by Gaja J. Kos
“Sounds good,” she agreed, then blew out a breath and squinted at the sun before meeting Sander’s gaze. “Shall we?”
Katja leaned back in the leather executive swivel chair, a fresh glass of blood in her hands. Only this time, it wasn’t of the alcoholic variety. Something she very much regretted.
Every inch of the wall in front of her was covered with printouts and sticky notes, the cornerstones and crumb trails of their investigation spreading to the adjacent walls, as well. She’d learned enough about the knowledge of the higher circles to know its contents are tailored to each individual specifically, but she hoped to Belobog that there would be something hiding in that scattered mess Rose had yet to unravel that would shed a light on the shroud of solitary facts and dead ends she kept returning to time and time again.
Mindful not to spill the blood, she kicked her feet, rolling the chair across the room to her desk, then placed the glass on a fairly uncluttered spot on the left side. She pressed her finger to the touchpad, kicking her laptop out of hibernation.
The computer blinked to life, the app Tim had installed as devoid of activity as it had been the last time she’d looked. Although a little over a day wasn’t much, she still couldn’t help but feel restless. She might not have had high hopes for the listening device in the office—Tater was far too cunning to conduct his other business at work—but the feed from Tomo’s tracker would be invaluable once he managed to plant the damned bug.
A knock sounded at the door, and she swirled around to see Sebastian’s looming figure waiting on the threshold. She waved him in.
“Anything?” the Kresnik asked as he threw himself down on one of the empty chairs set up in the room.
“Not yet. You?”
A tight hiss whizzed from his lips. “I can’t get anybody to talk without alerting them to what we suspect”—he grimaced—“what we know. The Palace operates as it always did.”
Katja let loose a soft sight at the somewhat cryptic nature of his words. She could almost understand Rose’s frustration with Sebastian’s censored cooperation. The Kresnik was bent on protecting the secrets of his kind, even despite the rot that had started to gnaw on their ranks.
But she couldn’t force him to say more than he was comfortable with. Not to mention that, more than likely, the additional info wouldn’t do her any good. She highly doubted his need for privacy and protection would outweigh common sense.
However, another thought fluttered to life in her mind as she mulled over the fact. And it wasn’t one she particularly liked. “Do any of your kin oversee the Perelesnyks? Could they know what we’re doing?”
Sebastian shook his head. “The incubi dragons are immortal. We do not look out for them.”
Relief washed over her, and she sank into her chair. “At least that’s something.”
The Kresnik offered her a small smile, but the expression was cut off as a beep sounded from the computer. They both all but plastered themselves onto the screen, a laugh bubbling from Katja’s lips as the tracker’s signal started to blink, giving them Tater’s exact location.
Only her excitement was short-lived.
“Sebastian…”
“Oh, fuck.” He exploded from the chair, already halfway across the room. “Tell Zarja to be careful. It could be nothing, but with the Perelesnyks in Ljubljana…”
Katja brought her phone to her ear, meeting the teal of Sebastian’s gaze. “What about you?”
“I’ll fly there. If she has to engage the bastard, she’ll need all the help she can get.”
Chapter 17
Veles watched the crescent fall of her thick eyelashes against the sun-freckled backdrop of her skin, the slight, charming furrow of her brow that spoke so plainly of just how far from the needed state of relaxation his werewolf was. He hid away a smile. She always was willful.
Slowly, he traced his fingers along the soft skin, drawing intricate paths from her temples all the way to the lush, full mouth he barely resisted the urge to kiss. “Rosalind, this will not work if you fight it.”
She let out a frustrated growl that reverberated through his fingers, but the sound had no true strength behind it. Midnight blue eyes met his, the specks of gold burning lightly as the energy within her spread and pulsed, seemingly far more complying than its master.
“It would be nice if at least something was straightforward.” She groaned, and an echo of a lopsided smile tugged on Veles’s lips.
“That, I’m afraid, is not in the nature of deities.”
The frown on her forehead deepened, but any protest that might have rolled off the tip of her tongue dissolved as he captured her lips in a gentle kiss. The taste of her, of life, individuality, and devotion, engulfed him, the gold of her energy dancing with the olive of his as they both opened up their cores. With his lips still on hers, he willed the tendrils of power to enter her body, to reach the very heart of all the ethereal strength she possessed. Her energy accepted his presence willingly, entwining with it, yet never blending as it once had.
She wasn’t a fledgling any longer. Even if he poured every ounce of his divinity into her, he wouldn’t be able to taint the pure gold of her essence.
He took his time exploring her core, familiarizing himself with the uniqueness she harbored within her far more intimately than ever before. Although he trusted Morana’s word, the process of unlocking the higher knowledge was foreign to him. So he treaded at a slow, careful pace, sliding across every pillar and delving into every shadowed depth of Rose’s strength.
Before, when their energies had merged, he had loaned Rose a fragment of his, relying on the almost sentient heart of the power to guide the werewolf as she learned how to find, identify, and transport souls. A talon of guilt raked down his chest. He had been so wrong to believe that that alone would be sufficient, that the realm in which the souls Rose cared for operated similarly to the underworld. His naiveté had led to a loss of life, and although he had done far worse since the incident had come to pass, Damir’s soul was one he would carry on his conscience always.
