by Nell Stark
The cool, dry breeze raised gooseflesh on my naked skin, but I didn’t shiver. Curling a stray lock of hair behind one ear, I ran one hand over the slight curve of my stomach. Not a mark marred its smooth surface. The healing power of the change never stopped being miraculous.
I looked over at Constantine and saw his form, too, beginning to blur. As the transformation took him, I walked toward Delacourte’s motionless body and crouched to lay a hand on his huge head.
“You saved our lives twice tonight,” I said. “Thank you. I’m sorry I couldn’t do the same.” Hearing Constantine’s footfalls behind me, I rose to face him, unperturbed by my nakedness. “What now?”
He stared at Delacourte for a long moment before answering. “There is a Consortium safe house in Marrakech, a day’s run to the southwest. If we press hard.”
I stalked past Katya’s mangled corpse, barely resisting the urge to spit. Beyond, the ascending moon still pulled at my blood, her call all the more enticing for not being an imperative.
“Then let us press hard,” I said. And breaking into a run, I called my panther forth.
*
Under cover of night, we slunk from shadow to shadow before settling down to lie in wait in an alley near a busy discotheque. When two drunken tourists stumbled out of the establishment and past the mouth of our hiding place, we brought them down silently and dragged them out of sight. They were both men, and even the smaller one’s clothing was several sizes too large for me, but I made do. The clothing would grant us safe passage farther into the city, where the streets were brightly lit and more heavily trafficked.
“What are you looking for?” I asked Constantine as he paused to peer down two consecutive side streets off one of the main thoroughfares. Hiking up my stolen pants for what felt like the thousandth time in the past half hour, I hoped he would find the safe house soon. My toes were banging painfully against the fronts of my too-large sneakers, and I could already feel the blisters forming. Then again, blisters were far better than being the captive of Balthasar Brenner.
“I have only been here once,” Constantine said testily, as though he had heard my unvoiced complaint. “Be patient.”
Thankfully, he paused five minutes later at the mouth of a narrow winding street, and I followed him for several blocks until we stood in front of a shabby hotel. Its shingle bore the faded emblem of a growling lion, and I thought of Malcolm. Was it folly to believe that we might be safe now? That I might see Val soon—perhaps only in a matter of days?
Constantine knocked five times on the door, and a few moments later, I sensed someone peering out at us through the keyhole. When the door was flung open, my panther flinched in alarm.
The curly-haired boy who greeted us was barely an adolescent—certainly not someone to whom I would have entrusted the keeping of an important outpost. “The rumor is true!” he exclaimed, rocking back and forth on his heels. “You’ve escaped!”
Constantine stepped inside, and I followed him quickly. The short foyer spilled into a comfortable sitting room, and I had the insane desire to kick off my borrowed shoes and bury my toes in the plush carpeting.
“I’m fine,” Constantine was saying. “Where is your father, Jasper? And the others?”
“Everyone was deployed to Sybaris four days ago,” Jasper said, staring wide-eyed between the two of us.
Constantine frowned. “Why? What happened?”
“It burned.”
Jasper’s simple statement wrung a curse from Constantine’s throat in his native French. He threw himself into one of the armchairs and propped his head in one hand. “So that’s what Brenner meant by ‘vampire casualties.’”
“What on earth is Sybaris?” I said, my thoughts turning to Val.
“It is one of the great vampire strongholds—a secret city, like Telassar in some ways. And now Brenner has somehow destroyed it.”
When his voice quavered in disbelief, I had a sense of the magnitude of this catastrophe. It seemed as though Brenner planned to pursue his vendetta against all vampires everywhere with deadly force. My heart stuttered at the thought of Valentine in danger from him.
“We have to get to New York,” I said. “As soon as possible.”
“Agreed.” Constantine turned to Jasper. “Your father did well to leave a man of your talents in charge.”
At the praise, the teen’s chest puffed with pride, and I found myself wondering whether Constantine had any children of his own. His rapport with Jasper was effortless.
