by Billi Jean
Another death to lay at her feet.
His anguish was only slightly stronger than the righteousness he experienced at the thought of Aquinas gone from this world.
Already I side with her. Already I betray my king.
Bryson’s mouth grew dry. The sudden, urgent need for more of opium’s swift release from his pain rose, terrifying in its intensity. He shoved himself away from Jaxon and, more importantly, the opium.
“What…night is this?” he asked.
“I thought you gave this up years ago. Why would you start down this crazy street again? Have you lost your mind?”
“Fuck you.” Bryson made it to his feet painfully and dug out his phone. “Go away. I’m not in the mood.”
Tuesday. Last night she’d escaped. Only one day had passed.
Where are you? How did you escape so easily?
Jaxon didn’t go away. “All right, so this is not what I expected to find. And can I just say, I am so fucking glad I didn’t bring Joey on this fun trip to the fucking freezing lands. Did you even light the fire? You’re lucky you didn’t freeze into a Vampire Popsicle.”
The room wouldn’t stop spinning but he didn’t sense it was any colder than his heart. He laughed at the miserable thought.
“I fail to see the humor, man. You need to get your shit together!”
“Fuck—”
“I know,” Jaxon snapped and threw his arms out dramatically. “Fuck you. I got that, but you know what? You can’t. So, here’s the deal.” Jaxon pointed his finger like a gun at him. “Aidan wants you. So you’re going to have to grow a bigger set of balls and—”
“I already possess a big set of balls, Jaxon,” Bryson muttered, trying to get his head to slow down and focus. The room buzzed in an unsteady kaleidoscope of dark and light. He found Jaxon’s outraged face in the middle of it and latched onto his arm. “You know that.”
“I do not know the size of your nuts, man.” Jaxon’s voice rose octaves with his denial. “And would you sit down before you fall down?”
He didn’t dignify that with an answer. Instead he made his way, unsteadily, after dropping Jaxon’s arm, to the mantel and held on for dear life. The room still spun, but at least his legs were solidly placed. A moment later he fell backward and crashed into the couch, falling to the side of it to land on his ass.
“Damn, you are in sorry, sorry shape. Here, drink before you embarrass me.” Jaxon shoved his bleeding wrist under Bryson’s nose, a foul, dirty trick. Blood, the rich, ancient blood only the ancient possessed, was all Bryson could comprehend. It roared at him through the dizzying array of prisms clouding his vision, hijacking his every cell and forcing his fangs down. The drop preceded the grip he took on Jaxon’s arm. Instantly, he plunged into Jaxon’s firm flesh and drank, pulling long drags until he was shoved off and away.
One breath, two, and the spell of the opium receded. He took another breath, then another, testing the air for a trace of her. She still lived, but…where? Where are you? How did you survive?
“Ah, damn, I forgot how hard you hit it.” Jaxon licked his wrist closed then settled his fists on his hips. “Now, you want to tell me what the fuck is going on?”
“No. Why are you here?” He rose to his feet, a bit unsteady still, but managing to gain his balance more easily by the second. Still, he sat on the sofa, not entirely certain he wouldn’t end up back on the floor. I’ve got to go. Got to find her. She isn’t safe. “Better, don’t tell me. Just get the fuck out,” he said when Jaxon grumbled something about ungrateful friends.
“Man, you are cranky when you rise. Look, Aidan needs you. Didn’t you hear me? And what is up with this?” Jaxon kicked the cabinet. More opium, in velvet bags, toppled out of one of the half-open drawers.
Bryson shoved Jaxon back before he’d even registered he’d stood. “It’s not your business is what it is.” He picked up the mess and placed the bags back in the cabinet and shut the doors. His head swam when he straightened, but he was gaining his feet again.
“Right. Not my business. Seriously, I actually don’t want to know. Whatever gets your rocks off, man.” Jaxon walked to the couch and paused in the process of sitting down. “Faolan’s been here? Why was the boy here?”
