by Anne Schlea
Everyone looks over at her. During the discussions, it had become evident that the leader of the maji, Samael, is watching the proceedings through her eyes. He then uses her as a conduit to communicate with the other leaders. Unsettling, but having met Samael several times himself, Kristoff understands this is probably less disturbing then had the High Sorcerer come to Atlanta himself.
The most powerful maji to walk the planet, Samael exudes power.
“The maji have cared little for the politics of the vampires over the centuries and have been happy to allow the warlord Kristoff to speak on our behalf.” Zoya’s eyes meet his and she nods respectfully toward him. “But this path is new. Different. And we have been forced to ask ourselves if we trust Antonia as we trust Kristoff. Our kind have been hunted and killed; for while we are powerful, we are not indestructible. It has been known for many centuries that Antonia’s family does not accept maji, but then they sent us Stephanie.”
Antonia stiffens in her chair; Zartan reaches over to take her hand. Kristoff knows it was not Antonia’s choice to send the young, human maji to them. It was a decision Kristoff had made with Stephanie’s mate, Arthur. Thankfully, Antonia, with her head for political negotiation, says nothing.
“I, Samael, have spent much time in games of chess with Stephanie’s mate, Arthur, in the last weeks.” The hint of a smile passes over the maji’s face before she continues. “He has spoken in reverence of his Toiseach, told me of Antonia’s honor, and helped me to understand that it is because of his hatred for a human sister that is long now dead that you shunned the maji. Yet, out of love for his human woman, he willingly comes into my lands for protection. Arthur is honorable.”
Zoya looks around the room, her eyes meeting each vampire present. “The maji were never welcomed at the old Council. You honor me as High Sorcerer and you honor the rest of the maji by giving us a place as a true clan. You pick wisely. I believe Antonia to be honorable. I believe she will seek guidance as sovereign, and I believe she will honor the maji as a clan. We, the maji, also support the motion to unite under one banner with Antonia as our queen.”
Nodding in Antonia’s direction, Zoya leans back in her chair. Her body relaxes and when her eyes open again, Samael is gone. She leans toward Ingmar who touches her lightly on the shoulder, syphoning some of his energy into her own body. Kristoff feels a ripple of energy go through the room before she sighs and sits back up.
“You all know my position.” Kristoff reaches over to take Runa’s hand. Regardless of what her sisters do, he needs to feel like she’s united with him in this. He looks over at her and she nods, then he looks to Antonia. “The real question now remains. Will you accept?”
Antonia’s eyes are focused on the table, her hands in her lap. Zartan reaches a hand to squeeze her shoulder, then she stands to pace while she talks. “I never wanted to be Toiseach. I just wanted my father back. I was angry, and too young for the path laid out before me. I failed too many times, made to many mistakes.”
“Few of us wear the mantle we ask for.” Damian tells her quietly, the memory of his own call to leadership fresh in his mind. Their eyes meet and unity passes between them. They are forever tied together now.
“We should be talking about you.” She focuses her gaze on Kristoff, moving around the table to pass behind him. “This should be your crown.”
“I am a warlord.” Kristoff keeps his eyes forward, meeting Zoya’s gaze across the table from him. “But I am enough of a man to know when the best way I can lead is to step aside. You know the reasons it cannot be me. You are the queen this nation needs.”
Antonia keeps walking, her silence lasting so long that Kristoff begins to fear she’ll say no. Envisioning this whole exercise being for nothing, his mind starts to search for other options, other ways to bring the nation together. Zoya’s glare stops him.
“Your faith in me is humbling.” Antonia looks up from the floor, her eyes meeting each representative at the table, one at a time. When she finishes her circuit around the table to stand back at her spot beside Zartan, she continues. “I have thought long about this and spent many nights in solitude. The sovereign’s household should represent that of the nation. To take this responsibility, each of the clans must also give, must also be a part of this new world. An ambassador to my home. From Damian, I would like one of your brightest political minds to help negotiate a united world. From Samael, I request a maji of your choice to advise and be a part of my clan. Zartan’s people will provide a guard and from Kristoff I request an advisor to the other immortal nations. I do not have as much experience as you do dealing with races other than our own.”
