Chosen (31 page)

I sit up a little straighter.
It is a dangerous thing to mount an attack against a Revenger. It risks unleashing consequences far more disastrous to the community at large than what might be gained by punishing one responsible for the death of a loved one.

I’m as much impressed by her vehement defense of the forest as I am by her passion for her lost love. I wonder if I will ever form that kind of attachment.

But I can’t base my decision on her declaration of love. Love is too often deceptive and illusory.

Brianna looks confused by the question.
What does he do?

Does that matter?
Her voice takes on a hard edge.
He killed one of us. Aiden cries out for retribution. I demand it.

Brianna’s façade of bereaved lover slips a little as her anger surfaces. It allows me a moment to penetrate her mental barrier, see the truth that flares and is suppressed in the time it takes for our hearts to beat once, twice.

I block out everyone else and send her a message.
It was not the werewolf who betrayed Aiden. I saw the truth in your heart. It was you. I don’t know why. I don’t know why you came before us today with this story. I can only imagine you have some grievance against the wolf. Or you wish to make him a scapegoat. Withdraw your petition, and I will let your deception go unpunished. Pursue it, and I will make sure the others know that you are responsible for the death of an ancient.

Brianna’s eyes lock with mine. She wants to argue, test me. She glances away, toward Chael, perhaps sharing with him what I said to her. It doesn’t matter. For the moment at least, I am the one in control.

At last her shoulders relax, her expression softens. Her communication is open to all.

She steps back and returns to her seat.

I release a breath and sit back a little in mine.

Too easy. Was this some kind of test of my psychic powers? A demonstration to warn the next petitioner to guard his thoughts more closely? Did I make a mistake in keeping Brianna’s deception private? Was the concession interpreted as weakness rather than compassion?

Fuck.

There is so much I don’t understand.

Chael’s eyes watch, his lips pressed in a grim smile. He is savoring my confusion, and I know the farce with Brianna was orchestrated. He sees me as gullible and weak.

And he is next.

C
HAEL WASTES NO TIME GETTING TO HIS FEET. He has no written petition. He faces me squarely, feet apart, hands at his side. His face is composed. He must have been in his early twenties when he was turned, his Middle Eastern ancestry evident in his dusky complexion and angular features. He is powerful, of that I have no doubt, but I remind myself that he is also a coward. He refused to face me when I challenged him.

He searches my face, trying to find vulnerability. I wave a hand at him to begin.

He pauses, as if waiting for me to argue. I have no intention of debating him.
Do you have a point you wish to make?

A spark of temper blazes hot and fierce before he smothers it. He smoothes the anger from his face and continues.
My point is that we are the most powerful creatures on earth. We are stronger than any mortal. We will be here long after man has destroyed himself. But if mankind is allowed to rule and ultimately destroys itself, our food source is gone and we perish as well. We should be guardians, protectors of the earth from those like Brianna’s wolf and from those mortals who threaten the future because they cannot see past the puny span of their lives.

He gestures to the circle.
We represent every corner of the globe. Thousands of vampires exist in our communities. We have already assumed positions of power in many places. We can form alliances to increase our control. We can become what we are destined to be—rulers over all.

Excitement shines from his face and eyes. His body trembles with the zeal of a religious fanatic at an old-time revival. He is serious.

I glance at the others. Some are caught up in Chael’s passion. They flash teeth and fist.

Others are hesitant, watching me, waiting to see my reaction before revealing their own.

I shake my head, slowly, deliberately.

I pause a moment, thinking of Frey.
I have a good friend who is a Keeper of the accumulated knowledge of otherworldly creatures. There have been attempts made to eradicate us many times in history. I do not want to see a new crusade launched against us.

Chael listens, his body tense, his expression black.
What has happened before has no relevance now. We would strike first at the Revengers and any others organized against us. We would wipe out the opposition, ruthlessly, make them examples for the rest. I tell you, mankind will fall easily because most are weak and cowardly. We will turn those who are strong and add them to our ranks. When it is done, humans will live in compounds to service our needs—both as food and as servants. They will be treated humanely. More humanely than they treat each other, and the earth we all inhabit will thrive as it did in the garden.