Faolan. If not for Faolan I wouldn’t have gone to her. Wouldn’t have found her already gone. Why did Aquinas come to you?
Jaxon snapped his fingers loudly. “Earth to Bryson?”
Bryson focused back on Jaxon. The Vampire would not let up until he answered, Bryson knew from years of experience. He’d known the tall, black-haired smart ass for more centuries than he liked to remember. But through it all, Jaxon had stood by his side. Will I betray him now, for you?
“Why was the kid here?”
“Faolan likes me.” Bryson lifted a shoulder. “He visits.”
“Yeah? Well, I sure hope he didn’t see this.” Jaxon waved at the floor where Bryson had fallen after the dose of opium had hit. “Not sure how to explain to the kid his hero has a drug problem.” Jaxon rested his feet out in front of him as if he were going to stay and crossed his arms over his stomach. “I mean, how do you begin that conversation? So, what did you do last night?” Jaxon mimicked a kid’s voice. In a deeper tone he went on, “I drank some ancient opium I’d saved up for centuries and wound up on the floor, drool hanging out of my mouth.”
“Fuck you, and would you get the hell out? It’s not like I have a drug addiction.”
Jaxon snorted.
“I also don’t want company right now,” Bryson snarled.
“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed that. Man, I can’t believe you still do that shit. It’s like I suddenly walked in on you stroking off to midget porn. I just don’t see that shit making sense to you.”
Bryson turned away and walked to the windows. Jaxon was never going to leave until he’d dug down and tried to figure Bryson out. In his own way, Jaxon was as hard to deal with as Faolan. It might have saved his buddy the effort to know that he couldn’t figure out what the hell he was doing either, but he kept that to himself. He could have saved his buddy the trouble. Bryson couldn’t figure out what he was doing. How could Jaxon?
The moon was high, painting the snowy mountains in its silver light beneath him and somewhere—possibly—Isobel was looking up at the same moon.
Or murdering another Vampire under it.
“Why did you come here? You hate this place. It’s one reason I chose it instead of my other homes.” High mountains were most Vampires’ favorite haunts, but Jaxon had never liked the cold or the snow. Bryson knew why and cut him slack over it, but not tonight. Tonight was different. “I had hoped you would avoid it like the plague.”
Another snort. “I can see that. Well, sorry to disappoint, but we have an issue.”
Bryson sighed, fogging the glass. “An issue?”
“Isobel has escaped.”
Every muscle tightened until his bones ached from the strain. He relaxed his fingers, one by one, from the fists he’d clenched. Now the lies begin. “How is that possible? Wasn’t she too weak to move, let alone escape?”
Jaxon sighed heavily. “Yes and yes. But that’s just it. She’s gone. She broke the chains, tied someone else down in her place, and is now who knows where.”
So many times in his existence he’d been disappointed, given situations where tough calls and even harder decisions had to be made with less than a second of thought. Where sacrifices were demanded and had to be given. He’d never balked. But never before had he craved something for himself, someone, above all else, that he wanted and could have.
Her.
The trouble was, as much as he wanted her, he wanted to honor the bond that held this man, and Aidan, close. Respect. Honesty. Integrity. Do these mean so little to me now? These were the markers of a true warrior and friend. Will I lie for you? Forsake everyone I once held as a companion to simply have you?
“It seems impossible,” Jaxon muttered. “She was weak, chained.”
; “It does seem impossible. When that occurs, perhaps it is impossible. Did you look over the place yourself?”
“Warren did. He was the one that reported her missing and someone else dying in her stead. Christian double-checked the kid’s facts. She’s free. And, worse, it appears she’s more than willing to start killing again.”
Bryson kept silent, damning himself with his own omission.
Warren. He latched on to what Jaxon was saying. Why did Warren go there? Did he sense my presence? Or did he find Isobel’s and follow her trail?
Bryson fisted his hands again until his short nails bit into his palms. He’ll have to get through me first.