Yet at the same time, he knew with iron certainty he couldn’t have done then what he was doing now.
Rose’s power had been unable to remain autonomous in the presence of his ancient energy. He could never had hoped to explore her very essence, to learn the metaphysical infrastructure of her core—and was grateful he had never tried. If the mere phantom brush of ethereal fingers had tainted her, something this complex, this extensive—perhaps, under different circumstances, even invasive—would have had a devastating effect.
But that danger was gone now.
And with the freedom of what he could do, what they could do, the possibilities were vast—but demanding far more effort.
To truly know her depths, he needed to guide his energy, needed to control every ripple, every step of the process, his mind and body devoted fully and only to Rose.
As he traveled down the immaterial, translucent paths of his consort’s core, he understood what she had meant when she had spoken of her own experience with souls—of the ethereal tome she had read, its pages harboring the transcripts of the essences who lingered in the waiting room. Only whereas she had seen the knowledge as a book, what he faced now was a labyrinth of ancient trails, drawn by the phantom touch of Mokoš and the potency of her father’s blood.
His energy and consciousness flowed down the aisles and bridges, slithering through archways and curving across aureate planes, admiring the structure he could never hope to unravel. Yet despite the vastness, even the slight disorientation the unfamiliarity of this world within her placed on him, the travel wasn’t unpleasant.
In the distance, in the world of solid matter, where he could still feel the warmth of Rose’s lips pressed upon his, a smiled cupped his features.
Because it was her energy guiding him, not the other way around.
His werewolf already had all the answers.
It was only her fear preventing them to flourish, keeping
her from grasping what had been inside her all along.
Zarja tucked the phone in the back pocket of her shorts and scanned her surroundings. The sidewalks were filled with smaller groups of humans, a few regular weres enjoying their beers in a bar a little farther down the one-way street. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, and filtered through the scents embedded in the warm, faint breeze blowing in from the south.
Nothing.
She couldn’t hear or smell anything amiss. But, then again, she wouldn’t.
Not when Tater was wearing his human skin.
Briefly, frustration threatened to surge. No one should be able to conceal their true identity this completely, but it was magic, not shapeshifting, granting the Upirs their alternate forms, and against such an elaborately constructed change, even a werewolf’s keen sense of smell could do little. She sighed.
At least the absence of any other vampires in the vicinity was a good sign, if not exactly good enough to put her at ease.
Do you need us to come? Jens’s voice spilled over the bond, his twin’s mental tones backing up the statement.
Evelin and Sander are still en route to Nikolai’s. It’s better if you keep watch on your end. You too, Mark. Besides, Tim’s already moving in my direction.
As we speak, the werewolf replied.
At least let me send Dragan your way, Mark pitched in. The twins and I will trail Evelin until she gets to the house, then double back to you.
Zarja nodded, the gesture immediately translated down the bond. Sounds good. I’ll monitor Tater from afar, see what he’s up to.
A not exactly enthusiastic rumble of agreement floated to her. Mark was reluctant to let her trail Tater without backup, even if only for a few minutes. She understood his concern, but the Perelesnyks were the pack’s priority right now, and like it or not, Mark knew it to be the truth.
As a somewhat larger group of pedestrians passed before her, Zarja stalked down the street, using the humans for cover. She lowered the metaphysical volume of the bond, but not enough as to lose awareness of her pack.
Tim was already gaining ground on her location, moving as quickly as he could without raising suspicion, and she could feel through the thread connecting her with Mark that Dragan had also departed from his post by the were.
Ditching the group when they turned left and took a narrow alley leading towards a fast food joint, Zarja mixed in with the throng of the midday crowd dominating the street, then stalked farther towards the outer rim of the city center. Apparently, Tater had gone into one of the slightly more upscale bars near the opera house. Not exactly the kind of establishment she would link a police captain to—not with all the stuck-up, quasi celebrities that frequented the place, which generated more than a little paparazzi attention. But at the same time, she couldn’t help thinking that it was definitely the kind of bar an Upir would visit.
The double, sometimes triple, lives these creatures were living seemed to echo across aliases, unfortunately causing far more confusion than sense for anyone hoping to study and predict their movements.
But while understanding the choices of the Upirs was more often than not an impossible task given their minds operated by completely different rules and standards, Zarja was certain of one thing. With Milivoj’s centuries old agenda of building a long list of influential, powerful connections, this couldn’t be anything less than a business meeting of the supernatural sort.
She fished her phone out of her back pocket, silently cursing that Tim hadn’t been able to upload the app to her phone before the Perelesnyks had rolled into town.
Katja answered on the second ring. “Yes?”
“Is the asshole still inside?”
“He is.”
“Contact me the instant he moves. I set up my phone so that only your call can come through.”
“Will do.”
