Before the Fall (8 page)

 

Chapter Thirteen

January 11, 1:06 a.m.

1 hour and 6 minutes after the fall . . .

“I
s he going to wake up?”

The sound of Shanna's voice pulled Zach from the thick fog of sleep.

“They had to double the potion to keep him from fighting.”

“I just want him to wake up.”

He could hear the tears in Shanna's voice, could feel the slight tremble of her cool fingers on his brow. For her, he wanted to open his eyes, but no matter how he struggled, his eyelids were heavy bricks, mortared into place by magic.

“Kyana, if we can get a little more of your blood . . .” An unfamiliar voice said from somewhere above Zach.

“What good is her blood going to do him?” Shanna's voice rose an octave. “She was bit by that thing, too.”

“A Lychen's bite doesn't affect one of its own,” Kyana said. “In fact, it cancels it out. My blood will help clean Zach's.”

Shanna rubbed her eyes, trying to take it all in. None of this made sense. The Lychen had barely punctured the skin around Zach's ribs. She didn't understand why such a minor wound would knock him out. Not that she understood much of anything at the moment. Like why Kyana had brought them through the strange swirling light—which had threatened to turn her insides out—to the place they were now, which looked like something straight out of a Greek history text: everything marble and bright and cobbled.

And Kyana, whoever the hell she was—
whatever
the hell she was—wasn't exactly eager to answer any of Shanna's questions, either.

Zach would. If he ever woke up again.

No. She couldn't think like that. He
had
to wake up again. She had to tell him what Kyana had told her—the reason she'd been able to wield the sword created from Zach's blood . . .

She forced herself to look at Kyana. “Is Zach— Is he going to become one of—”

“That's a bullshit myth,” Kyana said, sneering. “We have bacteria in our wolf-form's saliva and claws, but it will only kill you—not Turn you.”

Shanna swallowed, realizing Kyana had said “we.” That was what she'd meant when she'd said the Lychen bite wouldn't affect one of their own. She was Lychen.

She took a hesitant step back.

“Relax,” Kyana said, half-smiling. “I don't bite. Much.” She knelt and pressed her hand to Zach's forehead. “He's still burning up. But I think we got him to the Healer in time. He should be fine.”

“I
am
fine.”

Shanna gasped at the sound of Zach's voice and jerked around to find him staring at her through bleary eyes. Her heart lurched with relief. He was alive! And there was so much she wanted to tell him before he could pass out again, but she didn't dare. How much could he take in his current state? Better to wait until he was stronger . . . until she figured out what she wanted to do.

“You scared me,” she whispered.

His smile was pathetically weak. “My bad.”

Zach's gaze hovered on Shanna's face as she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. An enormous question had smacked his brain and had given him the will to break through whatever subduing potion the Healer had given him. Shanna should never have been able to wield his sword, much less make it glow as it had, and kill the Lychen. It was crafted from Zach's blood. Only his blood would make it work.

That meant Shanna had to have his blood inside her. A few hours old or not, their reckless encounter in the Ravelin had left her with far more than a memory to take away. It had left her pregnant.

That thought should have made him sick to his stomach. Avoidance of fatherhood had been a mission throughout his life. Yet as he stared up at Shanna while she rained kisses on his cheeks, it wasn't his stomach that knotted. It was his chest. The thought of his child growing inside her made him feel strong enough to take on the world.

But that child would be marked for a life in Ares's army—the main reason he'd been adamant about never having kids. Even if the world righted itself, their child would be dedicated to the Order of Ancients, whether he or she wanted to be or not—until that child came of age and was granted the right of free will. That meant Zach would have to remain dedicated, too, since he'd never abandon his child to the Order. He'd have to find a place for himself back within the Order's permanent ranks.

But what about Shanna? If he told her what was growing inside her, she'd never get over the fact that he'd just made damned sure she could never have a normal life.

Would she walk away from him? From their child?

“Shanna—”

“Shh.” Her kisses moved back to his mouth, light and gentle and soothing. “We have a lot to talk about, but not until you're on your feet again.”

He lifted his hands to push her far enough away so he could look her in the eye. “You need to know why you were able to use my sword.”

