“Lena, are you sulking?” he asked with laughter in his voice.
She looked down at her lap. “Maybe just a little bit.” She risked a look back at him and saw him trying to cover his grin with a sip from his pint.
Once he’d taken his first taste, he paused then took a big swig. His eyes conveyed the joy he found in such a simple act. Now it was Lena’s turn to smile.
“Ah. He was right. That is a good pint! Go on. Try it,” he said, smiling broadly.
Lena eyed her glass with suspicion. It had been a long time since she’d drunk real ale. From what she could remember though, she knew she wasn’t particularly enamoured of it. She took a delicate sip from the stupid half-pint glass. The beer was warm, strong and bitter. It took all her strength not to spit it back out again. It was absolutely vile. Yet, as she looked back at Thorn’s expectant face, she found she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. He clearly thought it was the best thing since bottled blood. “Mmm. Lovely!”
Thorn smiled back at her. “You’re an awful liar Lena.”
Damn it. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s an acquired taste.” His smile never wavered.
Hell’s gates, she could look at that smile forever. What a smile it was. It went all the way up from that broad mouth and shone from his glorious golden eyes. Goddess, what had happened to her?
She was a Guardian, and a Steward of the Watch at that. She was not a lovesick youngling. Even if she was a lovesick youngling, setting her sights at the King was a step too far, even for her. She really needed to get over it. Whatever it was.
All she needed to do was find Eden, wait for Kaden to return from sick leave and everything would go back to normal. Wouldn’t it? She really hoped so. She was beginning to think that spending too much time in the company of the formidable Thorn Blackwood was turning her insides to molten lava and her brain to mush.
A flash of red careened across her mind's eye. Vampires. She searched the room, knowing that something had changed. The door swung open and two huge men strode in.
No, not men — Vampires.
Their Menæwan was good, impressively so, but it was there. Their alter egos wore muddy wellingtons and jeans, coupled with messy checked shirts rolled up at the sleeves. The Vampires wore nothing of the sort. Beneath the glamour, they had on clean pressed chinos, smart leather loafers and polo shirts.
Lena cast her senses wider, but it seemed that these two were alone. They were on their way to the bar and judging by the landlord’s greeting, and the pints waiting for them, they were regulars here. Thorn continued to sup his beer as he carefully watched them move to what was no doubt their usual table.
The two strangers may be large, but Lena knew they weren’t warriors. They still hadn’t noticed one of the most powerful Vampires in existence was a mere twenty foot away from them. They’d also chosen to sit at a table in the middle of the room, making it impossible to monitor the door, the bar and the other customers at the same time. Warriors would never make either mistake.
Lena narrowed her gaze as the two civilians chatted pleasantly. Surely, they would notice soon. She watched as the male with his back to her snapped his head up. There it was. She couldn’t help but smile; this should be interesting.
Ever so slowly, the Vampire turned his head to look over his shoulder. He met Lena’s gaze head on and his eyes widened in surprise. She flashed him a grin and heard him swallow loudly. His gaze moved to Thorn and Lena’s smile broadened. The male sat there open-mouthed, his eyes now impossibly wide, before slowly turning back to his companion. Only Vampires of royal descent possessed golden eyes. There would be no doubt in the male’s mind who Thorn was.
Lena had exceptional hearing, even amongst her brethren, but she was sure the dead could hear the two civilians whispering nervously to each other.
“Roarke, you see what I see?”
The other Vampire moved ever so slightly to his left to glance over his friend’s shoulder and met Lena’s narrowed gaze. If it were possible, she thought he looked even more bug-eyed than his companion did. When he looked at Thorn and went green, Lena thought the poor guy might actually faint.
He just nodded his reply and took a big gulp of his beer.
“What do you think they want?” the nameless male asked.
“I don’t know, Bay. Maybe they’re just here for a nice quiet drink?” Roarke offered weakly.
“Yeah, ‘cause I saw Dracula in here last week too!” Bay retorted angrily.
“Well what do we do?”