She then turns to face Marcus. “Honestly, I don’t know what to ask of you. You surprised me by being here.”
“I surprised myself, I guess.” Marcus stands from his seat and approaches her. She allows him to take her hand, and then he bows to press it to his forehead. “My lands and people don’t hold the wealth of yours. We need you more than you need us. Ask whatever you need and it’s yours, short of possession of my lands or people.”
Antonia smiles and clasps his hand in both of hers. “We need each other. I don’t know how I’m going to do this.”
Marcus drops her hands, allowing her to take her seat next to Zartan again. She takes a deep breath. “Damian, please have your people construct a constitution as we have discussed today. I am thankful for all of your support; I will need it going forward. With humility, I accept the task you set before me.”
Serene’s cell phone rings. She lounges back in her bed and looks at the screen. It’s Hope, her newest administrative assistant. Sighing, she turns off the television and hopes this call isn’t because there’s a delay in the fall line.
“Yes?” Serene turns to fluff her pillows up behind her head. This call is probably going to take a while. No one calls her in the off hours.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m at the hotel like you requested.” Hope is more grounded than Jasmine had been. She understands that you need to crack eggs to make an omelet, something she’s not afraid to do. This siren won’t worry about hurting a few humans and immortals to get to the end goal. “You’re right, the vampires are meeting tonight in the ballroom. It’s a big deal with lots of security. Rumor has it that the vampires are unifying the nation.”
”Really?” Serene sits up, more interested. She adjusts the white satin bathrobe around her shoulders and reaches for a glass of champagne sitting on her nightstand. Her body is suddenly giddy with energy. “Do tell.”
“The Dragons, Rattlesnakes, Silverblades, they’re all here with Antonia and Kristoff.” In the background Serene can hear piano music and low voices. Hope must be in the hotel bar. “I didn’t see them, but I think there are maji here, too. That’s most of the clans all in this hotel.”
“It’s a pity we aren’t in a different city. One good bomb and the vampire nation turns to dust.” She laughs, excitement running through her. “They must be desperate if they’re putting so many big guns in one place. Dangerous move.”
“Do you want me to stay here or head out?” A male voice murmurs something close to Hope’s phone. She responds, her voice muffled, then returns her attention to Serene. “I’ve found a friend, so it won’t look strange if I stay.”
“Yes, stick around.” The door to the bathroom opens, Serene’s guest for the evening exiting after a shower. The male vampire, she doesn’t remember his name, has a towel wrapped around his waist, his blond hair still wet from the shower. He sees her on the phone on the bed, his eyes locking in on her thigh where the bathrobe had slid away. “If you can manage to stay in the hotel overnight even better. Get me everything you can and report in tomorrow.”
“Not a problem.” Hope’s phone clicks off. She’ll probably spend the night with the man she’s at the bar with which will give her a good reason to scope out the hotel. With any luck, she’ll overhear something or see something important. The true power of a siren at work.
&n
bsp; The bed shifts as Serene’s blond vampire crawls across it toward her. Eyes heavy lidded, his hand slides along her leg until the robe falls open allowing him to place kisses along her thigh. He’s caught in the rapture of a siren. Until she decides to release him, he’s at her mercy and her calling.
“What is your master Zartan up to?” She sips her champagne as she runs a hand through his hair. He can’t answer. The rapture has full control of his mind by now, leaving him focused on one thing only – being inside of Serene or whichever female she sends him to. She guesses she’s using him a little bit like she’d been used in the Blood Clubs she’d worked at, but she’s never known a man to turn down a beautiful woman. He’d be more than willing even without the rapture.
Lucky for him it had been a long, trying week for her between getting the fall fashion line ready to show in Paris next week and tipping off the vampires to the location of the nosferatu medical lab. She needs the relaxation and will probably keep him for most of the night.