She smiled down at him, her eyes glassy and dark. “Kyana already told me. I . . . wasn't sure you'd know . . .” She averted her gaze. “Or how you'd feel.”

“How do
you
feel?”

“Like I might have ruined any shot I ever had with you. You told me a long time ago that you never wanted kids. I didn't think I did, either.”

He swallowed and struggled to sit, easing her onto his lap as the Healer pulled Kyana away to grant them privacy. “They won't let you terminate. Even if you tried, they'd make sure it wasn't successful. They're pretty big on free will around here, but not when it comes to taking a member of their Order.”

Her eyes widened and a flash of anger lit up inside them. “They can't control me like that! Who the hell do they think they are? I—” The fire in her eyes faded. “Who am I trying to kid? I couldn't do it anyway. Are you okay with that?”

“I think I am, yeah. But, Princess, that means you're stuck with me. I can't walk away from my kid—and most certainly not from you. I let you go last time, but this time, I'm going to fight. There's still a little warrior left in me.”

“There's a lot of warrior left in you, Zach. If you can find a way to trust me again, I swear to whatever gods are out there that I won't betray it. But I can't spend a life with you if you're only hanging around for the baby.”

He smiled, touched her cheek, and closed his eyes. “Shanna, I was ready to spend my life with you the day we met. That hasn't changed.”

“Then marry me.”

He opened his eyes. “Think real hard about what you're saying. Marrying me means marrying yourself into the Order. It's a crazy life, Princess. It means accepting shit you never thought you could and being strong enough to stay even when you're scared out of your mind.”

“I'm scared out of my mind right now, but I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me.”

“You two lovebirds want to wait for a more appropriate time to finish this vomit-inducing moment?”

Zach shot a glare at Kyana, who was making her way back toward them, a small vial in her hand. “Go away, Kyana.”

She handed him the bottle. “Drink it, asshat. Your wounds are almost sealed, and if you really want to live out this horrifying happily ever after, you need to finish sealing them or she'll be burying you before you buy her a white dress.”

Shanna gasped and helped him open the bottle. “You heard her. Drink!”

As Zach drank the vile liquid that seared his insides like rocket fuel, Kyana chuckled.

“She's a keeper, Merchant,” Kyana said. “She saved your sorry life.”

Shanna leaned down and kissed him, her lips curled into a smile. “No, Kyana. He saved mine.”

“Oh, gag me. I can't watch any more of this shit. Enjoy your stay Below, you sad, lovesick fools. I have Chosen to track and blood to drink.”

Shanna winced, pulling slightly away from Zach. “Blood?”

“She's half Vampyre.”

“Oh. Okay.” She grinned. “Look at me. Accepting such an out-there statement. Progress, I think.”

“Yeah,” Zach said. “Progress.”

He gently eased her from his lap and stood, the world turning on its head as he fumbled for balance.

“Whoa!” Shanna grabbed his shoulder. “Where are you going? Sit back down!”

“Can't. Gotta go find a white dress before you change your mind.”

The hand on his shoulder squeezed. “I'm not changing my mind, Zach. I'm here to stay.”

“Good. Then let's go find Aphrodite and have her perform a proper Order wedding.” He looked down at her, watching her closely for any signs of doubt. He saw none, but he had to make certain. “If you really want to, that is.”

It felt surreal to be talking about such normal-life things when war was still rampaging in the world outside whatever realm this was. But sometimes a little normalcy was what kept a person alive. Together, they'd be stronger, could help fight the odd form of terrorism that had taken over her precious world. She could still get the bad guys, whether it was for the KWPD or the Order of Old People, or whatever they were called.

“Shanna?”

“Hmm?” She breathed a sigh against his neck, enjoying the brief moment of contentment while she could.

“I asked if you really want to marry me.”

She smiled, stretched onto her toes, and threw her arms around his neck, nearly sending him back on his ass. “I do, Zach. I do.”

An hour later, Shanna repeated those exact words and meant them with every fiber of her being. She watched with a stomach full of nerves as Ares strode toward them, a folded uniform in his arms. He offered it to Zach, held out his hand and shook Zach's.

“Welcome back, soldier.”

Zach grinned and Shanna allowed herself to exhale.

