She straightened her shoulders. As she wiped her eyes, her expression slid into a mute, painful acceptance. “You know I can’t do that. I have my sisters to look after—Menolly is still finding her way. It’s been almost eight years, but she still feels lost. And Father won’t accept her as she is—even though he keeps quiet, its obvious he still feels he lost a daughter. Delilah needs me too. Kitten can’t keep things together like I do—she doesn’t realize how deep our father’s pain goes, and I don’t want to dump all of that on her shoulders. I want her to be free and happy as long as she can be. I am—”
“A guardsman’s daughter,” Trillian interrupted. He knew the routine. He knew that duty had been driven into Camille’s head since she was barely able to speak. And after her mother died, he also knew that Sephreh had made her the workhorse—pinned the success of the household on her. Big shoes for a little girl to fill, and she never quite managed to her father’s liking. “I know, love. I know. I’ve heard it so many times I think I can recite it in my sleep.” Even though he didn’t mean it to come out snarky, it did. Apparently that was exactly the wrong thing to say.
Camille slowly stood. “Trillian, you’ve always lived by your own rules. But you know who I am, and you know I can’t. Why are you still here?”
Trillian desperately wanted to take it back, but it was too late. Some words cannot be unsaid, and he’d crossed the line. Her family was fucked up—there was no denying that—but he knew that the only way Camille managed to deal with the pain—with the loss of her mother and the way her sister had been turned and abused—was to put duty and honor at the forefront. It kept her going, it gave her something to hold onto because, the gods knew, there wasn’t much else for her to lean on.
“I’m so sorry…” He fumbled for words.
“How many times have we done this?” She slowly crossed to the bed where her cloak was lying, neatly folded. “How many times have we had this argument? And if it wasn’t Rona, it was always something else that set it off.”
“Camille—don’t do anything you’d regret. Please, calm down.” Trillian tried to embrace her, but she held out her arm.
Her eyes gleaming and wet, she gave him a soft look. “Don’t you think it’s time we just called it for what it is? A giant mistake.”
“We’re magically bound. You can’t just walk out on me. I love you, and you love me. Can you deny it?” He was desperate now, wishing to hell he could have kept a hold of his tongue. And he wanted to lash his mother. The bitch had totally fucked things up.
But Camille just let out a strangled laugh. “Isn’t that the most painful rub of all? No, I can’t deny my love. I can’t forget you. I can’t just walk away and leave you in the dust. But I can walk toward the future. Trillian, you’ll find someone else. Go marry Rona. I’m sure she won’t be the hassle I am.” And with that, she turned and swept out of the room.
Trillian considered following her, begging her to come back. But a gnawing fear in the pit of his stomach told him that this time, they were done. They would never recover from this one.
“The Captain will see you now.” The secretary led him into the office and Trillian found himself staring at a man who hated his guts. Who probably had hoped to never see him again. Who maybe even wished he was dead.
When the door shut behind them, he remained silent, standing at attention. Captain Sephreh stood and walked out from behind the desk, eyeing him up and down with an unreadable stare. After a moment, he held out his hand.
“You have a missive for me?”
“Yes, sir.” Trillian handed Sephreh the note.
Sephreh took it, opened it, and read it, then placed it carefully in his pocket. His face remained impassive, though Trillian detected a shift in energy—the faint whiff of fear. As Sephreh slowly returned to his desk, he said, “That will be all. You may go.”
Trillian hesitated. It would be rude to ignore the order, even though he was not a member of the Guard Des’Estar. But he couldn’t just walk out. Not without asking.
“Captain…”
Sephreh turned slowly, staring at him with an icy glint. “What do you want, Trillian? Why did you come back? I can’t believe you give a damn about this mission, or anything Queen Asteria asks you to do. Who are you looking for? And it better not be who I think it is.”
Trillian stiffened. After a pause, he decided he might as well just come to the point. “I’m looking for Camille. I have to talk to her. Where is she?”