It did pain her to see the lab destroyed. A great deal of time, energy, and expense went into setting up. The doctor is easily replaceable; men are all too willing to give up their souls for immortality. The nosferatu will replace their soldiers fast enough, too. However, if the experiments continue, they’ll need to be much more carefully guarded. It won’t hurt if they move the lab to another city that’s farther away, either.
The vampire in her bed finally drags Serene’s mind away from her week, his kisses moving farther up her thigh. Smiling, she finishes her champagne and places the glass back on the nightstand. His hands push the robe farther off her body and she smiles even more. This is so much better than yoga.
Chapter 17
Runa slides the backpack strap over her shoulder and looks around the room. This place, her nest, had been her home since arriving in Atlanta. Hidden well among the restored houses of the Old Fourth Ward, she’d done a good job of blending in with the professional young couples who’d taken over the once run-down part of town. The large, canopied bed is made, her extra clothes put away, and the alarms will be set as she walks out the door.
She guesses she could give the house to Zartan to use, because it’s unlikely she’ll ever live in it again. If she comes back to Atlanta, she’ll move into the hotel with Kristoff. The house should be lived in. It’s beautiful, well restored, roomy for its age and size. The small backyard has been landscaped and has a wonderful swing hanging from an old oak tree. She’s going to miss the place.
Not wanting to dwell on the idea, Runa closes the front door behind her and sets the lock. She tosses her backpack into the back of her convertible and heads toward the airport. Her motorcycle is safely stashed at Kristoff’s place, waiting for her return and that promised trip to visit Marcus while riding through the American west.
If she comes back to Atlanta…and that might be a big “if” depending on how her sisters react to her. She’s done her research. She’ll be challenging Torhild’s accepted beliefs when she makes it to Valhalla. It’s been too long since anyone questioned the leader of the valkyrie. Her views have been accepted as fact; and given the valkyrie flippant attitude toward anything remotely serious, no one has actually looked at how Freya taught them to live for a long time.
Now Runa sees Torhild has shaped the valkyrie nation to represent something it was never meant to be. No wonder Freyja has abandoned them. She’ll have to convince the rest of her sisters how wrong Torhild is if she’s going to have a life.
A life. How strange that sounds. After centuries of living day to day – or at best month to month – she can see a glimmer of normalcy. Sleeping in the same bed, sharing meals, exploring the world around each other together. Things most races take for granted, but things Runa will have to fight for the right to have.
She pulls onto the interstate for the short drive to the airport, thinking about Kristoff. Unable to kiss him goodbye and walk out the door, Runa had done the cowardly thing. She left him a note, taped to the bedroom mirror while he slept.
He’s going to be furious when he finds it.
Eyeing the cellphone she’d tossed on passenger seat, Runa wonders how long it will be before he calls her in a rage. She passes her hand over the top of it, gives a gentle burst of energy, and turns it off. It’s safer that way. If she talks to him, she’ll buckle and give in to his demands.
Kristoff will want to come with her – even if it’s only as far as the nearest city to Valhalla.
That’s something she can’t allow to happen. If he gets anywhere near Valhalla or gives any indication that he knows the location or country it can be found, her sisters will kill him. Without mercy. The location of the valkyrie homelands is a highly guarded secret – a secret that is punishable by death to anyone who shares the knowledge.
No, this is the one thing Runa must do completely alone. Other than Britta, she isn’t even sure any of her sisters will stand by her and help her.
She only hopes that she has the inner strength to do what needs to be done. Kristoff deserves for her stand by him. She has a duty to her sisters, too. The knowledge to stop Torhild before she drags their nation any lower than she already has must be shared. They deserve to know exactly what kind of world Freya had meant for them to live in.
Runa settles into her first-class seat on the European-bound airliner with her laptop in front of her and a small stack of ancient texts at her feet. Her usual cocktail is waved away in favor of the strongest cup of coffee an airplane is capable of making. She’s got a lot of work to cover and only the next several hours to do it in.
