by Petra Landon
The moon was high and bright in the sky when a distant roar shook the lodge. It was followed by a series of rumbles. Most of the guests were already abed, tired after the events of the day. The buildings not directly affected shook lightly, the ripples not strong enough to wake the sleeping residents. But there were Chosen awake, Magicks with the ability to sense even the slightest disturbance in the air. As they converged on the epicenter of the tremors, a shadow slipped away under the moon, moving stealthily towards a different section of the lodge.
Moonlight streamed in through the open window as the man slid onto the sill, his eyes sweeping the room to catalogue potential threats. For a moment, he waited watchfully, his ears on alert for the smallest of sounds, even as he drew his magic to bolster his shroud. He’d made sure the Blutsauger guards had hotfooted it to the explosion. Nevertheless, he intended to leave nothing they could track once they returned and searched this room. He knew how to be a ghost — slipping in and out of protected Magick strongholds, without a trace, was his forte. It was what had made him so feared in his previous incarnation. That, and his reputation for always getting his man.
Her room was furnished much like his, with one difference. The bed sat directly in the path of the moonlight streaming in through the window. Where he eschewed the moon to shroud himself in the shadows, she, like most Chosen, reveled in its mythical powers. The slight figure huddled in the bed, oblivious to the game afoot, her face turned towards the moonlight. When he was satisfied that the coast was clear, he slipped into the room. As he padded on light feet to approach the bed, he made sure to keep away from the silvery light streaming in.
She waited for the last second to leap out of bed, springing for his throat. He stood his ground, letting her come to him. As he felt the nick of a sharp blade at his throat, he smiled. This was an eery replay of her clandestine visit to his room. And though on first glance, she held the advantage, it was he who held the cards. Unlike the night before, the imbalance in their respective heights had her stretching on her toes to hold the knife to the strong column of his throat. She was off balance, and he knew how to leverage that against her. Plus, he had another advantage over her. He’d seen her fight the hulk in the arena this afternoon. The avid spectator had studied her tactics keenly and could gauge her weaknesses in a physical altercation.
“You’re awake” he remarked, throwing a curve ball to distract her. “Good.”
Before she could process his statement, he sent her knife clattering onto the ground with a practiced flick of his arm.
Already on shaky ground, she staggered. Regaining her balance, she launched herself at him again.
“Took you long enough, little girl” he said calmly. “I’ve been making enough noise to wake the dead.”
Side-stepping her lunge neatly to shove her away, he used her own momentum against her. She flew back to land in an ungainly heap on the bed in a tangle of linen.
This time, he did not allow her to regroup. Striding to the bed to loom over her, he kept his face in the shadows.
“You’ll be sorry if you use your magic to slice me up, like you did to your brutish opponent in the ring this afternoon.” The warning was delivered casually, almost conversationally, but the underlying note of steel in the rich tones stilled her.
She made no move to fight him, merely peering up at him from the bed. Fueled by adrenaline, she had fought back. But now, she steered clear. She was out of his league. Not because he’d disarmed her so easily, but because she recognized the deep voice with its smooth cadences and the hint of an exotic accent she could not place. Dispassionate tones that nevertheless flowed over her like expensive aged wine, incongruous in a man of his reputation.
Her fear retreated, usurped by bafflement and curiosity. His presence here confused her — she’d approached him for assistance previously and been roundly refused for her troubles. Untangling herself from the bedclothes, she sat up, her eyes searching his shadowed face.
He stepped forward, to deliberately bring himself into the light. The streak of moonlight fell on his face with its shock of dark hair, the etched features, the hard jaw and the firm unsmiling mouth. In the silvery light, the pale eyes she remembered glittered like jewels in the harshly hewn face.
She sighed. “You.”
A dark eyebrow arched sardonically. “Were you expecting someone else?”