Sephreh let out a snort. “You think I’d lead you to my daughter? I rejoiced the day she came to her senses and finally sent you packing. You’re not welcome in my family, Zanzera. Know that right now.”
“Your family doesn’t concern me, Sephreh. Camille does. She and I were bound by the Eleshinar ritual. We are connected, and if I’m hurting this much without her, she’s going to be hurting without me.” Trillian tossed his messenger bag on a chair and strode forward, leaning across Sephreh’s desk. “I love your daughter and I cannot forget her. You can hate me all you want, but you’re not the one who I give two figs in a nut dish about.”
Sephreh slowly stood, his eyes flashing. He looked so much like Camille that it tore at Trillian’s gut. Like daughter, like father when it came to temper, that was for sure.
“I dismissed you. Leave my presence.”
“And I refuse to be dismissed so easily.” Trillian slammed his hand on the desk. “Where is she? If she still wants nothing to do with me, I’ll walk out of her life again, but I will not leave without talking to her!”
And then, Sephreh began to laugh. He dropped back into his chair. “Good luck, then.” His gaze was still cold as steel, but he looked positively delighted.
“What do you mean?”
“Camille no longer lives in Otherworld. She’s gone Earthside—relocated by the OIA. My daughter is now living with the humans, through the portals. So good luck finding her.” As he chuckled, he pulled the letter out of his pocket. “By the way, I’ll have my response to Queen Asteria by morning. You may drop by to pick it up on your way back to Elqaneve. My secretary will give it to you. I trust you won’t be staying in Y’Elestrial any longer than necessary.” And with that pointed remark, he nodded to the door. “See yourself out, Zanzera. I’m busy.”
As Trillian stumbled back toward the door, grabbing his bag on the way, he couldn’t help but wonder just how the hell he was supposed to find Camille now. She was over Earthside. She might as well be a million miles away.
Darynal stared at him as they crowded into the palace cafeteria that served the agents and soldiers from the various departments of the government. The city-state might be a monarchy, but it had its layers of bureaucracy like all governments.
“You’re serious? She was sent Earthside? What are you going to do?”
Trillian pushed the stew around on his plate. He frowned. “I have one possible chance. I know someone who works in the OIA, in the communications branch. He said he’d help me.”
“What are you going to do? Go through the portals to find her?” Darynal started to laugh, then stopped. “Oh man, you’re serious? You are actually thinking of traveling through the portals?”
“It’s not like I haven’t been Earthside before. I’ve been there several times. I know enough to stay out of trouble while I’m there.” He knew it sounded crazy—to shift worlds in order to chase down a woman who was just as likely to slam the door in his face as welcome him in. But he had to find her. He had to know. “Come on. I’ve got an appointment with Leks. He’s waiting.”
The two men entered the communications hive a few minutes later, and there was Leks, waiting. The room was filled with Whispering Mirrors, all pointing to locations around Y’Elestrial and far beyond. The silver rimmed magical devices were hard to tune, and it required an entire department to keep them up and running.
Leks glanced around, then—with no one paying any attention—led them over to one bank of mirrors. “I’ll lose my job if anybody finds out about thi
s. But here…the D’Artigo Sisters are in a city called Seattle, over Earthside. Their contact’s name is Chase Johnson. He’s a soldier…officer? Someone involved with legal authority, that much I know. He’s the one through whom all communications pass from the OIA. The girls have a Whispering Mirror in their house but I haven’t figured out the combination for their location yet. This will have to do on such short notice.”
As they came up on the mirror, he motioned for the man keeping an eye on the bank of mirrors to take a break. “Fayl, I want to check something out. Go get your tea early.”
The apprentice didn’t have to be asked twice. Fayl saluted and headed off, looking decidedly more happy than he had when they’d approached him.
Leks glanced around to make certain they weren’t being watched, then sat down and fiddled with the controls on the mirror. He whispered something that neither Trillian nor Darynal could hear—a password, no doubt. Within moments, the cloud obscuring the mirror began to fade, and a man staring back at them on the other side.
