Shadowbound

by Dianne Sylvan

  He’s really doing this. Good God, he really is.

  Their eyes caught and held until Jonathan asked, “Will you marry me?”

  For a moment he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t react at all. Then Deven leaned forward until their foreheads touched, clinging to his hand for dear life. One tear, then another, and a third beaded on their joined hands, and Deven didn’t know which was stranger: the fact that he was crying, or the words that came out of his mouth.

  “Yes,” he said softly. “Yes.”

  • • •

  “What?”

  Miranda’s head popped up at the uncharacteristically obvious surprise in David’s voice as he came into the suite, phone to his ear. If he was letting that kind of reaction show, he had to be talking to one of their Circle. Bad news, then. They never got good news these days.

  “All right . . . what’s the date?”

  Miranda tried not to listen in, not so much out of politeness as because whatever it was, she’d rather hear the whole thing from David at once. She went back to tweaking the vocal line for one of the last two songs she hadn’t finished; things were going well in the studio, but she didn’t want their recording time to go over schedule, which would eat into Grizzly’s other clients’ slots and cause him a world of issues with temperamental musicians.

  Miranda heard David say Jonathan’s name. That meant it probably wasn’t another dead Prime—it was usually Jacob who called those in, since Jacob had a lot of connections with the Signets outside the United States and Deven liked to pretend he didn’t have spies in all their Elite.

  “So is this going to be a big thing, or . . . ?” David was walking around the room, his version of pacing. She had no idea how to interpret the look on his face. “Okay, good.” Finally, he cracked a smile. “So which one of you is wearing white?”

  Miranda’s eyebrows shot up. What the hell?

  “What about security? This is kind of a huge risk, you know. No, you’re right . . . still, send me blueprints of the building so I can look for problem areas. Then we’ll talk specifics.”

  She gave up and put down her guitar, pulling her knees up to hug and watching him wander around. He seemed awfully agitated, but not angry. Empathically she was getting a weird mix of emotions that, like his expression, was hard to analyze.

  “All right . . . yes, do that. I will. Oh, and . . .” He took a deep breath, and just before he hung up he said, “Congratulations.”

  He stared down at the phone for a second before looking up at her. He’d ended up at the fireplace with one hand on the mantel; he hadn’t even taken the time to remove his coat and weapons when he walked in.

  She just looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

  Now he was almost smiling, shaking his head, bemused. “We are cordially invited to attend the wedding of Prime Deven O’Donnell and his Consort Jonathan Burke, at ten P.M. on September thirtieth, at the Sacramento County courthouse. Drinks and amusements to follow.”

  She was aware her mouth had dropped open. “What in the . . . what now?”

  David nodded. “You heard me right.”

  Her stomach tightened. “Tell me Jonathan hasn’t foreseen their deaths.”

  “He says it has nothing to do with precognition, but that he’s wanted to ask since the Supreme Court ruling and didn’t think Dev would go for it. Then the other night Deven was having some kind of emotional episode, and Jonathan realized he really has no idea how long Dev will last before he falls apart again. He didn’t want to end up regretting that he didn’t at least propose, even if Deven said no.”

  “I thought this was all fixed,” Miranda said, staring into the fire. “I thought it would be at least a year or two before they needed help again.”

  “I don’t know, beloved. I’m beginning to think . . .” He trailed off before saying, “I think all of this may be a bandage on a wound that can’t close. Deven swears that it wasn’t as big a deal as Jonathan says it was—he was dwelling on the past, which Nico told him not to do at least for the first few months, and as soon as he pulled out of it he felt fine again. But if it’s barely been a month since Nico left, and he’s already having problems . . .”

  “You think he’s too broken to heal,” Miranda concluded for him, her heart aching. “You think the best we can do is help him stay alive until Morningstar is dealt with. And you think deep down they both know it.”

  David nodded. “I wonder what it would take to get the Weaver to return and stay at the Haven full time so he can take care of problems as soon as they arise. If the cracks aren’t allowed to get bigger, they’ll be easier to fix.”

  “Like a hospice nurse.” Miranda gestured for him to come join her, and he shucked his coat and tossed it on his chair before sinking onto the sofa at her side. “So what did they say about the wedding? How many people are we talking about here?”

  “Only the seven of us. They’ve got a JP willing to come in late at night, and then afterward there’ll be some sort of celebration. Needless to say security is a big concern. We’ve been asked to bring additional Elite. Deven says he has a plan—one that I’ll appreciate—but is waiting until he can get a look at the building plans to run it by me.”

  She watched him curiously. “You’re not happy about this.”

  “All of us in one place? No, I’m very much not happy. If Morningstar gets wind of it, all they have to do is attack us the same way they have the others. They could take the entire Circle out at once—hell, if they get any one of us, we’re screwed. Granted, if we’re expecting it, they’ll have a hard time succeeding, but still . . . it’s dangerous. We’re going to have to plan very carefully.”

