Honorable Rogue

by Linda J. Parisi

  She glanced at Hunter. “But you—”

  He held up his hand to stop her from speaking. “Since you must know, Mercy staked the rogue that attacked you and cut off its head. Both methods are effective. We usually use both when we can. Then we burn the body. Most vampires don’t have the strength to fight a rogue alone. Because I’m older, I do. And as you witnessed, even then, I found the fight a…challenge.”

  Tori shivered. Why did killing always seem so much easier than keeping people alive?

  “Rosary pea extract,” she repeated. “Stace?” she asked, turning to her friend. “Any idea how it works?”

  Stacy nodded. “Abrin. It’s a poison. A protein synthesis inhibitor. And in a very concentrated form. My assumption is once the poison is ingested it causes a total internal bleed out.”

  The wheels inside Tori’s brain were spinning and didn’t want to quit. A bleed out would take time, hence the rest of their method. Chaz seemed sad for some reason. Hunter simply stoic. No one liked killing. Then she thought about it. This was the death they all faced. Not pleasant. “Thank you.”

  “I can see we’re intruding,” Hunter said after the silence began to fill the room.

  “We’ll leave while you two get your geek on,” Chaz added, trying to lighten the mood.

  He walked up to Stacy and kissed her again for a full minute before letting go. Maybe he felt he had to stake a claim. Maybe he felt he had to show Tori love could conquer any difference. Maybe he simply wanted to wash the taste of death out of his mouth. Tori wasn’t sure.

  Hunter walked up to her. He reached out to cup her cheek and smooth the skin with his thumb. Killing didn’t bother him. Not the way it bothered Chaz. And yet she knew the gesture was deliberate. Why? And then it hit her. Hunter was proclaiming the slave was worthy of the prize.

  He turned without a word and walked away. As she stared at Hunter’s retreating back Stacy laughed softly. “Did I just see what I just saw?”

  Tori nodded. There was no other way to explain.

  “Oh. My. God. The vampire made out of stone? The man with an ice block instead of a heart?”

  “Yeah.”

  Stacy stared at the empty doorway and shook her head. “I never thought I’d live to see the day.” Then she turned. “You go, girl.”

  Tori frowned. “I’m not so sure.”

  “I get that,” Stacy answered, her voice filled with wonder.

  “You know, it’s not fair. I mean, they can be pretty damned arrogant when they want to. Hunter keeps thinking I’ll ask how high when he tells me to jump.”

  “Chaz was kind of like that with me in the beginning too,” Stacy agreed.

  “He really needs to stay out of my head too.”

  She grinned. “I’ve got ways to get around the lack of privacy. I’ll explain later.”

  Sounded interesting.

  “And you were right that there are things they won’t ever understand,” her friend continued.

  “Like kids?”

  Stace nodded. “They close themselves off for protection.”

  “I know all about protection.”

  She reached out, her eyes filling. Tori shook her head. In a minute she’d start crying too. Time to steer clear of the subject. “They’d never understand a girl’s night out.”

  Stacy laughed, wiping at her eyes. “Wine. Chocolate.”

  “A superhero with long, blond hair and a hammer.”

  “I’ve got my own now,” Stacy murmured, her voice all kinds of warm and soft.

  Tori smiled. “Yeah, you do.” Was that a little stab of jealousy that hit her? After all, her luck with men rated below zero.

  She breathed in deeply and let out the air slowly. “What do you say we start getting to work, then? This extract has me intrigued. I think we need to know the exact composition of the stuff, don’t you?”

  “Sure. But you’re lead here.”

  Tori threw her a look. “Why? You have just as much expertise in your field as I have in mine.”

  “You’re the doctor,” Stace insisted. “The pathologist.”

  “All right, all right.” Tori figured she had no choice, so she agreed. “Then let’s talk this out for a sec. Oh and by the way, you just became phlebotomist number two.”

  Stacy laughed. “You’re number one?”

  “Hunter promised lots and lots of volunteers,” Tori added with a nod.