“Yes? What can I do for you?” The man looked nervous, and kept tugging on his collar.
He was clean cut, with hair shorter than just about anybody Trillian had ever seen. He looked decidedly human, but there was something…a faint glimmer that aroused a suspicion in the Svartan. He ignored it, though, because he only had a few minutes and he didn’t want to waste any time. As Leks began to talk to the man, Trillian thought about what he was going to say. If he pled for Camille to hear him out, it would be via this human, and second hand love letters were no better than the person relaying them. No, he had to make it something that would catch her attention, something she couldn’t ignore.
And then, he knew. What he’d read in the note—it would concern her, too.
“I’ll be back in a moment, Chase. Just wait here, please.” Leks stood and quickly walked around behind the mirror. He nodded to Trillian.
Trillian slid into the seat and leaned forward. “Chase Johnson? You know Camille D’Artigo?”
Chase blinked, looking confused. “Yeah, who are you? What do you want?”
“Never mind that. Camille will know who I am if you tell her what I look like. Meanwhile, I have a message for her, and I’ll twist your balls off if she doesn’t get it.”
The man named Chase stiffened, his eyes narrowing. He cleared his throat. “Are you with the OIA?”
“Never you mind. Get yourself something to write with—just do it.”
Chase held up what Trillian recognized as a writing instrument called a pen and a pad of paper. Trillian was acquainted with pens, so he just nodded. “Good. Now you tell Camille this: Rumor has it something big is going down in the lower depths. There’s a new ruler, and he’s far more ambitious than than the Beasttägger was. Don’t count on help from home.” He paused, asking Chase to repeat the message back to him.
Chase did, then asked, “Is that all?” He sounded disgruntled, but he was paying attention. He seemed to sense Trillian’s urgency.
“No, tell Camille that Shadow Wing’s in charge now. And he’s on the warpath.”
At that moment, there was a sound from behind him, and Trillian turned to see Sephreh standing there, staring at him. Without a word, he stood and followed the Captain back to his office, Darynal behind him.
“You are banished from the city for three moon’s time,” Sephreh pointed to Darynal. “Go, now, and be glad I don’t toss you in jail.” He waited silently until the Svartan clapped Trillian on the shoulder and left the room.
“Don’t let them stop you, man. Look me up when you get back.” Darynal grinned, waving as he exited the door.
Trillian knew where to find him, so he merely raised a hand in farewell. As soon as his blood-oath brother had left the room, he turned back to the Captain. “If you’re going to flog me or flay me or whatever else you’d like to do, get it over with.”
“I cannot believe the effrontery…the gall…” Sephreh sputtered for a moment, then a crafty smile crossed his face. “Oh, I won’t flay you or flog you. No. You want so bad to watch over my daughter? To talk to her? Good luck. I doubt she’ll give you the time of day.”
“What do you mean?” Trillian cocked his head to the side.
“You want to find her? Then go. Through the portals, you demon. Go over Earthside and see how long you last. Go tell my daughter I sent you as a messenger boy, to watch over her if she wants the help.” Sephreh paused, then—with a glance at his office door—added, “You’re right. Shadow Wing is on the rise. We’ve been aware of this for awhile, but there are so many facets we cannot do anything openly about it. There’s already been trouble over Earthside and my girls are involved. So go, Svartan, and keep an eye on what happens to the portals over there. If my daughter will talk to you, fine—her choice. If not, you have your new orders. I give you a chance in hell that Camille will ever speak to you again. She knows her duty. I trust her to remain true. My guess is you’ll be dead in no time. You can’t make it over Earthside. I was there years back, and it’s far harder now. An arrogant turncoat like you? I give you thirty days, tops, before somebody kills you.”
Trillian extended his hand. “I wager you a bet, Sephreh. If I survive that long, you shake my hand and buy me a beer. If not, you win.”