“What can I do?” the boy asked.
“Alexa and I are going to need passports. And a secure line to New York Headquarters.”
For the first time since opening the door, Jasper looked confident. His smile was broad. “I can set up the call right now,” he said eagerly. “And you’ll have the passports by morning.”
“Excellent. Thank you.”
When Jasper disappeared into an adjoining room, Constantine went to stand in front of the mahogany cabinet next to the fireplace. It was stocked full of fine liqueurs, and that simple fact made me miss Val even more intensely. She would have loved the chance to examine a collection of this caliber.
After extracting a very expensive-looking brandy, Constantine raised the bottle in my direction. At my nod, he reached for two snifters and poured a few fingers of smoky liquid into each.
I raised the glass that he handed me, and we stared at each other silently as the subtle aroma filled the air between us.
“Well,” I said, feeling that the moment was utterly beyond words. “Cheers.”
The hint of a tired smile curved his lips. And then we drank.
Chapter Fifteen
When the plane’s landing gear touched down, I eased my grip on my hand rests. The slate gray of the runway blurring beneath the wheels, the directional markers decipherable only to pilots, the hint of Newark’s skyline between squat airport buildings…my vision blurred and I swallowed hard to hold unexpected tears in check. Home.
“We’re not out of the woods yet,” Constantine said.
I forced myself not to react, refusing to allow his pragmatism to dampen my relief. Against long odds, we had made it back to New York. Within a few hours, I would be reunited with Val, where I belonged. Brenner could do his worst after that, and silently I dared him to try. Together, Val and I were unstoppable.
When I realized that my foot was tapping a muted staccato against the floor, I stilled my leg and focused on the Fasten Seat Belt sign. As soon as it turned off, I jumped to my feet. All around me, people were wrestling with the bags they had crammed under their seats or stowed into the overhead compartments. Suddenly self-conscious, I dipped my fingers into the right pocket of my jeans, just far enough to touch the passport Jasper had handed me as we’d left the outpost, bound first for Casablanca and then for home. It was all I had, aside from the clothes on my back. Thankfully, I had found some that were my size in one of the hotel’s closets.
“Let’s go.” Constantine’s soft command jolted me out of my introspection, and I followed him into the emptying aisle. As we left the jet bridge and entered the maze of corridors leading to Customs, he leaned in close. “Stay in the middle of the hall, away from any doors.”
I inclined my head, wondering if he was just being cautious or whether he actually expected some kind of attack in one of the busiest airports in the world during broad daylight. Then again, I had already paid the price once for underestimating Balthasar Brenner.
After several twists and turns, we emerged into the Customs hall. As Constantine and I moved to the front of the snaking line, I ran through every relaxation technique I’d been taught as a new Were: light meditation, breathing exercises, visualization. I was about to enter the United States of America with forged documentation. The lawyer in me was screaming about crime and punishment. The rest of me longed for Val’s embrace with a ferocity that overrode every moral qualm.
When we were ten feet away from the guards directing people toward the cus
toms officers, Constantine slipped an arm around my shoulders. “You look a little stiff, sweetheart. Muscles sore from the flight?”
I pressed close, playing the part. “My shoulders,” I said, lacing the words with a whine. “Those seats are so uncomfortable.”
Constantine rubbed my shoulders obligingly. “Maybe we can take a hot bath once we get home, hmm?”
I let my arm curl around his waist and my mouth hover near his ear. Val loved when I closed my lips around her earlobe, when I gently sucked and flicked at it with my tongue. Once, I had been so ardent that I had bruised her there.
Constantine’s fingers tightened on my waist, and I shuddered out of the memory. “Mmm, that sounds wonderful.”
At a gesture from the guard, we walked together to one of the several glass booths separating us from free access to the city. Constantine gestured for my passport, and I turned it over to him after only the briefest of hesitations.
“Hello,” he said as he handed over both documents to the officer behind the glass.