Married to the man she loved, carrying his child, and trying to figure out a way to exist in a world she no longer understood.

The world had gone crazy, but for her, life was perfect.

 

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Before the Fall
, don't miss out on Sable Grace's
Dark Breed
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A Dark Breed Novel

Available January 2012

 

 

Chapter One

St. Augustine, Florida

D
espite the chaos of war around her, she couldn't help but hum Queen's “We Are the Champions” in her head. Of course,
we
had become
I
as she'd twisted it to fit her mood for the night. She had an irresistible urge to flex her muscles, or strut, or . . . something equally tacky.

It had been a long night, but a successful one. Most of the Chosen were safely tucked Below. The one her minions, Farrel and Crag, now carried was the last of the living on her list. The rest would be found . . . and buried . . . at daybreak. But what had her feeling as smug as a pig in dog shit was not the number she'd managed to find and save, but the
who
.

Jordan Faye. One of the most crucial finds on the Ancients' list of Chosen.

Kyana slipped her daggers back into the sheaths at her back and boot and reached for the flare gun tucked in its holster on her hip. Behind her, Farrel and Crag grunted and whined about the burden they carried. Every Vamp within the Order of Ancients had minions to assist with the grunt work. Sadly, Farrel and Crag were hers. One look would shut them up, but she was in too much of a hurry to bother.

When they neared what had been the Castillo de San Marcos's pay station only a week ago, she fired the flare gun and waited for the fiery burst to explode overhead and dissolve into a flurry of white dust that would alert the sentinels manning the gate. Like tiny puffs of smoke, the name Kyana slowly formed in the night sky, and the newly working drawbridge lowered in recognition.

The Castillo was the oldest piece of stonework in North America. That it had held up against so many attacks over the years had made it the best choice for the Order to set up headquarters in the southeastern United States the moment the war between Hell and Earth had begun seven days ago. Sentinels walked the bastions, ready to fight to the death at any sign of trouble, and in the old storerooms beneath the sentinels' patrol, Mystics had opened a portal to Below where the Chosen were taken for safety.

The night Tartarus opened and unleashed masses of Dark Breeds onto Earth, the residents of St. Augustine and neighboring cities had flocked to the old fort. Most of the Order argued to save as many as possible, but Kyana saw the folly in such emotionally driven suicide. Sure, she didn't want the world wiped clean of innocents any more than the gods of Olympus did, but there was no way they could all be saved. Wiser to focus on the Chosen first, make sure
they
had a safe place to lay their heads. Then the Order could see to the everyday, average Joes and Janes.

Behind Kyana, wails and shrieks, both human and non, had become the city's soundtrack. There were Dark Breeds nearby. She could smell the scent of urine emitting off the demons, feel the blighted Vamps, and taste the sulfuric, restless souls that had been uprooted from their earthly graves to become what humans called Zombies and the Order referred to as Leeches. Kyana's body itched to return to the streets and hunt, but she couldn't. Not until she'd safely placed her catch inside the fort.

“Take her in,” she said, waiting impatiently for Farrel and Crag to adjust the weight of the woman they carried and shuffle up the walk toward the gate. Her gaze didn't waver from the unconscious body they toted. Other tracers had declared Jordan's trail cold days ago, but Kyana had been too stubborn to admit defeat. There was a reason she was the best at her job. She had something other tracers lacked—the ability to hold on to a scent for days without it losing its potency. Jordan hadn't been home in days, her trail
had
grown cold . . . for the others. But Kyana didn't rely on tracking perfumes and other unstable, common odors. She clung to a particular pheromone and could follow it to Hell and back, no problem. One tiny trace of leftover fear in Jordan's bed had led Kyana all around St. Augustine, and finally to the damned garbage bin behind St. George Street that had smelled so foul it had
nearly
tripped Kyana up.

Though there was no tangible reward for doing their duty, competition among the tracers to find those at the top of the lists was high. Only one other tracer had ever come close to besting Kyana. But not tonight. She couldn't wait to see Geoffrey's face when he learned she'd been the one to find and rescue Jordan Faye.

As though summoned by her smug anticipation, Geoff stepped into Kyana's path at the gate and cast a glance at the body in Farrel's and Crag's arms. “Another wee Mystic, I'm guessing?”