Sephreh stared at Trillian’s fingers. He let out a soft snort. “I’ll never sully my flesh by touching yours. My daughter may have been a fool, but trust me, she’s come to her senses. Now go. And if I don’t hear that you reported to Milligan at the portals by sunset, your head is forfeit and you will die. Go and good riddance.”
As Trillian turned to leave the office, he realized the captain had played right into his hands. With a soft laugh, he whispered, “I take your bet and raise it, Sephreh. Not only will I find Camille, I guarantee you this: I’ll never lose her again.”
His heart skipped a beat as he headed for the portals. His family be damned. Sephreh be damned. He was on his way to see his love. They were bound by a ritual as old as time, and the hidden tattoos that lurked beneath their skin would hold them together forever. And this time, nothing in the world could keep them apart.
Blood Ties
Roman has managed to live as long as he has due to keeping a tight hold on what humanity he has left. Unfortunately, not all vampires feel that way—and not all of his family agrees with his choices.
Roman stared at the phone as he silently pressed the End Talk button. The news was not good. He really, really didn’t need to start off the day this way. Grumbling, he turned to stare at the woman sitting beside him. She was quiet, polite, and dressed in a dark red skirt and top. The better not to show stains, my dear, he thought. She was new to his stable. Average build, pretty, blue-eyed and a redhead. As he looked her over, it occurred to him that, just once, it would be nice to have a normal breakfast like everybody else, along with a normal cup of coffee. Just once. But those simple joys had been off his table for thousands of years and the only way he could handle everything that seemed so alien—all the activities that made up so many peoples’ lives—was to push the desire aside.
“What’s your name?” Roman made it a point to know every bloodwhore in his stable. He learned their backgrounds, their likes and dislikes, the reason they had petitioned to join his household. He refused to be a use ‘em and lose ‘em type of vampire. It wouldn’t be seemly, not for the son of Blood Wyne, the Queen of the Crimson Veil.
“Dotti Rollins.” She smiled, but behind the smile, her nerves were showing through. She was dressed like Roman preferred his bloodwhores to dress—skirts, sweaters, normal clothes. He never allowed them to appear at his table in anything but a tidy manner. No negligees, no lingerie, no sweats. Sexy clothes were perfectly fine, but he wasn’t running a brothel or a gym. The fact was, he rarely slept with any of the women who lived under his roof, who provided him with their blood.
Roman considered her for a moment. She seemed pleasant, almost college-prep. Which brought up the question: What was she doing here
? What had brought her into his house, into his stable? He left the choosing of the bloodwhores up to his personal secretary but this meeting—the first—was the final decision. Here, he either put his stamp of approval on the deal, or he dismissed the candidates and they were never allowed to reapply.
“Tell me about yourself, Dotti.” Roman was gracious. He could afford to be. There were a long line of applicants waiting to offer their veins up to him. It had been thousands of years since he had been human, but he kept a tight rein on himself to keep from becoming a monster. And that included interacting with the living on a gracious, if aloof, level. As far above them as he was on the food chain, Roman never allowed himself forget that he did have vulnerabilities, and death—the final death—was always out there, waiting.
Her eyes went wide and she flushed. “I’m…I’m a grad student.
He nodded. Bingo. She was hiding something there, below the surface. “What’s your major?”
This time the flush ran down her neck, across the top of her chest. “Supe-psychology.”
And there it was. He had sensed something off about her. Usually the ones who really wanted to be here were broken. They might hide it well, but there was always something there, beneath the surface, that drove them to the lifestyle. Dotti didn’t want to be a bloodwhore. She wanted fodder for her thesis. Roman could handle the broken ones. He considered it almost a service, offering them shelter and protection. But he didn’t like being used, nor analyzed.
He slowly stood and crossed to her side, reaching down to cup her chin and slowly tilt her head up so she was looking into his eyes. He thought about just sending her away, but then the hunger grew, and he decided what the hell, he could send her away afterward. Leaning down, he brushed her lips with one finger.
The Men of Otherworld: Collection One Page 4