The thought popped into her head that he was not the same man from last night. This man was willing to engage, while the other had shut her down ruthlessly and deliberately. But she had no time to ponder the contradictions. Despite herself, her eyes shot to the door. She was never left unguarded, especially not away from the Nest.
He caught the glance, swift as it had been. “There’s no one to hear us. They’re busy chasing shadows.”
This was ElMorad. If he was confident that they could not be overheard, she would not cavil. Immensely relieved, she chose to ignore the rest of his cryptic statement. Instead, she allowed her eyes to take him in. Unlike their previous encounter, he was fully dressed. Yet, somehow, he seemed more intimidating clothed than he’d been the night before. Or perhaps, that was because he loomed over her while she hunched on the bed. She must rectify that, as soon as possible. While her mind pondered the problem, she noted the jeans and the simple tee that hugged the honed body. As well as the speculation in the light-colored eyes that watched her, like a puzzle he intended to solve. She grit her teeth, her insides clenching at the realization. Of all the luck, she cursed silently. She was already under the hammer for her madness this afternoon — her recklessness in the arena would cost her dearly. But if the Blutsaugers ever discovered that she’d dared to approach ElMorad, there would be hell to pay for her. Monseigneur had nary a sentimental bone in his body. And, took immense pride in his legendary appetite for crushing all dissension.
“Didn’t recognize you with your clothes on” she taunted, wondering how to get rid of him.
Astonishment flashed across his face, before the eyes softened with something akin to amusement.
“I’m going for my knife” she warned, hoping he would step back to give her room to do so.
He didn’t, merely watching her with that mix of amusement and interest.
So, he wasn’t going to give her even a quarter, she mused. She’d have to deal with him while he loomed over her. But she was determined to hasten his departure from her room. Sliding to the edge of the bed, she retrieved the knife he’d disarmed from her like it was child’s play. She stashed the knife under her pillow before she glanced up at him again. The pale eyes took careful note of the fact that she slept with a knife under her pillow.
“Why are you here?” she asked bluntly, making no attempt to shield her disinterest. She’d already played this particular card and lost. This was not the night she wanted to be reminded of her failures.
A dark eyebrow shot up at the tart question. “Oho, the goose doesn’t like the sauce she served up last night.”
She sighed deeply. “Look, did I cross some sacred line by approaching you? If so, I apologize. Now, may I please get some rest. I have an early morning.”
The Forebearers save her from egoistic Chosen, she reflected savagely. And here she’d been under the impression that she had experienced them aplenty. No one beat the Blutsaugers when it came to raging egos.
“Apology accepted” he responded in his smooth, rich voice. “But you’ve piqued my interest, little girl.”
Right. Of course. She’d been born with the proverbial bad luck penny stuck to her and it refused to fall off, no matter what. Now, to add to her troubles, she’d somehow managed to attract the attention of a man whose reputation made Monseigneur look like a rookie unMagicked Chosen.
“Hooray” she muttered, under her breath.
He ignored her snarkiness.
“Who did you want me to kill?” The pale eyes were steady on her.
“It doesn’t matter.” She shrugged, refusing to dwell on what could not be. “You refu
sed me.”
Silence descended on the room. The pale eyes skewered her, like burning embers in the ghostly light. She suppressed a shiver, unwilling to show any fear before him. Instead, she gave free rein to the flash of anger surging through her. Jumping off the bed, she squared up to him, careful to keep a healthy distance between them.
“What is this?” She did not hide her fury. “You refuse my proposition. And still subject me to an inquisition.”
He met her gaze squarely. “Don’t play games, little girl. You started this last night. Now, you will answer the question.”
She shook her head. “No, I will not.” She was damned if she’d get herself into even deeper waters than the ones already up around her neck.
At her response, the pale eyes clouded over. And though he did not move or say anything, she felt her heart begin to pound as alarm threaded through her. Suddenly, it was imperative she get him away from her room. The sense of impending threat was so palpable that the very air in the room seemed to reek of it.
