by Irina Argo
And even that is misguided, he thought bitterly. I don’t deserve her trust. He wanted to throw up, or cry, or anything that would relieve the pain in his heart.
Desperately, he turned his gaze to Anock, Ken and Shakir. He’d raised his boys, had given them his heart, and didn’t they trust him, too? Each had his own tragic story; each had survived some of the most brutal trials life could possibly throw at them, and they’d become the strongest among the Elite. Tor had brought them down here with him to help him to stay strong, to keep him focused, and to remind him why he was doing this—for them. For his pride, his family, and his people. For Odji and Simone, who were still being held by Arianna’s people.
Yes. He was the King. His kingdom and his people were his priority. He had to do this.
He guided Arianna into the cell, wishing that she’d react by pushing him away, trying to escape, anything but the passive, dazed sleepwalking she seemed to have regressed to now.
He wondered if the cell looked exactly like the one she’d lived in for almost a year when Khay’s pride had kidnapped her. As far as he could remember, all bloodstock cells were identical. But then again, he’d bet that whatever small differences they had were really noticeable if you were forced to live in one 24/7 for the rest of your long, immortal life.
Numbly it occurred to him that he should have George run a heater down here.
And then Arianna was raising her eyes to his, tears just starting to spill down her cheeks. “Why did you bring me here?” she whispered.
“We’ve learned that you are connected to the Order. I cannot let you”—let myself—“put my entire race at risk because of our relationship.”
He watched Arianna’s eyes scan the room, taking in Anock, Ken, and Shakir, standing as his bodyguards and sons, ready to defend him with their lives from any attack.
But right now, it was him protecting them. From her. And somehow Tor knew that Arianna understood that.
“But—I have no powers. I can’t hurt anyone,” she pleaded.
“I know that. But by the time you do get them, it will be too late. I’m sorry.”
He forced himself to turn his back on her and start toward the door, even though doing so was killing him. Literally, he thought, as he felt his heart shattering. Between the pain in his heart, the struggle to avoid letting his emotions show, and the willpower it was taking not to yank her into his arms and take her away with him, he really thought he might die. And even if he lived, he knew he’d never be complete again.
“Wait. Tor, please.” Her voice was like a whisper of wind. “Don’t leave me here. Please, don’t leave me, Tor ... ”
Tor felt his systems shutting down. His heart, his mind, his body, his soul were all dying. There’d be only an empty shell left behind. He wondered if this was what it felt like to die of old age or a debilitating illness, sensing one’s organs going offline one by one. It was beyond the most refined torture; he’d have agreed to be burned alive, dismembered, anything, if only he didn’t have to endure this agony.
He turned around, turned his eyes back to meet hers. His vision had grown blurry, and through the haze her hair glowed like a candle’s flame, like a faint spark of hope. When he stepped toward her, he could feel the waves of grief pouring from her body.
“Tell me, did you have contact with Oberon and Serena? Are you involved in their plan? Tell me the truth.” Please, say no, say no, say no, even if it’s not true. He felt moisture on his cheek.
Arianna stared at him for a long time before answering, but when she did, her voice was firm.
“Yes.”
* * *
Between being really confused and having to put so much effort into not fidgeting with discomfort, Anock felt like a schoolchild.
Of course, the whole situation was miserable to begin with. But then the Queen had confounded Anock by looking Tor right in the eye and answering yes, she’d been working with the Order. And the King’s reaction had been even more astonishing: Tor had pulled Arianna tight against his chest, pressed his cheek to hers, and told her that he’d love her forever—and then he’d turned sharply and left the room, Ken and Shakir on his heels.
Now Anock stood facing Arianna, who stood immobile in the middle of the cell, her bottom lip trembling, the cheek she’d held to Tor’s glazed with their combined tears.
He had to ask. “Why didn’t you lie?”
For a long moment she stared at him as though she didn’t understand the question
“I couldn’t,” she finally said. “I love him too much.”