  “Baby . . . that’s not what I mean.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She smiled and ran her hand down his arm. “They’re getting married. Legally. It’s kind of definitive, and it’s a level of commitment you never reached—and never could. I know you don’t really want to be with him anymore, but that doesn’t mean this won’t hurt. That’s usually what happens when one’s ex ties the knot.”

  He frowned. “I’m not hurt.”

  She just looked at him. Unsurprisingly, he looked away. “I know for a fact that he was hurt when you got married,” she said. “Not begrudging you happiness—he helped get us together, after all—but it’s your heart comparing what is to what used to be, and what will never be. Part of you has to mourn that. It’s okay.”

  David didn’t confirm it, or deny it; instead, he noted, “There was a time, not that long ago, when you would not have felt that way.”

  “Weird, isn’t it?” She smiled, scooted closer, and kissed him. “If you’d told me back then how we would all feel about each other now, I would have kicked you in the head.”

  He laughed quietly. “That isn’t where you would have kicked me.”

  “Maybe not.” She swung around onto his lap, grinning, and gave him a long kiss, winding her hands around his neck.

  Their eyes met. “I’m a lucky bastard to have you,” he said.

  “You’re also wearing way too many accessories for this party.” She reached down and began to unbuckle The Oncoming Storm, leaning back to deposit the sword on the coffee table, followed by a throwing stake and two knives, letting her hands linger where they would. He watched her, not speaking, eyes sparkling. “These also have to go,” she added, and moved down to the floor to attend to his boots. Luckily they weren’t the knee-high lace-up pair, so it didn’t take half an hour to get them off.

  She looked up. Now she could read his expression perfectly. She climbed back up and took her time sliding his shirt up and off. The second she had tossed it on the floor, he put one hand on the small of her back and the other on her shoulder and pulled her back in, his mouth taking hers hungrily. His hands worked their way into her clothes and had them off her in a few well-practiced moves.

  Miranda pulled her lips from his and turned her attention to his neck, biting lightly here and there while she reached
down and felt for a zipper.

  He pulled her hand away and said a bit breathlessly, “Remember what happened last time?”

  Miranda made a pained face, touching the back of her head, remembering how much the coffee table’s corner had hurt. “Good point.” She stood up, took a few steps back, and unhooked her bra, turning to walk away as she held out her hand and dropped it on the floor. She looked back over her shoulder and smiled, quoting, “Take me to bed or lose me forever.”

  He was there in less than a breath, hauling her up into his arms, returning her smile and answering, “Show me the way home, honey.”

  She giggled as her back hit the comforter and her Prime separated her very quickly from her panties. She was about to offer up another line from Top Gun when his mouth left her lips, but with kisses taking a slow, circuitous route from her neck down over her breasts, then over the landscape of her belly, she forgot what she had intended to say, and reflected, for just a second before all thought was licked right out of her consciousness, that she was lucky, too . . . lucky to be married to the world’s hottest nerd . . . lucky that she was about to spend the rest of the night and probably until noon being shagged senseless by said nerd . . . and above all lucky to have found the one place in the world where she, with all her strangeness, fit perfectly, with someone who fit perfectly with her.

  Thirteen

  Miranda had never seen the Haven of the West before; in fact, the only other two Havens she had seen were Hart’s old one—which Olivia had abandoned and had demolished to show the New York Shadow World that things were going to be a little different now—and the beautiful old castle near Prague where they had taken part in the Magnificent Bastard Parade to honor Jacob and Cora.

  She was surprised at what she saw when they climbed out of the car and stood before the absolutely gorgeous Mediterranean-style villa outside Sacramento. Even from outside she could hear the silvery chorus of fountains beyond its walls and smell the deep odor of thick forest; the Haven stood near a cliff, its back facing a wildlife sanctuary.

  Its location was genius, from a security standpoint. It could only be approached from the front without some serious climbing gear, and motion sensors were hidden all along the cliff face to trigger both alarms and flood lights. There were security checkpoints at three locations between the Haven and the highway, giving the Elite plenty of time to organize in the event of an invasion. Every person allowed in was on a list of approved personnel or expected guests. Having seen her own Haven attacked, she approved of the seeming paranoia.

  She was still staring when the double front doors opened and the Pair arrived to greet them. She laughed merrily, caught up in a dual hug. “It’s good to see you, too,” she said.

  David took her hand, and they followed the Pair up the steps into the Haven, followed in turn by two servants who had grabbed their bags and Miranda’s guitar.

  Inside was just as lovely as outside. There were a surprising number of courtyards and open walkways, considering the place was populated by vampires. Jonathan pointed out the extra shutters and metal doors like the kind used over storefronts—at sunrise the only places they couldn’t access were the courtyards. There were also tunnels, like the ones in Austin, connecting the Haven itself to the buildings that stood on either side and housed the Elite’s living quarters and training facilities.

  Every Haven was different. Some, like Prague’s, had been built as human dwellings and then altered to suit vampire tenants. Others, like this one and the one in Austin, had been designed and built by vampires from the ground up.

  They arrived at their guest quarters, an airy and spacious suite that felt much bigger than it was because of high ceilings and lots of windows letting in both moonlight and the sea-scented breeze.