After flipping open each passport, the man, just shy of balding, looked up at us each in turn. “Where do you live?”
Before I could open my mouth, Constantine once again took the initiative. “We have a walk-up in the Meatpacking District. It’s a gorgeous little place, right on Chelsea Park.”
“And what were you doing in Morocco?”
“We were on vacation,” I said, trailing my fingers up and down Constantine’s arm. “Marrakech was so lovely, and the discotheques were great fun. That is,” I tapped his chest lightly, “until this one drank too much at the Palace.”
He rolled his eyes. “Are you going to tell everyone we meet, hon? Really?”
The officer flashed him a sympathetic grin and stamped our booklets before handing them back. “Welcome home.”
We passed into baggage claim, where another burst of anxiety followed close on the heels of a relief I had not betrayed. “We don’t have any luggage.” I linked my arm through his. “That’s going to seem suspicious.”
But Constantine only shook his head and strode toward the guards at the exit. Once again, he turned over our passports for inspection. When one of the guards met my eyes, I smiled despite the knot of tension tightening in my throat.
“No bags?”
Constantine waved his free hand lazily. “You wouldn’t believe how much shopping she did. It was far more convenient to just have everything shipped.”
A curt nod was the only response. “Have a nice day.”
When we made our way through the exit, I moved to disengage my arm, but Constantine’s grip was firm. “Not yet,” he whispered, almost too softly even for me to hear. “We may still be under observation.”
Forcing my muscles to relax, I swept my gaze over the people waiting beyond the security barrier and struggled to hold back an exultant smile when I caught sight of Darren’s hulking form, leaning against a nearby pillar.
“There he is,” was all I said as I steered Constantine in his direction, wondering at Helen’s decision to send her personal bodyguard to greet us.
“Good afternoon,” said Darren as we approached, and I bit my lip as I realized he was playing the role of our driver. “How was your flight?”
Constantine clapped him on the shoulder. “Fine, just fine. But long.”
“I am so ready to be home,” I added. It had never felt so good to tell a simple truth.
“I’ll get you there just as soon as possible,” said Darren. “This way, please.”
He guided us outside to where a heavy black car was idling at the curb. I slid into the back behind the pale, slender man who sat at the wheel. I’d never seen him before, but he was unmistakably a vampire, and I frowned. It was dangerous to send full vampires out in the daylight. If forced outside the protection of the car’s treated windows, he would die in a matter of minutes. Why hadn’t Helen sent another Were to drive?
Once Darren had folded himself into the passenger seat, the driver pulled away from the curb. When identical black cars fell into line both in front and behind us, I realized we had a security escort.
“Expecting trouble?” I asked, shrugging my shoulders in an effort to ease some of the tension that had gathered there. I needed Val’s hands to relax me, soothe me, and then make me tense in an entirely different way. Soon.
“Yes,” was all Darren said.
I knew he wouldn’t elaborate, so I finally asked the question that had been burning in my brain since Brenner’s forces had arrived under cover of the morning mist at Telassar, nearly two weeks ago. “Darren, is Val—”
“She’s at the Consortium.”
“I was going to ask how she was, not where.”
“Even here, we’re not secure. Ms. Lambros will answer all your questions as soon as you arrive.”
Bristling, I opened my mouth to insist before reason overrode my impatience. If Darren was being obfuscatory, it was only because he was following orders. Slumping back into my seat, I stared out the windshield at the New York skyline. It grew before my eyes, the metallic spires of Downtown and Midtown bracketing the part I loved best—Alphabet City and the Village, sprawling with glorious laissez faire between the pinnacles of civilization.
“It is striking,” Constantine said, his tone one of grudging admiration. I was suddenly struck by the knowledge that while this was my homecoming, it was his exile. He had no way of knowing whether he would ever see Telassar again.
Half an hour later, the car pulled up to the back entrance of the Consortium. My pulse had been rising since our exit from the Lincoln Tunnel, and as I climbed out of the vehicle, I looked around eagerly for Val. But she was nowhere to be found. No one had come to greet us.