Anock nodded—to show her he’d heard her, not because he understood what she’d said—and slipped out of the room. He tried to close the door gently, but the click of the latch still echoed in the empty hallway like a vault sealing forever.
Chapter 54
Tor was the kind of guy who always took the lead—even when doing so was completely unreasonable, Anock thought, recalling the countless occasions on which they’d bickered about Tor’s need to strut on into any situation with total disregard for his safety. So Anock was more than a little troubled to find himself leading Tor back to his suite. The King was acting dazed in a way Anock had never seen him before, blinking unseeing eyes as he propelled himself down the hall on autopilot. Actually, Tor was barely even propelling himself; Anock had had to nudge him a couple of times to keep him moving.
That changed a little when they arrived at Tor’s study and Tor marched directly to the wet bar, filled a large glass with his favorite poison, Vieille Réserve No. 9, an outrageously expensive hors d’âge cognac, tossed it back like it was nothing, and immediately refilled the glass.
Anock had seen him do that before—overindulging on it was the most reliable way for Tor to get drunk enough to black out—and it was very, very obvious that this time would be worse.
Anock surreptitiously texted Ken.
“Want a drink?” Tor asked, and then without waiting for an answer, the King poured Anock a drink and handed it to him.
Was Tor already slurring a bit? How many times could he have filled his glass while Anock was typing the text?
Anock accepted the drink and took a small sip, exaggerating the movement to make it look like he, too, was chugging his drink. He needed to keep a clear head; Tor’s behavior was going to be unpredictable and he had to be ready for anything.
And there Tor was, Tor was already pouring another. Shit.
“Sir, this is not a good idea,” Anock suggested gently.
There was a pause while Tor swallowed his drink, and then he slammed it down on the table and faced Anock, his eyes abruptly losing their glaze and pinning Anock’s, hard.
“You know what? You’re absolutely right. It’s not a good idea to leave the female I love alone in a cell. Do you remember how traumatized she was when we found her? How hard we all worked to get her to relax around us? And she finally trusts us—trusts me, and I turn around and put her right back where she was, as though she’d never left the cell. Except she did, and I betrayed her. It’s like I’m ripping her to shreds again, with my own hands.” Tor scrubbed his hand across his mouth, hesitated for a moment, and then buried his face in his hands.
“You can still visit her from time to time,” Anock offered, but even as the words came out of his mouth, he realized how absurd they sounded.
“What a fantastic idea! I can’t believe I didn’t think of it myself! I’ll just walk into her cell and say ‘Hi, Ari! Look, I brought you some strawberries! I miss you so much! See you next week!’”
Hey! It wasn’t that absurd. “Why not? There’s no rule that you can’t see her. You’ve restricted her communication with the Order and ensured that she won’t be able to use her powers. So why not visit her? I’d do it if I were you.”
“You know what, Anock? Just go. You’re talking nonsense. I don’t want to see her again, ever.”
“Being immortal, sir, you should know better than to talk about anything ag
ain, ever. Things change all the time.”
“Anock, please go. I want to be alone.”
“No. Not yet.”
But right then there was the subtlest of sounds at the study door—Ken, bringing what Anock had asked for—and Anock turned to answer it. He cracked the door and found both Ken and Shakir standing there, asking him with their eyes whether they were needed.
He shook his head no, but as it turned out, he did need them: just as Anock accepted the small bottle Ken slipped into his hand, Tor came flying past him and collided with Ken and Shakir. Out of some kind of bodyguard reflex, they grabbed the King.
“No. I’m going back for her,” Tor protested, his face wet with tears. He struggled a little, halfheartedly, but it was obvious that being stopped for just that second or two had killed his momentum and he recognized that it wasn’t a good idea. He let Anock lead him back into the study and return him to the chair, and he stayed put as Anock got him a glass of water.
Anock took two pills from the bottle and handed them to Tor. “Here, take these; they’ll help you calm down and go to sleep.”
