by Nell Stark
I was reaching to yank the IV out of my arm when the door to my room opened and Harold Clavier stepped inside, his tinted glasses perched atop the line of cropped dark hair that framed his thin face.
“Don’t, Valentine.”
“What have you done?” I spat, my voice cracking as a wave of fury burst over me. “You’ve fucking violated me! I drink only from Alexa. You know that, you bas—”
Clavier moved to my side and loomed over me. “Be quiet,” he said disdainfully. “Hysterics will accomplish nothing.”
I glared up at him, trembling in my rage. “Why have you done this to me?”
He stared at me for several seconds before turning to examine the monitor’s printout. “You brought this on yourself by denying your own needs.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to regain my equilibrium. How long had I been here? The last thing I could remember was sitting on my couch with my head in my hands, fighting off panic as Karma told me about Telassar and Sybaris and… All in a rush, the memories returned: the call of her blood, my rising thirst, the jarring sensation deep in my brain as parasitic instinct replaced human superego.
“Oh God, Karma—is she all right?”
Clavier’s lips tightened. “Is she all right?” He laughed, but the sound carried no humor. “She brought you here, after putting you down like a whelp. If she didn’t have excellent control, your remains would be strewn all over your own apartment.”
“I don’t understand. I’ve gone almost this long in the past without Alexa’s blood. It’s difficult, but I’ve never even been close to losing control before now.”
He looked toward the door a moment before it opened. “Your situation has changed,” he said, stepping away from my bed to make way for my new visitor. Helen. Her pantsuit was the same deep blue as her glinting eyes, and her dark, wavy hair brushed against her shoulders as she moved into the room.
“Valentine, hello.” When she reached my bedside, she stooped gracefully and swept a light kiss across my cheek. “I wish I could say you look well.”
“Helen.” I glanced between her and Clavier and decided that small talk was out of the question. “Get this thing out of my arm. Now.”
Unmoved by my brusque demeanor, Helen sank into the empty chair to my right and crossed one leg over the other. “If you promise to hear me out.”
My skin crawled with the knowledge that someone else’s blood was mingling with mine. How would this affect the chemistry Alexa’s blood shared with my own? I needed that IV out, now.
“Fine.” At Helen’s nod, I removed the needle myself, welcoming the twinge of pain. Clavier taped a small square of gauze to the insertion point, and I focused on breathing deeply, willing my stomach to settle.
Helen waited in silence until my heartbeats were steady again. “Karma Rao told us that she informed you of the attack on Telassar.”
“Yes,” I said, my throat tightening as I thought of Alexa in peril. “Has there been any word?”
“Constantine will reach me when he can,” Helen said, and I took a small measure of comfort in her confidence. “And we will help him to wrest control of the city back from Balthasar Brenner. But I have come to talk with you today about Sybaris.”
“The vampire city.” I shuddered at the dream-memory of ash coating my tongue and filling my lungs.
“One of the seven great fortifications of our kind.” Helen pulled her chair closer. “The city traditionally inhabited by your clan.”
“Karma said the two are related—that Brenner destroyed Sybaris first before invading Telassar.”
“That is correct.” Helen grimaced, and I wondered why she was taking the time to sit here and hold my hand when one of the “seven great fortifications” had just been razed. “Brenner has harbored a strong resentment toward Sybaris for many years, because its army drove him out of Telassar many years ago.”
“So he was taking revenge.”
“Yes. But he timed his vengeance to coincide with the election of the new Missionary.”
Comprehension dawned as I recalled Henri’s words aloud. “All members must be present.”
“Precisely.” Her lips thinned and I watched her eyes grow several shades darker. This quiet, unexpressed rage was even more frightening than the moments when I’d seen her lash out. “Balthasar Brenner has succeeded in almost completely eradicating one of the seven great vampire clans—the clan, remember, whose parasite may in fact be the original species from which all others derive. Your clan.”