It’s not a lot of time to find a way to completely change the fabric of the valkyrie way of life. Under Torhild’s leadership, they’ve become a race of vengeance. No love, no true friendships, no partnerships. Follow or be destroyed. Destroy those who hurt you. Kill anyone who could overpower you.
Runa knows the race hasn’t always been that way. Freyja had a husband. Or still has one, if their gods still live. His name, Odr, is found frequently in their folk lore and it is said that Freyja cries tears of red gold for him when he isn’t home.
That doesn’t sound like a deity of vengeance who has no love. It sounds like a female who is unhappy when her husband is forced to leave, something Runa can relate to.
What if the descent of the valkyrie is because they’ve drifted away from the old ways? What if the valkyrie of old, those before Torhild and her followers, fought beside their husbands? How different would their world and their race be if it were in balance?
Runa is determined to find out; and if she dies defending her belief that life should be a partnership, then so be it. The world as Torhild rules it is not a place she wants to live in.
Runa leans on the railing to look out over the Savannah River where Kristoff’s ship is being loaded with both his illegal Moonshine, hidden carefully in a box labeled distilled turpentine, and bales of cotton. The cotton is bound for one of his factories in France where it will be woven and sewn into clothing that will most likely find its way back to America in the windows of one of New York’s grand department stores.
She has no idea what he’ll do with the corn liquor. Knowing his taste, he’ll probably throw it overboard once they’re far enough out to sea. He’s not sentimental in the way that he’d keep it just as a reminder of this journey.
Turning to face Kristoff, she smiles. “Tell me this wasn’t a fun adventure.”
“Mmm.” He grumbles, his eyes watching cautiously as the port authorities look over the turpentine box carefully. “Please tell me you have no more surprises for me this trip. I think I’ve had all I care for.”
The box passes inspection and is loaded into the cargo hold. Kristoff seems to breathe a sigh of relief and then turns to face Runa, offering his arm. She obliges, slipping her arm through his so he can lead her along the river toward their car.
“Sadly, no. You do have a couple of days before you must leave for New York, so I thought we could go to Abercorn Street and see a m
ovie.” Runa had completely changed her look since arriving in Savannah. Gone is the flapper dresses, challenging convention with visible legs and jeweled headbands. While her hair is still short, she’s replaced the headband with a more subdued hat and her dress is a conservative, more respectful length. Her Mary Jane shoes click lightly on the cobblestone of Savannah’s River Street. “Dinner, then back to the hotel?”
She glances up at him through her eyelashes, a reminder that the wild valkyrie that had just dragged him across the country for illegal liquor he doesn’t want is still under the conservative clothing.
Kristoff takes a deep breath. He’ll be happy when the world’s fascination with moving pictures is over and theater is again socially trendy. It’s been too long since he’s seen a decent opera. He’ll do anything to keep Runa happy, however. “If that’s how you’d like to spend the evening. Shall I call out reservations for us?”
“Please?” Standing on her tiptoes, she kisses him on the cheek and then leans against him as they continue walking toward the car.
They’d walked these streets before, two hundred years earlier, dodging Runa’s pirate and privateer friends along the way. Known at the time as Flora Burn, Runa ran her own pirate ship that sailed along the eastern coast of the US. When she grew bored with the adventure, she turned her ship over to her first mate and moved on to something else.
Very little has changed in Savannah since then, other than the neighborhood isn’t as safe as it might have been before. They reach the staircase leading up to Bay Street and Kristoff pauses, running a hand over some of the stonework that keeps the earthen walls from caving in.
He’d kissed Runa here once, under the light of the moon.
It had been a different time, when they’d been very different people. Only a century into their on and off relationship, they’d come to Savannah because it was a little-known port town with only a very small chance that they may be discovered. It also gave Runa a place to hide her ship, sell her takings, and take on new provisions.