“I’ve been instructed to direct you to the War Room,” Darren said, ushering us through the heavy door and down a corridor toward a stairwell. The War Room? I had never heard of such a place in Headquarters. Had it even existed before Balthasar Brenner’s attacks on Sybaris and Telassar?
After ascending several flights of stairs, we emerged into another corridor, this one a dead end. But when Darren held his hand up to a scanner on the wall, a panel opened to display a keypad. His large fingers moved with a surprising lightness over the keys, and then the very wall itself swung inward to reveal a room, perfectly square, that blazed in the artificial light of at least a dozen plasma screens. Ignoring the allure of the flickering pixels, I looked around in anxious anticipation for Valentine. But still, she was nowhere to be found.
“Constantine.” Helen materialized out of the shadows to lightly embrace him and kiss him on both cheeks. “You are very welcome.”
“Generous words,” he said with a tired but genuine smile. I wondered again about the nature of his allegiance to Helen Lambros. “Generous deeds. Thank you for your hospitality.”
Helen turned then to acknowledge me, and her gaze was measuring. “Ms. Newland. I hear our mutual enemy has taken a special interest in you.”
I ignored her invitation to discuss Brenner. “Your help has been invaluable, Helen.” I was even more deeply in debt to her now, but I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of hearing those words come out of my mouth. “Where is Valentine?”
When her eyes narrowed, I felt a twinge of anxiety that I tried to keep from my face. I didn’t want Helen to know she could intimidate me. “She is here. In the building. You may see her once you have both been debriefed.”
“Thank you,” I said, finally willing to betray the depth of my gratitude. Val was here. She was all right. I would see her soon, talk with her soon, touch her soon.
“Come with me.” Helen led us across the bustling chamber and into a small, windowless conference room. Its walls were visibly padded. She gestured for us to sit at the circular table as Darren closed the door from the outside.
“I will tell you what I know,” she said, bracing her palms against the edge of the table. Ebony hair cascaded over her shoulders to curl around the lapel of her charcoal blazer. “A
nd then you will be so kind as to fill in the gaps.”
I glanced at Constantine to see if he had taken umbrage at Helen’s presumptiveness, but instead of looking offended, his lips were curled in the ghost of an amused smirk. He wasn’t just tolerating her brusqueness. He liked it.
“Almost two weeks ago, Balthasar Brenner—or more accurately, a force loyal to him—laid siege to Telassar. Several days later, after burning the city of Sybaris to the ground, he and his elite guard joined the bulk of the army. He promised peace if the two of you would surrender yourselves to him.
“You escaped the city, but were later apprehended by Brenner. He detained you for several days until you escaped again and made your way to the outpost at Marrakech.” Helen pushed back from the table, then, and gracefully sank into a chair. “Now. Tell me what you learned as Brenner’s captives.”
“First, a question,” Constantine said, pressing one fingertip against the tabletop. “What are your intentions regarding Telassar?”
Helen raised one perfect eyebrow. “To see that you are reinstated, of course. Brenner has declared war on vampires, yes, but his attentions appear to be focused specifically on the Consortium. He is seeking a dissolution of our alliance.”
Constantine laughed darkly. “He was bold enough to call me your ‘pet.’ His animosity toward any Were who is in league with either vampires or humans is significant.” He glanced at me, then away. “Hence his utter disgust with Alexa.”
“I still don’t understand why he wanted me alive.” I managed to hold my voice steady, but the memory of Brenner’s barely contained ferocity in my presence made my panther uncoil once again into alertness.
“Presumably,” Helen said, “he was hoping to use you to get to Valentine.”
I struggled not to betray my panic at her words. “Why her? What could she have that he would want?”
Helen sat back and crossed one leg over the other. “Valentine is now the last descendant of the clan of the Missionary—the vampire clan that has lived in and ruled Sybaris for centuries. Her very existence represents Brenner’s failure to annihilate an entire branch of our species.”