  She sat down at one of the counters marveling at how quickly they’d built the lab. “Good. Now, I’m trying to reconcile that they have no clotting factors but their skin knits almost immediately. I’m guessing it’s a protein we’ve never ever seen before. And if it is, I’m guessing it’s inherent in more than just their skin.”

  “And why the abrin works so well,” Stacy replied. “Good thing you thought to get the gel electrophoresis system over there."

  Amazed, Tori answered, “Who’d have thought it’d be that important. And what about the samples we collect? We’re going to need serum if we want to find proteins. Only, I have no idea what their blood does.”

  “Talk about feeling a bit useless,” her friend answered, shoulders slumping.

  Tori frowned. “Why?”

  “What good is an SBB here? Two master’s degrees, and I don’t have a clue.”

  “I could say the same,” she retorted. “What good is a medical degree?”

  They sat in silence for a long moment. Then Tori said, “We still have to start somewhere. So let’s concentrate on the samples.”

  “What if the samples don’t separate?”

  She thought for a moment. “You mean serum and blood cells?” Stacy nodded. “We’ll have to use donated platelets, I guess,” she replied. “To get the blood to clot.”

  Neither one spoke for a while. But Tori was certain the wheels in Stacy’s brain were turning just as fast, if not faster, than hers. “Blood types?” Stacy asked.

  Tori shook her head. “Nonissue, I think. They’re vampires. They drink from anyone.”

  “They?” Stacy asked, her tone pointed and filled with the question of what Tori meant by her words.

  Suddenly Tori realized how her answer could be misconstrued. She reached out. Stacy had been one of the rocks she’d leaned on, and she wasn’t trying to hurt her best friend. “Unintentional. Honest.”

  Stacy relaxed. Then her face diffused with love. “You know, Chaz is the most human being I’ve ever met.”

  “Funny,” Tori answered, her tone wistful. “I was about to say the same about Hunter.”

  “Hunter?” she asked, her face a mask of disbelief.

  “I know. Right? But it’s true.”

  Stacy looked extremely skeptical. “I find him having feelings a bit hard to believe. When we first met, I had to convince him not to kill me.”

  Tori stared. “Really?” Stacy nodded. Now the awkward embrace made sense.

  A shiver worked its way down her spine. Would he? Would he kill to protect his people? “Did you know he was a slave in his human life?”

  Stacy shook her head. “No.”

  “Roman Empire, from what he told me.”

  Stace didn’t reply for a long moment. “Certainly explains a lot.”

  Tori could almost imagine Stacy’s disbelief. “I’ve looked deep inside, Stace. I can’t imagine what he went through. All I see is pain. He’s closed himself off.”

  “Haven’t you closed yourself off too?”

  Kindred spirits. Could it be this simple? She answered her own question. Nothing was that simple.

  She lifted her chin. “Yes.”

  “Sorry, Tori,” Stacy told her. “Accusing you of trying not to feel was unfair.”

  Was it? “No, you’re right. You have no idea how I wish I could simply wake up one morning and find the pain bearable. God, how I wish time healed.”

  “It does. I know I’ve told you this a hundred times, but you simply have to accept.”

  She shook her head. “Nothing’s that simple, and you know it. I’ve b
een living with this kind of pain for over two years. Hunter’s been living with it for two thousand. I’m not sure there’s a way to go beyond.”

  Stacy’s features filled with a serenity Tori truly envied. “Yes, there is. It’s called love.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Later that night, Hunter stood in front of the window of his office. It was easier up here on the higher floors of the mansion. Away from the call of her blood. Away from her.

  “I’m glad Sam contacted us,” Charles told him as he walked in. “Even though I was enjoying the hell out of my honeymoon.”

  He nodded but didn’t turn, feeling a bit sorry for the Paladin, the vampire cop who might one day end Hunter’s life, and yet he still couldn’t find it in him to let Charles see inside. Instead, he continued to look out the window, surveying everything he’d built. This home. This cell. This family. In unity, there was strength. He’d learned that lesson the hard way.

  “I suppose Sam felt she had no choice.”

  “My job,” Charles answered. “It’s why I was made, why I’m a Paladin.”