The spotlights bordering the walls of the fort cast him in an eerie glow. His small fangs glinted like freshly sharpened daggers and his dark blue eyes danced in the moonlight. At well over six feet, and broad enough to strain the threads of his black T-shirt, Geoffrey oozed danger. Her hormones kicked into overdrive. He reminded her of those exotic dancers at an all-male revue she'd stumbled across once while on the hunt—hot and ready to deliver on a girl's fantasies. As usual, Kyana was torn between strangling him and shoving him against the wall to see if he was just as thrilling naked as he was clothed. But sadly, Vamp-on-Vamp action was forbidden by the Order.

Geoff might be off-limits for her sexually, but taunting him was its own form of entertainment.

“Actually, it's Jordan Faye,” she said, keeping her gaze on him to watch his reaction.

His pale face strained with shock.

Kyana smiled, offered him a sarcastic salute, and followed her quarry down the stone steps and into a hollow room. Jordan's new quarters looked more like an ancient jail cell sans the bars, but the cauldron of glowing blue ointment glittering in the corner smelled bad enough to make any prison piss pot proud. Farrel and Crag clumsily placed Jordan's limp body atop a dusty blanket spread out on the floor. She was a pretty thing, with an elegant, long pale neck that brought a hollow ache to Kyana's belly. Eighty years since she'd fed on fresh blood, yet the desire was no less than it had ever been.

When Farrel and Crag left the room, Kyana addressed the Mystic kneeling at Jordan's side. “Looks like she's been shot. Tend that wound first.”

Too many of the Chosen they'd found had been shot by the very police they'd hoped would save them. Cops had been ordered to kill on sight, not taking the time to make certain those they targeted weren't human.

Kyana forced her gaze away from Jordan's throat and settled it upon something far more interesting. At first, Kyana thought it merely a shadow falling on the white breasts hidden beneath Jordan's lacy black bra, but as she stepped in for a closer look, her night's victory took on a whole new level of triumph.

“I'll be damned.” She knelt and pushed down the bra to get a better look. Because Jordan had been at the top of Kyana's list, Kyana had known the human was important. But now that she'd seen this specific mark, Kyana suspected Jordan was far more valuable than any of the other Chosen she'd brought back this week.

“Please don't disrespect my patient.” With a slight shove of her hip, the Mystic scooted Kyana away from Jordan.

Kyana growled. Rather than cower, the Mystic glowered right back. Slightly impressed by the lack of fear, Kyana readjusted Jordan's bra and stood. “Someone stays with her at all times, understood? I'll be back shortly.”

In long, determined strides, she made her way around the plaza courtyard to a larger room where war memorabilia from colonial times were stored for peppy little tourists to examine. Two sentinels stood on either side of yet another hole cut into the coquina walls, but rather than lead to another cell, this one was hollow. Should someone try to enter without permission, he would spend eternity spiraling through a black void.

“Let me through,” Kyana said, staring up at the towering men. They stubbornly blocked her passage.

“Hands, please,” the sentinel on the right said, holding out his own hairy fingers in her direction.

She grumbled and placed her right hand in his, offering her left to his partner. “I'm in the bloody fort. How could I be in the bloody fort if I'm not already cleared?”

“It's the law, Dark Breed.”

She gritted her teeth. Yes, technically, she was a Dark Breed. But her decades of loyalty to the Order should have earned her the respect not to be addressed so degradingly.

Kyana snatched her hands away from the sentinels and sneered. “Are you done? You smell like cow shit.”

The sentinel's cheeks grew as pink as his bald head. “It's a poultice for my stomach pains.”

“Whatever. Am I clear or not?”

The one on the left stepped aside. “Go. I hope you linger on the other side, Dark Breed. The lot of you should never have been brought into our circle.”

She jerked her head toward him and flicked her tongue over her fangs. She leaned toward him, flaring her nostrils as she breathed in the scent of him. “
You
don't smell like cow shit.
You
smell like dinner.”

He stumbled backward and clasped his hands over his thick neck. “It's forbidden by our laws!”

Kyana smiled and straightened. “Lucky for you I'm not in the mood to break the laws. Who knows how I'll feel when I return, hmm?”