Her emphasis on “your” roused my apprehension. “What are you trying to say?”
She took my hand and held it tightly. “You are the sole survivor of your clan, Valentine. The blood prime. And as such, your parasite’s cravings are exacerbated. As you can imagine, each blood prime feels a significant evolutionary imperative to increase the numbers of their clan.”
I stared at her numbly. I had been the newest member only a few days ago, and now I was the blood prime? And that fact was the trigger for the intensification of my thirst? “So I attacked Karma because my parasite wants to…reproduce?”
“An oversimplification, but yes. As soon as you became blood prime, your urge to feed became magnified.”
I shook my head. “This is impossible. There’s no scientific basis for what you’re proposing. How could my parasite suddenly ‘know’ that it’s the only one left? That’s…that’s mystical!”
Helen looked as though she’d swallowed something unpleasant. “Really, Valentine,” she snapped. “You, who are studying to be a doctor—you, who have experienced firsthand the effects of the vampire parasite and witnessed the transformation caused by the Were virus—you are going to protest that something which appears miraculous cannot be explained by science?”
I raised my hands in surrender. She did have a point. “Fine. It’s true that my appetite has been much sharper than usual for the past few days.”
“What you also must realize about your new condition,” she said, “is that not only are you the blood prime, but you are also the Missionary. The office is yours by default, and as such, you will sit on the ruling counsel of the vampires known as the Order of Mithras.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I had gone from a relative nobody in the Consortium ranks—a newly turned vampire struggling to control her appetites and find her place in a new world order—to a subspecies on the verge of extinction? I hadn’t even known that I was part of a clan before two weeks ago! And to pile on the lunacy, I was now expected to take an active role on the council that ruled all vampires, everywhere?
“This is insane,” was all I could say.
Helen stroked my hair back from my forehead. The simple touch felt so good, just as Karma’s had earlier, and I had to struggle not to lean into her hand. My body was starving and my bloodstream parched.
“I’m sure you’re feeling overwhelmed, especially given the news from Telassar. But don’t worry. I will do everything I can to help you ease into these new responsibilities.”
“Responsibilities?” Suspicion suddenly trumped my surprise, and I balled my hands into fists. “Are you talking about turning people?” Clavier’s violation of my blood notwithstanding, I was faithful to Alexa and always would be. Besides, I had been turned against my will. I never would have wished this life for myself, and I certainly didn’t wish it on anyone else.
She seemed unfazed by the edge in my voice. “It will be important to grow Sybaris’s numbers, yes.” When I opened my mouth, she cut me off. “Don’t be hasty, Valentine. We will discuss the specifics later. The other members of the Order are eager to meet you, but given the present political unrest, we will have to delay a convention.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. No good would come out of getting into a blowout argument with her right now. I would have to bide my time and remain firm in my convictions. No matter how hard the parasite rode me.
“In the meantime,” she said, “I’ve asked the staff to prepare a room
for you here.”
“But—”
“Make no mistake, Valentine—Balthasar Brenner knows that you are alive. And as long as that is the case, his plan to eradicate an entire clan of the Order has failed. You are under my protection now, and I insist that you not leave this facility without my knowledge and a bodyguard.”
I blinked at her, probably looking like an idiot. Sebastian’s father had a price on my head? “All right,” I said, still battling my disbelief.
Only after she left did the exhaustion slam home. In the wake of the adrenaline surge, it settled over me like a dense fog. Alexa was missing. I was the Missionary. A shifter plague had broken out in New York and Sebastian and I seemed to be the only ones who cared. Balthasar Brenner wanted to kill me. And all I wanted to do was sleep.
But beneath my fatigue, anger simmered. I didn’t care who or what I had become in the past two days. If Helen thought that I was going to run around creating new vampires just to repopulate a clan, she was sadly fucking mistaken. I slid out from under the thin sheets and stood naked in the empty room. Helen had put me under house arrest, but I wasn’t going to let that stall me. At least I had a legitimate reason to be lurking around the Consortium’s medical facilities. I wasn’t going to stop until I finally got some answers about the disease.