“I vote we finish our drinks and get the hell out of here. The King and a damned Guardian can’t be a good thing.”
“I vote we leave the drinks,” Roarke said and pushed himself up out of his chair.
Lena scoped the door, determining she could reach it in less than a second should she need to. The mere fact that these two wanted to be as far away from her and Thorn as possible made her suspicious. They weren’t going anywhere and she readied herself to move.
“I think you should have another.” Thorn’s deep voice seemed to echo around the room, yet he had barely whispered his command. And it was definitely a command.
“Please, join us,” he continued, and both civilians had no choice but to acquiesce to his request, moving quickly to sit with Lena and Thorn.
Lena’s breath caught in her throat and she found herself staring at him in wonder. She rarely saw this side of him; he had no need to use his power amongst the Order. It was such a simple act, but the power behind Thorn’s commands was a thing to behold. Her insides sizzled and her thighs clenched in response.
Easy, Lena!
“I’ll just get some more drinks.” She said, before almost running towards the bar.
If Thorn said anything else commanding, she was likely to self-combust. She heard Thorn inhale deeply as she left the table and thought he was about to tell her to stay put, but as she glanced back at him, she saw only confusion on his face. Weird.
There was that smell again. It was like a well-known spice, but Thorn couldn’t put a name to it. It was fresh and sweet, yet warm and heady at the same time. It smelled new and exciting but part of him knew it also smelled like home. It was confusing and intoxicating.
He watched Lena bolt to the bar as heat curled through his body. Did she know what was going on? He sure as hell didn’t.
“Your Highness, you honour us with your presence,” the greasy looking Roarke whispered, bringing Thorn’s attention back to the table.
He couldn’t help it. He was instantly irritated by the two civilians and wished he and Lena really were just out for a quiet drink. His eyes zeroed in on Roarke and he heard him gulp.
Thorn barely contained his growl as he replied, “If you must insist on using titles in public, use them correctly.”
Roarke slid his friend Bay a confused look before stammering his reply, “I am sorry, My Liege?” He said my liege as if trying another answer to a complicated question.
Thorn rolled his eyes in frustration. “You have sworn no oath of fealty, so I am not your liege. I am King not Prince, so technically, I am a Majesty not a Royal Highness.”
“Your Majesty, I apologise most humbly.”
Thorn felt his fists clench and his top lip curl upward as he all but swung for the Vampire grovelling before him. Roarke’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets in response.
Thorn checked himself quickly. This was not like him. Not like him at all.
He didn’t often mix with civilians, and there weren't any courtiers anymore. He was a Guardian at heart, not a King, but he never forgot the responsibility that rested on his shoulders. That responsibility came with a need for humility, fairness and most of all patience with his subjects. He prided himself on his principles, yet here he was, ready to rip a Vampire to pieces because he had addressed him incorrectly.
Thorn puffed his breath out in a confused sigh. “Sir will do, Roarke.” He said as softly as he could manage.
Both Roarke and B
ay just nodded their heads, no doubt for fear of saying something wrong. Guilt pricked Thorn’s conscience but he shook it away.
Lena came sashaying back with a tray of drinks; real ale for the men and what looked like an orange juice for her. Thorn tried to hide his amusement at her change of beverage, but Lena’s arched eyebrow told him he hadn’t done a very good job. It made him smile even more. Lena just glared so he took a hearty swig of his pint before he actually laughed aloud.
This was indeed strange. Minutes ago he was ready to seriously injure, if not kill the snivelling Roarke. Now he was full of laughter and amusement. Perhaps he was coming down with some sort of brain fever.
As Lena set the tray down, Roarke and Bay sprang to their feet to greet her.
“Ma’am,” they said in union before bowing their heads.
Lena slid Thorn a confused look. He often forgot she did not grow up at court, and the men she spent time with definitely didn’t consider her a member of the fairer sex. He was just as guilty as anyone else in the Order was for not showing her proper etiquette. Perhaps he should start? He dismissed the thought almost immediately. If they all started standing up every time she entered or left a room and bowing at her, she’d probably kill them.