She fanned her fingers in a silent farewell and stepped through the portal.

B
elow wasn't technically below anything. More like sideways or parallel to the other two realms—Above, where the humans resided, and Beyond, a.k.a. Olympus. But Below was where nonhuman creatures did their daily business. Though some, like Kyana, preferred to live Above, smack in the middle of the action, most lived here. This was where magical herbs were tended, where lesser gods and demigods resided, where the Order's Vamps hid from daylight. It served as a mirror to the Earth, so to speak, where the sun burned hot and bright, but was merely an illusion, just as were the sea, the moon, and the stars. In other words, Vamps could sunbathe Below without becoming a spectacular fireworks event.

The portals leading from Above to Below had become revolving doors for Order members since the breakout, but right now, in the predawn hours, the alcove and streets around it were blessedly quiet. Moonlight bounced off the white marble buildings, disorienting Kyana. She squinted and made her way past the small marketplace that, come morning, would be busy with the hustling herbalists peddling their wares to Mystics and Witches.

A little farther down the narrow street, a butcher shop was ablaze with lights, busy in its late-night workday for Vamps who came in for sustenance before sleeping the day away in their chosen shelters. As Kyana passed the building, she closed her eyes and breathed in the sweet aroma of fresh blood. Not nearly as rich and decadent as human blood, but still quite addictive.

She turned away from the intoxicating scent and pressed on.

Along the cobbled streets, tiny alcoves carved out of alabaster led to different locations within the human world Above, as well as a very potent, magically guarded portal alcove to Olympus where gods could come and go to do their duties. But the one Kyana sought, however, led directly to the River Styx.

She headed to the end of the street, enjoying the stillness of the city. Soon, other night dwellers would be wandering the curving roads, loud and bawdy as they boasted of their latest feats and accomplishments, but for now, the quiet was the first bit of peacefulness Kyana had experienced in a week. She entered the cave nestled between large marble boulders, her keen eyes having no trouble finding the path in the dark. Down. Down. Down. The carved steps spiraled like a snail's shell, and soon she was able to hear the faint whisper of water lapping at sand.

The darkness shifted, giving way to a faintly glowing gold light a short distance away. As her foot made contact with the soft sand, she breathed in the scent of death that always came with entering the River Styx, and made her way to Charon, the ferryman. Flipping two coins at the haggard old spirit, Kyana stepped onto the long, flat boat and braced her feet for balance.

She loathed the River Styx. She hated the smell of death and the low wails coming from Tartarus below that chilled even her icy Vampyric blood, reminding her of her fate should true death ever find her. While some of the spirits waiting for eternal placement roamed visibly along the banks of the river, some remained unseen, and those she hated most of all. It was as though they passed through her, each of them pleading quiet demands to her soul as she tapped her foot impatiently at the torturously slow ferry.

“Can't you make this thing go faster?”

Charon didn't acknowledge her request. He stood at the helm of his little ferry, not needing to do anything more than stare in the direction of their destination to make his vessel obey.

If threatening, intimidating, or shoving him off his damned ferry would get her there faster, she would have done it. But Charon didn't scare easily. In fact, she wasn't sure he felt anything . . . ever. He was just a cold, transparent, expressionless being that almost . . .
almost
. . . evoked her pity.

Having no other choice but to bear the slow journey, she focused on the distant cave and turned her thoughts toward Jordan Faye and the strange mark on her breast. There were thousands of Chosen, but only three were branded with that mark. Two others were still out there. Perhaps safely Below. Perhaps discarded like all the other meaningless humans littering the mortal roads. Only time would tell.

When the boat docked, she snarled at the ferryman before stepping onto the rocky beach. Dark water licked her boots, but no tide touched the path leading to the stone chamber in front of her.

Kyana heard the faint sobbing before she made out the shadowed silhouettes of the three women huddled at the end of the cave. Their forms hunched over a smoking cauldron, the scent of which stirred within her a fresh hunger. She'd never learned what, exactly, the contents of that cauldron were. The scent seemed to change depending on the person smelling it, becoming intoxicating, reminding them of something they desperately wanted but usually couldn't name.