So I’ve made my choice?
Confusion and anger were his only answers.
Chapter Four
Nothing made sense. Not the noise, not the people, not the world spread out below Isobel.
She gripped the ledge she’d crouched on and watched, unable to process what she saw. But at least she could make sense of things more than she had a week ago. Everything was so foreign she couldn’t grasp that this was the same world and not some mysterious land that existed on another plane.
She tensed as two fast-moving cars nearly collided. The use of horses was no more. Even the people who walked didn’t really walk as they had when she’d last been among them. She watched one young human on one wheel that took him down the street as if he hovered on the paving stones. The others, who did use their legs, did so with long, quick strides, their heads bent to something they held in their hands as they hurried to wherever it was they needed to go. The cars, the vehicles that were designed to hold many, held one. The metal cars screeched to a halt abruptly and fought to win a race she couldn’t see an ending to.
There were women, there were men, there were even small children, but all of them seemed shiny, clean, yet dressed in clothing that mystified her. Men wore long trousers, women and children did as well, but some of the women wore gowns that seemed to reveal more than they covered. Some of the men wore their trousers so short they came to just below their knees and hung down low enough in the back for other garments they wore under the trousers to show against their bare flesh. Many men wore no upper garments at all, instead decorating their skin with a multitude of designs. Women wore such short skirts that the entire length of their legs was revealed, up to where the skirt hid the bare minimum required to conceal their sex. They too were covered in inked artwork, some so heavily that an entire arm, shoulder, or leg was lost under the designs. The more color they inked on their skin, the less clothing they wore.
The displays of flesh stunned her. It was as if these people had shed confinement, flying free like butterflies from the cocoon of clothing she had always worn. For her, it had been layer upon layer of elaborate silks and lace, piled on with warmer layers of the finest wool and softest spun fabrics of their times. All of that had then been covered by leather and finally a cape of darkest purple. As a young Vampire, she could recall not being able to sit properly because of the pinch of her clothing. When she’d grown into her proper age and rank, she’d been forced to stand for hours, weighed down by the clothes of her order.
Yet here, in this day and age, the children wore free-flowing, loose clothing that appeared to be made for comfort and little else. The soldiers—the warriors of this time—wore nothing more than shirts of odd colors and belts that held weapons.
In the days since her rising, she’d learned much, but the more she discovered the more alien the world became. She’d picked up quickly that her gown of dark-red silk drew more attention than she wished. She’d been forced to take what she thought was normal for this age from a large, indoor market with clothing of all styles and sizes.
Like many of these women, she’d chosen trousers. Yet their material was soft and stretched with her movements, conforming to her size so that she, too, could move freely. The long, flowing blouse she’d found reminded her of the ones her brother had worn. She had chosen a pale, almost white one. With it she’d found serviceable boots of the finest leather—in bright blood red. The footwear had been displayed in a window on an odd plastic creature with no face, yet had hair, arms and legs. She had found they fit to her size exactly. With them, she had discovered stockings so comfortable she wore two pairs. Over it all, she had chosen a soft jacket of dark green that hung loosely down past her thighs. She’d tied up her long black hair into a braid. Dressed this way, she had walked unseen through the hordes of humans, learning more about this age than she could process. Each day, she had returned to her hiding place, and there she had tried to understand the changes brought on by the passage of time.
Of the remaining Vampires she needed to kill, she’d had no sign.
Until tonight.
On this rising she sensed them, or one of them. Gia.
Her scent was on the air, as if she’d entered London while Isobel had slept during the daylight hours.
She had heard rumors. Long ago, when she’d been a child, the elders had told of ancient Vampires who could move in the day as long as the kiss of the sun did not touch their skin. Since her rising, she had stayed awake past dawn, sometimes lingering even longer than that. Jorge had always tested the dawn, but they had only been able to see the first blush of the sun as it had hit the fields and woke the world. Then, as if its rising brought on their rest, they had both always drifted off, back to their homes, to sleep the daylight hours away.