  “I know.” Was he wrong to want to protect? “But the playing field has changed, Charles. Someone is creating rogues. We’re not talking one or two here any longer. There could be hundreds, for all we know.”

  He watched Charles shrug. “Still have to destroy them.”

  “Yes. But you know the extract is extremely hard to craft. We’ll never have sufficient quantities if there are that many. And it doesn’t completely kill them unless it has a long time to work.”

  “Maybe Stacy can help us with this particular problem. A synthetic form might be even more potent.”

  “I’m sure she’ll try. As will Tori. But until then, we must go with what we have. Very few of us are old enough to take on a rogue by ourselves, and there aren’t that many soldiers trained well enough to stay alive fighting them. Your people included.”

  “Vanessa can handle herself. You and I both know she can.” Hunter listened as Charles sucked in a deep breath and felt his pain. “Could’ve used Pitch for this one.”

  Hunter agreed. “Yes. He should never have tried to go it alone.”

  “It’s what we were created to do, you know.”

  “But not against one such as Mikhail.” In unity there was strength. “The others?”

  “Ozzie knows the deal. Creighton’s young. So’s Alex. Mick handpicked both for further training. They’ll deal. They have no choice.”

  No choice. Why was that?

  “What about your wife?” Normally asking the question wouldn’t have bothered him. He wondered why it did now. “Will she be a distraction?”

  “No,” Charles answered as if he’d been expecting Hunter to ask. “She can’t be. We both know that.”

  “Do we?”

  Charles turned to stare. “Bottom line, eh? Well then, let’s get down to it. And the answer is yes, I know the consequences of going rogue.”

  “I’ll take your head if I have to,” Hunter replied without a hint of feeling.

  He watched Charles bite back a laugh. “As will I.”

  “Good. Then we understand each other.” Hunter reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. “This arrived by courier yesterday. I think Mikhail knew he was in trouble and his investigation was bearing fruit.”

  “Consequences,” Charles murmured, taking the envelope from him. “Something tells me this should be a private fight, but it isn’t.”

  “No,” Hunter agreed. “And I can’t keep others from getting in the middle of it. His name is Casperian. Kin to the royal order of the house of Caesar. He was my…master.”

  Surprise filled Charles’s gaze, then faltered. “I see. But not your maker.”

  “No.” Hunter shuddered ever so slightly. “No one knows this, and I’d rather you keep it a secret.”

  Charles nodded and said in a solemn tone, “Anything you say to me is privileged information. Although I can’t swear I won’t use it if I have to.”

  Hunter’s mouth quirked, and he inclined his head. “My maker was Antu, Antu-Si-Tiyat.”

  “I always wondered.” He watched Charles release a deep breath. “He certainly puts a different light on things, doesn’t he?” Charles rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Then it’s a good thing I contacted Vanessa.”

  “We—ran into each other,” Hunter bit out. Damned redhead always managed to get under his skin. “She was at Tori’s home.”

  This time Charles did laugh. “Already digging, I see.”

  “With all the subtlety of a bull in a proverbial china shop,” he bit out.

  “She does get results,” Charles added, and Hunter waited for the vampire’s laughter to abate.

  As he did, for the first time in his life as a vampire, Hunter wondered if the end justified the means. “Results.”

  Hunter felt Charles grip his shoulder and started. “Serena wasn’t your fault. I’m sure Sam’s told you you’re not to blame a hundred times.”

  “Not your business.” They used to be called his private affairs. Now? “Or hers.”

  Charles let go. “True. Casperian isn’t either. But it will be if you walk into a rogue battle with your head up your ass.”

  Offended, Hunter turned. “Indeed.”

  Charles grinned. “You know, your bark is much worse than your bite. Wish I’d known it sooner.”

  A warm feeling filled him. He stiffened. Emotion was not allowed. Friendship was forbidden. The arena allowed no sentiment. No friends. A mistake meant death. Pity meant death. Caring meant death.

  “I think Tori’s gotten under that thick hide of yours,” Charles continued. “Not the worst thing in the world, you know.”