She stashed the phone back, but not before double checking that it was set on silent with the vibrate function on. Her butt buzzing would be warning enough, and she definitely didn’t need any rogue ringing to alert Tater—Milivoj, she thought with a snarl—to her presence. It was far too easy to dig up records of the two consultants Tomo had registered for her to be as careless as to let the bastard see her face. Not in this day and age.
A group of college students veered out of a passageway just opposite the bar, catching her attention. She scanned the shadows congregating between the walls once the humans cleared away. Perfect.
The spot was perfect.
She crossed the street, zigzagging around pedestrians as she casually made her way towards the narrow corridor. Once there, she slunk into the moderate darkness the passage offered, deep enough so as to not be immediately spotted, yet not so far as to lose the visual she had on the bar.
A cold smile spread across her lips. The smug bastard had chosen a window seat.
And, as far as she could tell, he was still alone.
I’ve got eyes on him, she broadcasted through the bond.
Hang on. Dragan and I are almost there. Tim’s reply came not a second later.
Zarja rumbled her agreement, then focused on the sight of Tater sipping a glass of wine. She snorted mentally. Drinking during business hours. Not nerves, but self-assurance.
Her claws itched to be released, to taste the warm spray of his blood, but she leashed the impulse and focused on the bastard instead, memorizing every small detail. She would relay the near-perfect recording of her memory with the pack later, and as track records showed, sometimes a fresh pair of eyes could see a clue even in the most ordinary of actions. Footsteps sounded from behind her—another group of students, judging by the smell of classrooms and beer that clung to them—so she retrieved her phone and busied herself by swiping through her texts, all the while keeping the bar in her peripheral vision.
The footsteps grew louder, laughter bouncing off the narrow walls of the passageway until she was forced to grit her teeth against the intrusion. Keeping her senses open had its pitfalls. And obnoxiously loud people ranked very high on that list.
She glared at the group once they flooded out into the street, but as the solid line of their backs broke and the group of students parted, every muscle in her body locked up.
The bitch from the townhouse is here, she hissed in her mind, never lifting her gaze off the would-be human who was walking unhurriedly towards the bar.
Keep your distance, Tim warned, but it was too late.
Zarja was already moving across the street.
Because instead of going inside, the Upir had merely smiled and walked on.
The bitch had smiled at her.
Chapter 18
Nathaniel’s gaze skimmed over the amulets spread across his desk as if he were a vendor at a Sunday art market. There was barely any sliver of the white surface left uncovered, and he had to admit the sheer volume of the pendants Serafina had brought to him was impressive.
Some were silver, some iron; a few of them depicted gods and goddesses of old, while the others had circular forms, similar to the design that had nearly robbed Rose of her life. He shuddered. The lengths to which she had gone…
But the Vedmaks were dead and Rose was safe—at least as safe as any of them were with the threat of the Upirs looming over their heads.
He flexed his finger, looking over the amulets once more. Without magic embedded in their cores, they were nothing but peculiar pieces of jewelry.
Hopefully, that was something that would change soon enough.
With a soft sigh, he moved over to the adjacent cabinet and picked up the pendant Serafina had given him separately—the only one carrying protective properties, implemented there by the Kolduny. He turned it around in his hands, the silver cool against his skin.
Science had always come natural to him, no aspect of it too hard to understand or evolve into something new. But trying to apply it to the supernatural wasn’t exactly straightforward.
They were two different worlds, coexisting yet not quite cros
sing one another’s path.
The energy with which traditional Chinese medicine dealt—as esoteric or charlatan as some might perceive it to be—was based on the human body. Magic, on the other hand, despite originating from flesh-and-blood individuals, was another thing altogether.
Dr. Xu was one of the few people Nathaniel knew who somehow managed to navigate both paths. The acupuncturist had successfully learned how to apply his methods to aid not only the flow of Chi, but the energy of the supernaturals, alike. Sadly, Nathaniel’s own branches of expertise didn’t have all that much in common—if he could even call the supernatural one of his expertise, given he more often than not felt like he was only wading through shallow water with the depths lying beyond his reach.
He blew out a breath and stalked over to the other side of the room, feeling Rorik’s blue gaze on him like a heated touch. Ignoring the Perelesnyk for the time being, he unlocked one of the cabinets to reveal a peculiar machine that oddly reminded him of those old, box-shaped CD players he used to have. The equipment was experimental, something that had taken a good deal of time, money, and Tim’s help to track down, but, supposedly, it had the capability to chart essences that didn’t exactly belong in the world of humans.
Although it was primarily a new method to track ghost related activity, his brother had assured him the inventor had unknowingly stumbled onto something more. At least according to the device’s very detailed specifications. And if, on the off chance, it would, sense the magical properties of the amulet, then the machine could be tweaked into something that would implement those same aspects into appropriate items.
Nathaniel had no idea how Tim intended to do that, exactly, but it wasn’t his issue to concern himself with. His brother was a whiz with electronics, and if he said it was doable, Nathaniel didn’t doubt his word.
But before they even started working on that particular step, it was on him to separate the threads they needed in order to compile something strong enough to deter any and all magic attacks. Simply amplifying the amulets’ powers would do next to nothing against the chaotic energy of the Upirs. But what Rorik had, coded in his DNA…