Lena just nodded at the pair before taking her seat. Roarke and Bay sank slowly down once she was comfortable.
“To what do we owe the pleasure, Sir?” Roarke asked.
Thorn swept his senses over the pair staring eagerly at him. Roarke was definitely older than Bay was, at least three hundred years old judging by his aura. He was older than Lena by nearly a century, though nowhere near as strong. Strength usually had a direct correlation with age. It was different for warriors. Lena’s age and lineage didn’t mark her as a warrior, but she possessed a strength these two could only guess at.
“How long has your coven been in Norton?” Thorn asked.
“Nearly six hundred years, Sir,” Roarke replied.
“And your Maluth?”
“My mother, Larissa, is head of House Bowman, Sir.” Pride sparkling in his eyes.
Intriguing. Whilst not completely unheard of for women to lead covens for short periods, the pride with which Roarke had answered the question suggested that Larissa was firmly established as Maluth, and had been head of this particular coven for a long time. That was unusual.
“And your father?” Thorn continued.
“He died,” Roarke said quietly and Thorn caught the wave of sadness that rolled off him.
“I am sorry.”
“He died a good death, Sir. It is all any of us can ask for.”
“How so?” Lena interjected, taking the words right out of Thorn's mouth.
Roarke’s brow furrowed and he looked furtively around the room. He looked at Bay who gave him a nod of encouragement.
“Fallen, Ma’am.” His reply to Lena’s question was barely audible, even with Thorn’s superior hearing. The sadness he noticed only moments before transformed into abject fear, as if even saying the word Fallen would send him to meet his maker. Even after he said it, his gaze still darted around the room looking for a Fallen ambush, whilst Lena simply shook her head at him.
Thorn needed to know exactly what happened to Roarke’s father, but he wouldn’t get much out of him if he was too terrified to speak. He decided to change tack.
“Gentlemen, I have been remiss. Please allow me to formally introduce, Lena of House Blackwood, Steward of the Watch.” Thorn watched the two Vampires focus on the gunmetal-grey daggers on her epaulettes for the first time, then struggle to contain their shock. Thorn wondered at it.
Roarke’s own mother was a Maluth, leader of a coven, so it shouldn’t come as a huge surprise to him that a woman could hold such a lofty position. Should it? Perhaps the Order were more advanced than Thorn gave them credit for.
Roarke and Bay both nodded their respect to Lena who returned the gesture, though Thorn felt his mouth lift at the corner as he watched her flash them a wicked grin. Lena could be mean when she wanted to.
“Lena is a hunter, gentlemen.” The two dumbstruck civilians continued to nod. “She is a Fallen tracker.” Thorn continued, not bothering to lower his voice as Roarke had when he said the "F" word.
They looked back incredulously before Roarke resumed his furtive search around the saloon.
“Sir, it is unwise to tempt fate. We do not say that word here,” Bay said, almost pleading.
“Lena, correct me if I am wrong, but Fallen do not have our superior hearing,” Thorn asked, ignoring Bay’s protests.
“They do not, My Lord,” Lena agreed.
In all her two hundred plus years, Thorn had never heard her call him her anything. As his blood roared around his head like a thing possessed, he found he liked it. He liked it very much.
Mind on the game, Thorn.
He had to clear his throat before he could speak again. “And Lena, are Fallen usually summoned by the mere mention of their name?”
“They are not, My Lord,” Lena replied.
Good God! She said it again. If this carried on, it could get really embarrassing. He knew Lena was just playing her role in front of strangers who needed to hear her address her King properly. Judging by its reaction, his body thought otherwise.
Lena addressing him as “My Lord” was like a siren song. It called to the very core of him with a heat and power Thorn didn’t know existed. And just like a siren’s song, he knew it meant trouble. The hard length currently pressing itself against his fly clearly disagreed.
He shook his head in an attempt to focus as he watched Lena raise a questioning eyebrow at him. Roarke and Bay still stared at him like expectant children. “One last thing, Steward. Are there any Fallen in the vicinity?”