She studied the building below her, considering the idea that with age came more freedom. She was ancient—now. More than six hundred years had crept along while she’d slept.
Can I move during the day, as well? I have stayed awake, but I have always been at my home, or nearing it.
A door opened below her, and she scanned the man coming out.
Tall, broad-shouldered with brown hair. A Lykae. He paused, but the Vampire with him pulled his arm and they continued on down the street. A couple.
Shocked, she watched them as they walked, hand in hand, until they were out of sight.
It is good. The woman is…more. Their bond is strong, smelling of past pain, but of love. Was this coupling now common? A slice of pain came with the thought.
The sudden scent of her prey stopped the regrets. She stood, balancing on the ledge as the surety of Gia drawing near settled over her flesh. Gia hid, but she had to know that nothing and no one would save her.
Isobel stepped off the high-rise and landed softly on the pavement thirty-odd stories below.
The door was locked, spelled even, but she ripped it from the wall and tossed the metal behind her. Once inside, she encountered more spells, but she tore through them as she would spider webs. Just as easily as the entrance, they gave way as she passed. Doors faced her on either side of a long corridor, so many she didn’t bother to count.
A spell? She shoved the illusion away and stepped through it as you would a window. A heavy, carved wooden door drew her attention. She pulled it off its hinges.
Gia.
Her face registered shock, then fear, but by that time it was too late. Gia tried to move back, to shift, to do anything, but there was nothing she could do. Her blonde hair flowed, free and straight as ever, past her hips. The gown she wore was a dark burgundy, revealing the soft curves of her bosom in a plunging neckline that only stopped at a point directly above her navel. The length of the fabric touched the floor, falling longer at her back so when she walked, the graceful folds would trail after her the way she preferred men to do.
Jorge never had.
“Isobel. Think what you do. I am of the—”
Isobel took her by the neck and shoved her down. Gia’s eyes bulged and she grappled awkwardly with her hands, as if she were unsure how to defend herself.
“Isobel, please, you must understand. We thought only to spare you the king’s fury.”
“Do you believe lies will fall on my ears as truth?”
Gia gasped and shook her head, or attempted to.
“Enough. You
will die, Gia. You thought to punish Jorge for not choosing you, but it is your death that will aid me in freeing him to once again be with his beloved.”
“No! No, you cannot.”
Isobel allowed her fangs to drop. “You are wrong. He will be freed.” She pierced Gia’s hated flesh. She didn’t drink. She ripped the woman’s throat out and, when she sobbed a desperate breath of her name, Isobel tore her head from her body.
Not satisfied, she called forth the power of lightning and brought it down through the building and into Gia’s shuddering body.
Just like Aquinas, flames erupted along flesh. Through the smoke, Isobel watched Gia lift her hand, beseeching for mercy even on the cusp of death.
“There is no mercy for what you did, just as there was none for Jorge or his bride.”
A flare from behind Isobel brought agony to her shoulders, then her side, but she held her power in her hand and flung wind at Gia’s burnt remains. She swept them up and shoved them out into the chilly air of London. With another bolt of lightning she turned and struck the witch at her back, knocking her aside, but not killing her.
Killing was for her brother’s murderers.
Satisfied that Gia would never rise from the ashes she blew across the land, Isobel shifted, leaving through a spell that sought to trap and keep her. She struck it hard, snapping it in two as she flew out and away. She didn’t stop until her trail was invisible, hidden by too many paths. Only then did she drop to the ground and to her knees.
Pain, not satisfaction, ripped through her. Jorge was gone, forever beyond her reach, and nothing she did now would bring him back.
But it will free him.
She lifted her head and sought the source of her surety. The texts she’d left open on the stone bench caught her, aiding her in quenching the pain. Every time I take one, will I relive your death? The thought chilled her, for her brother hadn’t died quickly and cleanly. Gia and the king’s council had made certain of that.
* * * *
