alex stands guard by the door. She puts a hand to her ear, presumably getting a message over her comm device.
“Look sharp, Linkuri. The Order has just arrived and is heading our way.”
What she doesn’t say is that the Linkuri escorting them from the front gates will need a few minutes to frisk them for weapons. Commander Smith will not tolerate a security breach. Adrenaline pumps through my body, making it difficult to stand still. No one’s ever accused me of being patient, but this is worse than usual. My nerves, and my mind, are all over the place, playing out every possible scenario for the next hour.
In a matter of minutes, I’ll be face-to-face with Anastasia again. Talk about a test of wills. Maybe DeVanie’s earlier speech was really intended just for me. Even the smallest misstep on my part could completely derail the treaty. Whatever happens tonight, I must remain calm and on point. This treaty is so much bigger than me or Aldo or any one of us. And I will not be the reason it goes to hell in a handbasket.
The sound of footsteps reverberates down the hall, serving as a warning that our guests approach. My eyes are glued to the door when Commander Smith enters, looking deadly. He steps to the side, allowing the Order’s leaders to pass in front of him. Anastasia enters first, head held high and wearing a blood-red cloak. Our eyes meet, and I force my face to remain a mask of indifference. No small task when I want more than anything to cross the room and tear her limb from limb. A ghost of a smile passes over her face, but there’s no warmth in it. Like her eyes, it’s cold and hard and terrifying.
The five remaining leaders of the Order enter behind Anastasia, also wearing red cloaks. I still don’t know their names or identities. None of us do, but that’s all about to change. After tonight, they’ll be unable to hide.
“Welcome,” DeVanie says, stepping forward with his arms spread wide. I figure he’s trying to look friendly and nonthreatening. It’s an impossible task when the room is filled with warriors, and the tension is so thick I’m practically choking on it.
I have to give the Order credit though. Any guards they’ve brought have remained outside, and they’ve entered this room unarmed despite the potential danger. No one can say they aren’t willing to die for their beliefs. And that is real commitment, the kind that can’t be faked or bought or commanded. How many of our Elders can say the same?
“For those of you who do not know me, I am Michael DeVanie, head of the Consiliul de Batrani.”
DeVanie’s introductions are a formality. Of course they know who he is. The real question is who are they?
Anastasia steps forward and makes the introductions for her people. Their names mean little to me as I’ve never heard of them before. Of course, having been raised outside the vamp world, there are lots of people, places, and things I’ve never heard of before, so that’s nothing new.
When the introductions are complete, DeVanie continues, completely ignoring the hostile tension that rolls off the other Council members. “As communicated, the Consiliul de Batrani is prepared to offer two permanent seats on the Council to vampires of mixed blood if—and only if—we have a commitment from the Order of the Red Dawn to cease all violence and attacks on pureblood vampires. We will also require Anastasia Lescinka to surrender her freedom to Commander Smith for the murder of Aldo Lescinka.”
At the mention of her pending imprisonment, a muscle in Anastasia’s left eye ticks. It’s brief, but it’s there. Evidently spending eternity under the thumb of Commander Smith doesn’t sit well with her. Not that I have any sympathy. She made her choice when she ripped out her own brother’s heart.
“Do you accept these terms?” DeVanie asks the six red-cloaked figures, as if they’re going to back out now.
“We’re here, aren’t we?” Anastasia retorts, not bothering to give DeVanie the respect typically afforded an Elder or even the respect he’s shown her. The others shift uncomfortably and exchange uneasy glances. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Very well.” DeVanie nods and moves to the table. He picks up one of the silver pens and signs the parchment with a flourish. The pen scratches across the parchment, the sound resonating through the quiet room. When he turns and offers the pen to Anastasia, a sick smile spreads across her face. She accepts the pen and steps forward so that she stands directly in front of me.
Anastasia raises her arm to sign, but as she leans down to make her mark, she twists her body, rotating toward me. The deadly gleam in her eye has nothing on the look of triumph that spreads over her aged face. Her hand shoots out. Fast. She’s so fast. Impossibly, incredibly, light-speed fast. But I’m ready for her.
My right hand is already reaching for Lincoln’s sword, closing around the hilt and drawing it from the metal scabbard. Time slows to a crawl, each millisecond stretching for an eternity. My pulse thunders in my ears, drowning out everything but the face of evil before me. Despite it all, my aim stays true. The sword rings clear as I swing it around, bringing it up between us
and slicing through Anastasia’s neck. It’s a powerful swing, separating her head from her body and sending the dismembered appendage sailing through the air. It lands on the table with a thud at the same time her body hits the floor, her blood pooling at my feet.
I bring the sword around, falling into a defensive position with Lincoln at my back. I rock on the balls of my feet, hoping none of the other red cloaks makes a move. But why wouldn’t they? Anastasia is their leader, and I’ve just whacked off her head sending her straight to hell where she belongs.
For a moment, no one moves. While there are fifty pairs of shocked eyes staring at me, the room is utterly silent.
Then all hell breaks loose.
The room is a flurry of activity and shouts as the Linkuri move to protect the Elders. The remaining red cloaks are surrounded. They put their hands up in self-defense, shouting I have no idea what. There’s too much movement, too much noise to process anything. My head is spinning. The Linkuri lock the door. Alex is yelling into her comm, probably putting the whole place on lockdown.
Shit.
I am so dead.
“Silence!” DeVanie bellows. I’ve never seen him so pissed. Understandable, I guess, given the situation. It’s entirely possible I’ve just sent us back down the path of war.
The room falls silent again, but I don’t drop my sword. I hold my stance, fully prepared to protect myself, if necessary. Even with Aldo’s blood pumping through my veins, I can’t take them all, but I can put up a hell of a fight.
“This is quite the dilemma,” DeVanie says, rubbing the back of his neck.
One of the red cloaks raises his hand tentatively. He’s middle-aged with inky black hair and clear blue eyes. Eyes that appear fearful in the face of so many Linkuri. Griffin is his name. “Please, Elder DeVanie. Let us not act rashly.” He steps forward, and the other Order members nod in agreement. “Truth be told, we feared something like this might happen. Ana was not the type to be caged. It simply was not in her nature.”