Tor acquiesced without another word, swallowing the pills and handing Anock the empty glass.
Anock watched Tor closely. The King probably assumed he’d taken run-of-the-mill anti-anxiety meds or something like that, but these were hard-core, designed to work with vampire metabolism. They’d kick in almost immediately, hitting Tor like a truck and putting him out completely.
“Anock, make sure she has everything she needs. Take care of her. She’s not to be treated like ... like common bloodstock.”
In mid-sentence, Tor’s eyes had glazed over, and he stood up and stumbled to his bedroom. Anock stayed close, making sure the King didn’t lose his balance and fall over—but Tor got himself across the room and dropped onto the bed without incident. He rolled onto his back and looked up at Anock, eyelids drooping.
“Anock, what did you put in the ... ?”
And with that, he was out. Anock covered him with a blanket and then just stood there, watching over him. Tor’s suffering was like a knife slicing through his heart.
Anock might have stayed there all night if his phone hadn’t rung, calling him away for Guardian business.
He finally managed to drag himself back to the bloodstock wing several hours later after realizing that he’d been making excuses to avoid it. But he’d promised Tor that he’d personally see to Arianna’s well-being.
As the elevator doors opened to let Anock out into the basement hallway, the human, George, stepped out of his office. It was typical practice for the Elite to employ humans to deal with bloodstock, glamouring them into believing that they were employed by some kind of top-secret organization—or, more accurately, a top-secret human organization. When at work, George was utterly lucid, an exemplary employee, but when he left the estate, George believed that he worked for a corporate research lab.
“Sir?” asked George, bowing slightly. He seemed anxious—but that made sense; it was unusual for anyone in the pride to venture into the bloodstock area, and George had now had two visits in one day.
“How many bloodstock do we have now, George?” Anock asked, simultaneously counting the metal doors. There were eight, but some of the cells behind them were probably empty.
“Six, counting the new one.”
“And how’s the new one adjusting?”
“Adjusting?” George looked at Anock with a strange, tight expression, like a discreet butler whose employer was doing something outrageous. “There’s no way they can adjust, sir. They just learn to tolerate it.”
“Tolerate,” Anock repeated, suddenly unable to tear his eyes away from the row of locked doors.
Behind six of those doors were Amiti, living miserable, constrained half-lives. Were they stunningly beautiful, like Arianna and Ismen? Of course they were; all Amiti were. Unless the conditions in which they lived—in which they were kept—destroyed their beauty. He tried, and failed, to picture Arianna and Ismen bedraggled, dirty, ill-nourished.
Were the bloodstock behind those doors fed well? Given clothes? Able to stay clean? He realized he was utterly clueless about the conditions in which they were kept. He’d never really thought about it, never wondered about them at all.
It occurred to him that indifference to bloodstock was completely integrated into Sekhmi culture, something no one ever noticed, just as they didn’t notice the air they breathed. Had those barriers always been there? If not, had they been carefully erected by the first Sekhmi to keep bloodstock—or had they just grown organically?
His musing was interrupted as another thought slammed into his consciousness with the force of a speeding train: behind one of those doors lived the Amiti whose blood he’d been living on for the past three years.
Blood was what kept all vampires alive, of course, but that didn’t mean that all blood—even all Amiti blood—was equal. Every member of the pride had their preferred blood. Of course, everyone thought their choice was objectively the best, but Anock knew everyone else was wrong. The blood he’d preferred for three years now was the most lovely he’d ever tasted. As far as he was concerned, it was the nectar of the gods, with a uniquely sweet aroma that he thought of as night-blooming lilies. Which might have been total bullshit: like all Sekhmi, he had a refined palate, but he didn’t usually put much stock in talking about it, and really, he wasn’t one hundred percent certain that he knew exactly what a night lily smelled like. But it felt accurate, and somehow he knew that what he was captivated by was the overall idea of the lily, so he didn’t want to overanalyze it.