Roarke and Bay dropped their jaws in astonishment. Their expressions only intensified as Lena answered. “Not within fifty miles, My Lord.” Lena smiled as Thorn nodded his approval.
Honestly, he was amazed at her talent. He knew she had an extra-ordinary talent for tracking Fallen. He did not know she could track them over such distances. The conviction in her voice when she answered his question left no room for doubt.
“So you see, Gentlemen, we are perfectly safe,” Thorn said to the still gaping civilians. “Now, Roarke, would you be so kind as to tell us what happened to your father?”
“He died nearly two hundred years ago, Sir,” Roarke whispered, despite all of Thorn’s reassurances.
“Do go on,” he encouraged, though his patience was wearing thin.
“There was a lot of Fallen activity here then. It started slowly, but in the May, we were almost under voluntary house arrest. They were everywhere, Sir. Not all at the same time, they kept coming and going, you see, but there had to have been at least twenty of them.”
Not exactly an army. To civilians it probably felt like a siege however.
“What were they doing?” Lena asked.
“Well Ma’am, we were never really sure. They stayed at the inn and had a good supply of horses with them. One day, at the beginning of June, there was quite a bit of commotion. Father said he could sense a new presence. He was convinced it was another Vampire, but Mother thought otherwise.”
“How so?” Thorn asked.
“Well it was the middle of the day, Sir. A Vampire wouldn’t be moving around in the middle of the day, would they?” Roarke replied.
“Not voluntarily,” Lena said quietly and Thorn shot her a look of disapproval. He didn’t want to give the two civilians any further cause for alarm.
“Anyway, Father couldn’t shake the feeling. In the evening, Mother relented. She said she could feel it too, but she still wasn’t convinced it was a Vampire. Father told us he was honour bound to find out. He said if a Vampire was moving around in the day, then they must be in trouble and our coven must offer assistance.”
“Honourable indeed,” Thorn agreed.
“So, your father went to investigate?” Lena asked impatiently.
“Yes, Ma’am
,” Roarke replied. The bitter smell of sadness bloomed in Thorn’s nostrils as he watched Roarke’s eyes close; he was no doubt remembering the ill-fated night in far more graphic detail than he had shown Lena and himself.
“Did he go alone?” Thorn asked, desperate to keep Roarke on track.
“No, Sir. My brother, Crane, went with him. He’s older than I am, so it was only natural.”
Thorn assumed the brother survived, since Roarke hadn’t mentioned him before. Roarke’s emotions changed when he spoke of his brother. Thorn could sense respect, but not love. He thought it strange. Love was the first and strongest thing he felt whenever he thought of Jett or Soraya. He couldn’t imagine it any other way.
“I stayed with my mother to protect the coven, should anything go wrong.” Roarke continued.
“Of course,” Thorn replied.
“Well, Father and Crane went to the inn. They dematerialised in the stables to the rear. Crane said the feeling that another Vampire had entered our territory was stronger the nearer they got. Anyway, as they approached the groom's’ entrance, a woman came barrelling outside. Nearly knocked them down, Crane said.”
“A woman?” Thorn asked.
Roarke shook his head. “Vampire, Sir.”
“Who was she?” Lena's voice was shrill.
“We don’t know, Ma’am,” Roarke replied solemnly.
“Why not? What happened?” Her voice had gone gruff. Thorn glanced at her, willing her to moderate her tone.
“She just carried on running. Crane said Father went after her, but she wouldn’t stop.” Roarke lowered his eyes as he finished and Thorn caught a new wave of sadness rolling off him.
“That’s when they attacked,” Roarke whispered.
Bay placed a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder, and shook his head. “You really ought to speak to Crane, Sir.” Bay said.
“You may be right,” Thorn conceded.
Roarke’s head snapped to attention. “My mother would be honoured to host you, Sir. Indeed, you would be most welcome. Though, I cannot understand what my father’s death has to do with anything. It was so long ago.”
Bound to Blackwood Page 10