He took in her heightened tension and the way the slim body fairly thrummed with adrenaline. She was entering fight or flight mode, he realized. He would not get the answers he wanted from her. Not like this, when to her, the answer to his question would imperil her even more. She was desperate, he cautioned himself. He’d pegged that about her correctly. If he did not tread carefully, her desperation might push her to take greater risks.
He changed tactics. “Is it any of the Blutsaugers that guard you night and day?” he asked, trying to gauge her reaction to the question.
Surprise flashed in her eyes. She shook her head mutely, her only response to him.
This was the best he was going to get out of her tonight, he decided. Not without more threats he felt curiously reluctant to issue. Also, he could not refute her argument in good faith. He had no right to question her motives, not after refusing her proposition.
He toned down the aggression, trying to put her at ease. “One last question.”
She remained silent, but there was a subtle easing of tension in her.
In truth, she was relieved at having escaped so easily. But her relief was to be short-lived.
“You want away from the Blutsaugers that treat you like a prized possession?” He said it like a statement.
Her eyes flickered. His words had hit home and she could not suppress her reaction. Not tonight, when she faced the precipice, knowing that every option, even the desperate ones, had been exhausted. This had been her last chance. Once back in Venice, she was unlikely to get another opportunity.
Silence descended between them again. The pale eyes narrowed on her. “I have all night” he remarked.
She responded this time, her voice weary. “Will you leave if I answer your question?”
He inclined his head.
She drew breath. “Yes” she admitted.
For a moment, he said nothing, simply studying her in the moonlight.
“Gather your things” he directed dispassionately. “I’ll help you get away.”
She staggered back, before righting herself, so great was her shock.
“What?” she squeaked, thunderstruck by the offer.
He vouchsafed no response, merely observing her like a particularly interesting specimen that intrigued him.
She shook her head in confusion, trying to clear it. “Why?”
He ignored her outburst. “Pack a few essentials. We don’t have much time. The explosion is only going to keep your guards away so long.”
Her eyes widened in shock. “Explosion” she repeated, flabbergasted by his comment.
“You caused an explosion” she exclaimed wonderingly, as he remained silent. “Here! At The Games?”
“I’ll be downstairs.” He gestured at the window he’d climbed through. “If you are not down in five minutes, you’re on your own.”
At the brusquely dismissive words, she shook off her consternation.
“Wait” she cried. “Please … I don’t understand.”
“There’s nothing to understand. I’ll get you away from this place.”
He meant it, she realized. He was offering to help her. A why trembled on her lips again, even as every instinct screamed at her to not look a gift horse in the mouth. The ‘why’ did not matter. She was too desperate to turn him down, too frantic to question his motives. And what did it matter anyways, she told herself. If anyone could help her escape her captors, it was ElMorad. Even the prospect of a few days of freedom was enticing. She’d worry about the rest later, once she was away from here. Anything to delay the inevitable.
True to his words, he hadn’t waited for any response, simply striding away to the window after delivering his ultimatum. She scrambled for her case, afraid he would leave her behind if she tarried too long.
“You can’t lug that” he said flatly, turning back to address her. “There’s miles of jungle to trek through.”
Stopped in her tracks, she stared from her suitcase to him, clearly nonplussed by the objection.
“I don’t have anything else with me” she said uncertainly.
He frowned. “Then, bring a change of clothes. We’ll shove it into my pack.”
Climbing gracefully onto the sill, he paused as a thought struck him. “Don’t forget your passport.”
She didn’t have her passport on her, wasn’t even sure she had one. But it was not the right time to tell him that. However, there was something he should know. She couldn’t, in good conscience, use him to escape the Blutsaugers without telling him of the trouble he would invite by his assistance. ElMorad or not, he deserved to know who he was going up against.
“There’s something you should know” she began, only for him to raise a large palm to stop her.
“No, I don’t. I get you away, through the forest and into Mexico. No questions asked. After that, you’re on your own. That’s the deal” he said calmly. “Take it or leave it.”