But right now, his body was wound tight as a spring, his mind reeling as his vision of night-blooming lilies crashed head-on into the reality of those grim metal doors and the cells behind them. Behind one of these doors was a female—surely it must be a female—who’d been his personal blood-supply for the past three years. She lived in a tiny, windowless, underground cell, deprived of everything except what was absolutely necessary to keep her alive. How could a flower survive without fresh air and sunshine?
I need to see her. Goose bumps crawled up his arms.
He shook them off, forced his attention back to the task at hand. “Is there a way I can see the new girl without her being able to see me?”
“Certainly, sir. Follow me.” George opened one of the metal doors. “This is our office. Please come in.”
They entered a clean, spacious, well-lit room that was more medical lab than office. Monitors lined one wall; shelving lined another, holding sterile containers, blood bags, plastic-wrapped needles and tubing, and other equipment. A refrigerated unit stood against a third wall; Anock could see several containers of blood through its glass door. Man, that was a lot of blood.
“We just had this week’s feeding. What are those? Leftovers? Or do we always keep this much backup?”
“No, sir. We were instructed to draw extra blood for cocktails; the pride is expecting guests tonight.”
“Right.” Shit. A couple of weeks ago they’d scheduled a party for tonight, for other Elite who wintered in Egypt. Obviously Tor wouldn’t show up, but it was too late to cancel or reschedule, so the rest of them would have to play host.
“The new bloodstock’s arrival was certainly well timed, sir. The existing stock have all been bled for the pride’s feeding and again for tonight’s cocktails. I was concerned that they wouldn’t tolerate further draining, but of course it wouldn’t do to run short on blood.”
Tolerate? Anock pictured the bloodstock fighting back.
Oh. George meant that the draining might have killed them. But wait—
“Are you telling me that you bled the new bloodstock?”
It was only when George flinched and stepped back that Anock realized he’d gotten up in the human’s face.
“Excuse me, sir, but isn’t that why she’s here?”
How much was he supposed to tell George about the situation? Tor hadn�
�t gone over that with him.
“No. Not that one,” he finally said, stepping back to give the guy some space. Wow, the human was gutsy. If Anock had been George, with a Sekhmi acting that aggressively, Anock would’ve ... well, he didn’t know what he would’ve done. Partly because he was thinking about his version of the same problem: Tor getting in his face and yelling Are you telling me that they bled her? Maybe—hopefully—Tor would never find out. But if he was going to find out, Anock would have to be the one to tell him before someone else could. Tor had made him responsible. It was bad enough that Arianna had been bled at all, but the King would kill him, maybe literally, if he found out from someone else that it had happened, that Anock had kept that from him—
“Sir? You wanted to see the new bloodstock?”
“Yes, please.”
“Here she is.” George pushed some buttons on a control panel in the center of the bank of monitors, and four of the screens blinked, switching to display Arianna’s room from different angles. She lay curled on her side on the bed, a thin blanket pulled up to her chin. In the muted coloring of the security cameras, her bright red hair seemed to have lost its color, which saddened Anock for some reason.
There was more button-pushing, and then one monitor zoomed in on her face. It was totally expressionless, but streams of tears rolled from her eyes, and Anock could make out a wet patch on the pillowcase under her head.
“She’s been like that since the King left,” George was saying. “Most new bloodstock resist when we draw their blood, but she acted like we weren’t even there. We didn’t even have to bind her. Though of course we did,” he added, as though worried that Anock might accuse him of breaking a rule.
Anock was opening his mouth to respond when the office door flew open and Theores burst into the room, yelling “where is she?”
“Who, madam? The new bloodstock?” George looked stunned. For a moment, Anock pictured the scene through the human’s eyes, and it did seem totally crazy. Anock almost felt sorry for the guy.
“How did this happen?” Theores demanded, addressing Anock, ignoring George completely.