  “She’s dinner,” Hunter declared, trying to hold on to the place deep inside where feelings didn’t matter. And yet?

  “Keep lying to yourself.” Charles laughed softly.

  Hunter realized the conversation reached an impasse. Either he told Charles the entire story or he told him to leave. “I have a cell to run. Keep me informed of your progress.”

  Charles nodded, his gaze still curious, and left.

  Was he lying to himself? About Tori? Hunter turned from the window. Even worse, was he lying to himself about dying? Hadn’t he thought about it? Night after night? A clean death in the arena and an end to the abyss he’d called his human life?

  One fraction of an inch, one slip of the blade, one wrong placement of the foot or the shield arm. Strange. He could never give up his life in such a fashion. There was no honor in letting Casperian win, and if nothing else, Hunter was not a coward.

  He looked around at his office as if seeing the room for the first time. Simple. Austere. His one concession the huge mahogany desk he now sat behind. Perhaps he should have indulged himself more and placed some works of art on the walls or put a rug on the floor to cushion his feet.

  No, decorating would have made him just like the rich patrons who’d bought his body night after night. He could still hear their whispered words of encouragement. He could still feel their fawning caresses as if they’d cared about him; he’d still shuddered inside at their touch. Cared about him? Only one person on this earth had ever cared about him. Antonia.

  Hunter rose and looked out the window which made up the wall behind his desk. Had he loved her? Soft, sweet, shy, fragile Antonia? No. He’d let his guard down though. He’d broken the cardinal rule about emotions and feeling. He’d smiled. Why, he’d even laughed.

  With a well-rehearsed detachment, Hunter remembered.

  How Antonia had suffered. How the stark reality that his child would be a gladiator just like him had knifed at his guts. How his first master had laughed at his pain. How his second hadn’t cared.

  Venatorius wondered at the sight of the whipping post in the middle of the atrium, thinking idly how many men it must have taken to bring such a heavy object into the house. Five guards surrounded him, when two would have sufficed. And three spears pointed at his belly as th
e other two soldiers chained him. What was going on?

  “Ahh. You’ve decided to join us, good Venatorius.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “You’ve done something quite remarkable, Venatorius. You…surprised me.”

  With a slight frown, he wondered out loud. “How?”

  Two guards pushed and pulled a woman into the room. A hollow formed in the pit of his belly. Antonia.

  “She bears your child, I’m told.”

  He lifted his head in shock.

  His master chortled. “You didn’t know? Excellent.” Then the man turned to his guards. “Hold her.”

  His master trailed his fingers all over her body. She tried to jerk away from the man’s touch, but the guards held her even tighter. “Have I moved you yet, dear Venatorius?”

  Rage filled his being, but he only clenched his hands. By the gods. Why are you making her suffer?

  He loosened his fingers and shuddered, pulling down the mask he always wore. He drew in a ragged breath.

  His master became even more flagrant with his caresses, outlining the curves of Antonia’s breasts and the V of her legs. Then he cupped the small protrusion of her belly with his palm. “You don’t deserve to have a child, Venatorius. You’re a cold-blooded murderer. A child of yours could never be trusted, except in the arena. A child of yours would be just like you, a cold-blooded killer.” His master tsked. “And so, the child, if it is strong and a boy, will become a gladiator just like his father.”

  Icy fog filled him, the kind of detachment of one already dead. He closed his eyes so his master wouldn’t see the fire of hate inside. He searched for the place of nothing and searched and searched, until finally he opened his eyes.

  “I see my words had little effect. I marvel at your capacity not to care, Venatorius. And so, I swear, if the child is a girl, she will join her mother in my service. I’ve decided to make Antonia my personal servant.”

  Hunter remembered being thrown back into his cell. He remembered the agony. He’d known exactly what his master had meant and felt each and every caress as a blow, over and over, until what had been left of his heart had drawn out of his body too. Then and only then, in the deepest darkness of the night, had he asked the moon the ever-eternal question. Why? And when there had been no answer, he could only beg those unseen gods to spare her agony.