  “This is beautiful,” Miranda said. “It’s just . . . wow.”

  “Since David’s already been here, perhaps you could give Miranda a tour,” Deven said to his Consort. “Meanwhile we can go over the security plans. Jacob and Cora will be here in an hour, and Olivia closer to dawn.”

  “Absolutely,” Jonathan said, offering his arm to Miranda, who curtsied and took it. The two Primes headed down the hallway in one direction, the two Consorts in the other.

  This Haven was only about half as big as hers, but the layout was a bit more organic; the Austin Haven looked confusing to new people but was actually laid out in a very simple geometric grid that split off from two main hallways that, in turn, split off from the front entrance. What got people lost was the fact that many of the hallways looked the same. Here, the halls and rooms were more like tree branches.

  At one point they walked down a long hallway lined with weapons. “The Gallery of Pointy Things,” Jonathan said grandly, sweeping out his arm. And while there were quite a few gorgeous specimens on display, from all over the world and a variety of time periods, it didn’t seem like quite as many as she had expected Deven to own.

  She said as much to Jonathan, who laughed. “Come with me.”

  He led her to a very short side corridor that dead-ended in a locked door, which opened into a downward flight of concrete stairs. At the bottom, there was another door—this one with a security panel. The whole setup reminded her of David’s server room.

  Jonathan grinned at her and fed the panel a numeric code, then touched his index finger to a small scanner. The red light over the door changed to green, and Miranda heard a deep metallic click.

  The door slid open to the side—the effect was very Star Trek, and she wondered if David had been involved in the security measures. Jonathan beckoned for her to follow and hit a switch that brought up the lights one by one.

  She crossed the threshold and gasped.

  “Okay, this is more like it,” she said.

  They were in a rectangular room whose walls were lined with drawers and niches . . . dozens and dozens of niches, each one displaying a weapon of some kind. Swords, daggers, crossbows, axes, spears, knives of every possible description . . . most of them she didn’t recognize, though there was an entire bank of swords that looked very much like the ones she, David, and Deven all carried. Whereas the weapons in the Gallery represented most of history, what was in here was obviously meant to be used; most of it was of modern design, dozens of styles of each type.

  “What does this do?” she asked, patting the top of a small machine that looked like it belonged in a woodshop.

  “It’s a stake sharpener,” Jonathan said with a grin. “Much faster than doing it by hand—there’s another one in our Elite armory.”

  “Do the Elite get their swords from here?” she asked, wandering around the room and gently pushing in drawer fronts, which caused them to click open. Each weapon had a card beside it detailing its type, country of origin, year crafted, designer or smith, and its name if it had one. Most of the finest-looking swords, which were on the wall instead of in drawers, had names; smaller pieces didn’t. She read them to herself: The Darkened Star. Silver Rain. Shadowbreaker. Stormfire.

  Jonathan was smiling. “The Elite have their own armory. This is Deven’s private collection—he’s used every single one of these. Many of them were custom made for his hand. A few he checks out to Red Shadow operatives when they need something special. That’s why we’re underground—this is millions of dollars we’re looking at, and some of his most valued possessions. Needless to say they had to be kept someplace fireproof and secure.”

  Hearing that, Miranda felt a little guilty being here without Deven; it was like she had gotten past his shields and was poking around in his head.

  “David has a room like this, only it’s full of servers and computer equipment,” she said.

  “We have one of those, too. As you can imagine, your Prime insisted on climate control for our system. In fact, there are three subterranean rooms; the third holds documents, what few archives we found when we got here, and a few other things Deven wanted kept secure.”

  They took the stairs back out; the door to the armory sli
d shut as they left, and she heard the lock reengage as the light turned back to red.

  “Now for something completely different,” Jonathan said. “Down this hallway is our suite, but when you’re back in yours, look for a door that leads outside; it’ll be behind a curtain you can pull back if you want. It leads out here . . .” He led her to a pair of French doors, and out.

  Again, she gasped. The view was quite literally breathtaking.

  She walked up to the wall that stood between them and the cliff and stared out in silence for a while. She loved the Texas Hill Country and loved her Haven, but to live in a place with this view . . .

  “All those trees,” she said. It didn’t feel appropriate to speak louder than a reverent whisper. “You know . . . this feels exactly like the sort of place Deven would live.”

  Jonathan chuckled. “Do you think so?”

  “Yeah. Are there big forests in Ireland? I can’t remember.”

  “I think places like this are in his blood.”

  Miranda put her hands on the wall in front of her. “Blood . . .”

  Jonathan seemed to be waiting for her to say something, but when she did, apparently it wasn’t what he was expecting.

  “My sister,” she said. “Her daughter. My bloodline. I just wish I knew what it meant. I know in my gut the answer is in the Codex, but Novotny hasn’t had any luck translating that runic alphabet, and even David couldn’t work it out. He’s sent out messages to any contact he could find who might know an Elysian, but there hasn’t been a word yet. So we’re just . . . waiting. We’re always waiting.”

  He reached over and put a hand on her shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault. Nobody forced these madmen to declare war on us.”

  “What do you think it means?”