Alexa would find her way home. I had to believe it. My job, in the meantime, was to focus on making “home” a safe place again.
alexa
Chapter Nine
I ran. The whispered drumbeat of my paws on dry earth mingled with the throaty call of a nearby ibis and the rustle of wind through cedar leaves. The air was redolent with the musky aroma of macaque, but still satiated from my morning hunt, I did not slow. As the cedar canopy began to thin, the spires of Telassar became visible to my trained eye. Nestled in the shadow of Jbel Toubkal, the highest mountain in Morocco, the city’s precise location was a secret jealously guarded by the Were community. Shifters patrolled its borders unceasingly, keeping tourists, explorers, and enemies at bay. Its remoteness made it an ideal place for Weres who wished to embrace their animal halves in a more sustained way than was possible in the midst of human civilizations. Many Weres thought of it as their one true home, but mine would always be with Valentine. Nonetheless, Telassar was a welcome sanctuary and training ground.
I broke out of the grove and began to make my ascent to the citadel. Rocky debris trailed in my wake as I leapt nimbly up a scree slope that would have been impossible for a human to climb. I loved this body—the powerful surge of my haunches, my impeccable balance, the panorama of sounds and scents accessible to me. It felt good to be strong.
The guards stationed at regular intervals along every possible route into the city paid me no mind; they knew my scent well. On my first foray into Telassar, by contrast, they had surrounded me moments after I had crossed over the invisible border of the shifter enclave. Menaced on all sides by a variety of snarling beasts, I was ungraciously herded into the presence of their alpha, despite having been expected. Constantine Bellande placed the highest possible premium on the continued secrecy and safety of his kingdom.
The narrow, winding path—little more than a goat track by human standards—broadened as the front gate came into view. Only after darting beneath the menacing portcullis did I slow my pace. Silently, I urged my muscles to flow in, in and up, up into my two-legged form, until I felt the warm, packed earth of the courtyard slide between toes instead of claws.
A familiar figure stepped out of the building to my right, holding my robe. Weres in Telassar rarely bothered with conventional clothing—in a community such as this, it was sensible to dress in garments that could be easily shed for transformation. I had chosen a soft blue fabric for my robe, a royal blue that matched the shade of Valentine’s eyes. It had been over a week since I’d last seen her, and two more would pass before we were reunited. Every reminder of her was equal parts pain and pleasure, and I sent up a silent prayer that this, our last and longest separation, would pass quickly.
Unmindful of my nakedness—another byproduct of having spent two months in Telassar—I took the robe from Delacourte’s hands and wrapped it around me, then tightened the white sash emblazoned with Constantine’s crimson crest. Delacourte was Constantine’s chief medic. The former army surgeon from the French and Indian War was dark-haired and bearded, his muscular, heavy-set body hinting at the Morphoviridae ursus that gave rise to a massive and fearsome Kodiak on the night of each full moon. His size belied his gentility. Highly educated and cultured, he was one of the few Weres in Telassar who didn’t pointedly ignore me. My arrangement with Valentine was distasteful at best to most shifters. In my first days at the walled city, racked with homesickness for Val and burned by the caustic reception of my peers, it was Delacourte who had taken me in and filled my nights with conversations about history and literature.
“How did you—”
“The guards saw you coming,” Delacourte said. “I was walking along the parapet and heard them conversing.”
I wondered what exactly they had said about me. Nothing complimentary, I was sure. Tamping down a surge of bitterness, I smiled my thanks at Delacourte for his kindness in coming to greet me. Old prejudices died hard; I knew that already. My true friends, like Karma and now Delacourte, understood exactly why I had chosen to be infected with Morphoviridae pardus and had so readily accepted my role as Valentine’s sustenance. I got the sense that Constantine understood as well, but he was so preoccupied with the governance of Telassar that we rarely had a chance to speak. Hopefully that would change tonight, when I finally had the opportunity to share a meal with him.