Wow. He does know how to make a point. My immediate response comes from the human, the practical Anna. Chael failed in his attempt to orchestrate an attack on me, whom he finds so easy to belittle. How does he think he can wage war against humans, who outnumber us by billions, in the open, with all the technology of war at their disposal?

The idea of my family being relegated to a gulag is loathsome. When I look at the faces gathered round me, I realize I am the only vampire with relatives still living. The only one with strong ties to the human community.

For the first time, a glimmer of understanding.

Maybe that’s why I’m the one sitting in this chair.

I gather my thoughts, knowing now how to answer him.

Chael bares his teeth and shakes a fist at me.
You think me arrogant. I say, it is you who are arrogant. A new vampire who has barely seen thirty mortal years. You have no knowledge of what has come before. You are not worthy to tell those of us gathered here what is in our best interest. We could strike you down and be done with it.

A gasp goes up from those gathered around us. Even those who grudgingly acknowledged my position after the challenge shrink back into their seats as if distancing themselves from Chael. He sees it. The tradition of the Chosen One is sacrosanct, and he has crossed a dangerous line.

Turnbull rises.
You are out of order, Chael.

I wave Turnbull back to his seat.
I will answer Chael. He is right that I do not have centuries of experience to draw upon. But listening to you makes me understand why I may have been chosen to sit in this chair. I have not forgotten the urgency of a limited, mortal life. I still sense among mortals the basic urge to seek wisdom and do good. I look around and see what man has achieved. They have built the cities we vampires merely inhabit. They have created engineering marvels, split the atom and explored the heavens. And still you give them no credit.

There is a moment when the stillness in the room becomes tangible. One can taste it on the back of the throat like the pungent smoke of a cheap cigar.

All eyes are on Chael. He is a storm cloud threatening to unleash his fury with a roar of thunder.

His eyes are on me. He locks on, boring into my head, trying to penetrate my defenses. A mind game to save face. He wants to inflict pain, make me suffer, force me to acknowledge that while I may be the Chosen One, he is the stronger.

I have faced his kind before. Learned to resist attacks on my mind as I have attacks on my body. Avery, Williams and Underwood. The witch Belinda Burke. I learned painfully from the best.

I stand up so our eyes are level. I hurl his own power back at him. He is surprised, first, then determined. He has had centuries to perfect the technique, he reaches deep into himself, gathering strength, preparing for the final assault.

He means to bring me to my knees because he knows he has no argument to match my own.

But his attempt is broken, not by me, by Turnbull.

He steps between us, turns a snarling face on Chael.

Chael drops his eyes.
What I want I cannot have. I will accept the decision. But I invoke another right. The right to reconvene the council. Later. When all have had a chance to reconsider.

He looks at me when he says the last words. I read the true meaning in his eyes. Chael will reconvene the council when I am no longer a part of it. When he has killed me.

Or tried.

W
ONDER FUL. I HAVE MADE YET ANOTHER ENEMY.

Chael returns to his place in the circle. Turnbull waits for the tension to dissipate. It does, to be replaced by disappointment. Disappointment that Chael and I will not do battle. Disappointment that there will be no more blood-shed, at least not here and not now.

But there is something else, as well. The eyes on me have a new respect. Not that I don’t doubt battle lines may still be drawn, alliances forged. There is discreet acknowledgment passing one to the other that the subject is not closed just as there is acknowledgment that I am a force to be reckoned with.

Turnbull allows a moment to pass, then asks, “Are there any other petitioners?”

A murmur of negative replies, a shaking of heads.

“Then I declare this convocation closed.” He moves deliberately to the library door and holds it open.

The tribal heads file out. All approach and offer their hands to me. They bow, a symbol of respect, bound by a centuries-old tradition they are not ready to challenge. Had Chael been triumphant, I have no doubt it would have been to him they’d be offering their allegiance.

At last, Turnbull and I find ourselves alone once more in the library.

“Was that as much of a disaster as I think?” I ask.

“You didn’t win them all over. But you won their respect. You presented a thoughtful and intelligent argument. Very un-Anna-like.”

He sounds surprised. I feel myself smiling.

“Thoughtful and intelligent? Not words I hear very often ascribed to me. Hotheaded and arbitrary. Now that’s more the norm.”