She took a deep breath. What did she have to lose, after all? “I’ll take it.”
“Five minutes” he warned her, before dropping out of sight.
She couldn’t believe it. Her luck was changing and aid had come from an unexpected quarter after she’d given up all hope. Her heart sang the refrain as she changed hurriedly into jeans and her most comfortable shoes. Making quick work of her hair, she pulled on a jacket, to dash to the window.
Shimmying down one floor, even with the bundle of clothes in her hand, was child’s play for her. He waited at the bottom with a rucksack at his feet. She noted that he too had a jacket on.
He gave her a quick once over. “The shoes won’t do” he stated, his gaze on yet another pair of thin-soled footwear.
“This is all I have” she explained hesitantly. It’s not like her captors allowed her much of a choice on anything, she brooded mutinously.
The striking pale eyes searched her face, before taking the clothes she’d brought with her. Stuffing the bundle into his rucksack, he slung it over his shoulder.
“Stay close” he directed, making for the forest that enclosed the resort on all sides.
She, who knew that the Blutsaugers were at their most dangerous in the darkness of the night, hurried after him without a backward glance.
The wind whipped at her as she ran, the night air a revelation to her senses. Trees flashed by as she sped up, intent on soaking in the full bounty of the moon. She’d missed the moonlight. Oh, how she had missed the moonlight!
A clearing bare of trees beckoned her. Here, the moon was strong, its light bathing the ground in a silvery mist. She paused, to raise her face to the pale orb in the sky. She was panting, her breathing ragged, flagging after the short stretch. Once, she had run all night, not winded and raring for more. But the months in the barn had weakened her. The witch’s magic had sapped her strength and the silver had poisoned her blood until she’d learned to live with the constant agony of it threading through her like a drug that was as addictive as it was lethal. It wasn’t
clear how much time had lapsed since the barn — some of the events were a little hazy. But she could still remember the vice-like grip of the silver manacle on her ankle. As if on cue, the ankle throbbed, a dull ache the months in the ramshackle shed had compelled her to become accustomed to. Forcing the memories away, she focused on the bright moon. The night sky was clear and the silence absolute. She felt immense gratitude for this chance to frolic with the moon, the stars and the crisp air; thankful to be alive and free again.
Until a snapping twig shattered the peace. Her instincts kicked in, and her rusty senses, dormant for long, awakened to confront the threat. To her relief, the long and brutal captivity had not dulled her senses. Thrumming with tension and adrenaline, she turned, her sharp claws unfurling. A large black bear ambled into the clearing to stare at her, its gaze more curious than threatening.
Tasia awoke abruptly, her mouth slack with surprise. It took her but a moment to get her bearings. The nightmares, rampant since taking up residence at the Pack Lair, had forced her to adopt some simple nightly rituals to deal with the aftermath — a night light always left on, a glass of water by the bedside and a warm shower to calm her after the really intense dreams that left her heart pumping and skin drenched.
But tonight, the dream had been different. Tasia sat up, a pucker between her brows. No torture, no blue-eyed witch spewing magic and hate, no resurgent beast intent on breaking out and no dilapidated shed where she struggled to rise above the cold and a beckoning oblivion. Yet, the terrible memories lingered, almost as if she was desperate to forget the horrors of the past. And recover from them. The massive black bear, from before, had also put in an appearance, albeit as a peripheral presence. She could vividly recall the profound relief at her first glimpse of the animal. She’d been readying for a fight, on edge from the dark memories of the shed, until the black bear had stepped into view. In the dreams, the bear was not a foe, she concluded. Or at least, not a threat to her. Strange, she mused wonderingly, how the nightmares had transformed since Russian Hill. Less frequent but more puzzling and confusing, rather than horrifying. She’d take it, Tasia decided. Nothing beat not waking up terrified from the echoes of a nightmare with the bitter taste of hopelessness, agony and fear on her tongue.