Delacourte offered me his arm, and we proceeded across the courtyard toward the avenue that would lead us deeper into the city.
“Would you care to dine with me this evening?” he asked.
“I’d like to very much, but Constantine has invited me.”
“Ah. You haven’t heard.” Delacourte’s expression turned sympathetic. “He and Katya left the city a few hours ago. They’re not expected back until late tonight, perhaps even tomorrow.”
Disappointed, I suppressed a sigh. “Do you know why they left?”
The brief hesitation before Delacourte shook his head was a sure sign that he knew more than he was letting on, but I knew better than to push him. He patted my hand. “Will I have your company, then?”
“Of course.”
Delacourte’s apartments were adjacent to the infirmary, one of the buildings in the inner sanctum of the city. We walked at a leisurely pace through the sinuous streets, enjoying the crisp breeze blowing down the valley from Toubkal’s summit. When I had first arrived, Telassar’s labyrinthine corridors had confounded my geometric sense of direction ingrained from years of living in the perpendicular orderliness of Manhattan. The six-and-a-half-acre city comprised concentric rings of stone buildings connected by passageways, tunnels, and blind alleys. Narrow streets separated each structural layer, and broader avenues intersected the circles and provided throughway to the city center. At the heart of the city sat a one-acre park, bisected by a brisk stream and densely studded with tall evergreen trees. From the center of the park, one could see the clay-tiled rooftops of the innermost band of buildings, a fusion of civilization and wilderness that made me homesick for Central Park.
As we drew closer to the city center, we passed beneath an archway more ornate than the others. The walls in this section had a hint of green to them and were subtly embellished by engraved patterns. Weather and time had worn away the fine detail; if they were symbols, I had no idea what they meant. But Delacourte might.
“The architecture here is different from the rest of the city,” I said. “And the stone—it has a greenish tinge. Do you know why?”
“This is the oldest part of Telassar, built in the late seventeenth century. I believe the green comes from traces of fluorite within the marble.” Delacourte paused to run his hand over the delicate etchings that veined the white
stone. “Building the keep was a massive undertaking, especially since Balthasar Brenner demanded that the marble be transported from a quarry in what is now Namibia.”
“Balthasar Brenner?” The name brought me up short. “Who was he?”
Delacourte grimaced. “Not was, is. He is a powerful wolf Weremaster and, among other things, the founder of Telassar.”
“Does he have a son named Sebastian?” I asked, unable to shrug off the surge of anxiety I felt whenever I thought of Sebastian Brenner and his fixation on Valentine. The panther snarled in response to my unease.
Delacourte scoffed. “Probably. He takes great pride in spawning whelps all over the world.”
We walked the rest of the way in silence. For Balthasar Brenner to have founded Telassar in the late seventeenth century meant that he had to be over four hundred years old. The oldest shifter I had met was Malcolm Blakeslee, Weremaster of New York, who was in his two-hundreds. What must life look like, to a person who had seen four entire centuries pass? Both man and beast must have evolved in ways I could barely fathom.
And then there was Delacourte’s tone of voice when he spoke of Brenner. Distaste. Fear. Perhaps even some grudging admiration—it was difficult to tell. But whatever the exact nature of Delacourte’s feelings, they were complicated.
“I’m intrigued by this Balthasar Brenner,” I said as we entered Delacourte’s lodgings—a set of chambers spanning two floors, the west wall of which abutted the infirmary. A rich tapestry depicting some long-ago maritime battle hung over the fireplace, its colors complemented by the lush rug that covered the floor. Aside from those two splashes of color, the furnishings were wooden and unadorned, as was the prevailing style of interior décor in Telassar. Possessions had little meaning here, where residents were encouraged to give up the props that had defined them as humans and seek harmony with their inner beasts.
