Darkest Hour (New Adult Paranormal Romance) (7 page)

As they ate up the miles, the
terrain changed, so that they were running over flat lands, skirting open
villages, the mountains looming directly ahead. Soon they were at the base of
the foothills, dashing over rocky terrain, and the air became thinner and
colder as they trekked up the mountainside, which was lushly covered in its own
woods. Thomas wanted to slow, the combination of the long journey and the
thinning air sapping his stamina, but he knew from the tingling in his bones
that they had less than an hour until first light, and that for Elsbeth’s sake
they couldn’t afford to dawdle.

Just as Thomas was beginning to worry,
the forest suddenly parted, revealing a wooden cabin perched on a rocky
outcropping near a waterfall. It resembled nothing less than an oasis to the
sore-footed Thomas, who dashed straight for the front door.

Elsbeth managed to put herself
between Thomas and the house and shot him a warning glance. “Xander doesn’t
always take kindly to strangers knocking, especially not so close to dawn,” she
explained to him before turning and lifting her fist to knock.

The door swung open to reveal a
tall, powerfully built man wearing vermillion robes. His dark hair was slicked
back from his face, his mustache and long, thin beard perfectly trimmed, and
his eyes were a piercing blue as they locked on Thomas briefly, then Elsbeth.
“Xander also doesn’t appreciate people talking about him as though he couldn’t
hear every word.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re here!”
Elsbeth cried, throwing her arms around him. She then jumped back hastily,
realizing that she might be acting a touch too exuberant since she hadn’t seen
Xander in such a long time. “This is Thomas, my… friend. We are in grave danger
and are in need of assistance.”

Xander arched a black brow, his
laser eyes wandering over to Thomas, who resisted the urge to shift
uncomfortably. “He doesn’t look like much,” he remarked gruffly, “but my life
has been boring of late and I can always use a good tale, at the very least.”

He stepped back and waved one of
his arms, the wide sleeves swinging. “Come on in, quickly now, before the sun
gets up and we are all roasted to death.”

Amelia rose from her chair as
Khan was admitted to the room with his entourage, not necessarily as a show of
deference but because sitting when a potential threat entered the room put one
at a physical disadvantage. When one was dealing with werewolves, it was not a
wise decision to make yourself smaller than they if you were trying to
establish yourself as an equal, if not a superior.

Amelia wasn’t certain if the
latter was a wise option, but she did not intend to be less than the former.

“Good evening.” She crossed the
room and met Khan halfway, holding out her hand for him to kiss. He took it and
pressed his lips against the backs of her knuckles, and a shiver of longing
curled her toes even as she admired the contrast between her pale skin and his
bronzed face. She, too, had once possessed golden skin, and she remembered how
his hands, lips and tongue had felt gliding across it.

Suppressing a sigh, she withdrew
her hand, and he straightened, a ghost of a smile flirting with his sensual
lips. Werewolf senses were as keen, if not keener than a vampire’s, especially
their sense of smell; and he would have scented her desire. She straightened
and smoothed her features into a composed mask, determined not to let their
history direct the course of this meeting.

“Would you care for any
refreshment before we begin?” she asked, leading Khan and his fellow wolves to
the long, oval mahogany table she used to hold meetings.

Khan’s dark gold eyes gleamed
impatiently. “We did not come here for pleasantries, Amelia.”

She bristled slightly, unused to
anyone using her given name in such a familiar manner—but right now would
not be the time or place to argue, when there were more grievous matters at
stake. “Very well,” she agreed, pulling her chair out and folding her body
gracefully into it at the same time Khan did. The other werewolves and the
vampire council whom she’d called into attendance followed suit. “So, why have
you called this meeting on such short notice?”

“A half-breed killed several of
our own tonight.” Khan sent Amelia a pointed look from beneath his brows, and
several of his wolves growled quietly, their powerful bodies shifting in their
seats. "We understand that he is under your protection.”

“He was.” Amelia inclined her
head briefly, her heart sinking. She’d had a sneaking suspicion about this when
several of her vampires had found Malachi severely wounded, his body left not
far from the edge of the woods near her manor. “But I am told he left several
hours ago, with one of my former Seethe members.”

“You let him leave?” Khan’s voice
was whisper-soft, but his eyes had lightened to a dangerous yellow, which in
werewolves was a sign of anger. “You are many things, Amelia, but stupid is not
one of them. You would have had to know of, or at least suspect, his actions.”

“Do not presume to know my mind,
Khan,” Amelia said coldly, even though he was right. “None of this changes the
fact that he is gone now. What is it you want?”

“His head, of course, paltry
payment that it might be for the lives he stole tonight.”

“And if I refuse?”

Khan narrowed his eyes. “You know
that would mean war. Our treaty does not extend to half-breeds, especially not
ones who kill our kind. And yet you dared to keep him alive after discovering
what he was, even though by doing so you put our clan in danger! You know how
volatile half-breeds are!”

“You go too far in your
assumptions, Khan. Thomas has remarkable control over his thirst and his mind.
I did not see him as being a threat, and I am not certain I believe he attacked
unprovoked.”

“Whether he was provoked or not
is irrelevant! The issue still stands. Either you bring us his head, or the
treaty is absolved. I don’t make threats lightly, Amelia.” Khan’s voice dropped
an octave. “You of all people should know that best.”

The two leaders stared at each
other for a long while, their history flowing between them like a river of
memories, as their eyes remained locked. Amelia knew this was not a battle she
could win. Even if Thomas and Elsbeth were worth the risk of open warfare, she
could not bear to make an archenemy of her former lover. It did not matter that
they could not be together—she often convinced herself that the myriad
vampire lovers she took from her seethe were enough to forget what it was like
to be held in his arms. But she would not put herself in a position where she
would be forced to hurt him.

“As you wish.” She turned to the
two guards stationed by the closed double doors. “Bring Malachi in.”

Both guards bowed, and one of
them slipped out through the doors to relay the message. The silence that
followed was choking, but it wasn’t long before the doors opened again to admit
Malachi, who was flanked by two guards half-dragging, half-supporting him as
they brought him in.

Amelia eyed him distastefully as
he was brought before them. His long, blond hair was matted with blood and hung
around his face, which sported a black eye and split lip, and his clothes were
torn and dirty. He looked much like a drunken scrapper who’d just been tossed
from a drinking establishment. The half-breed had definitely been stronger than
he first appeared, if he had been able to fight off the Lyrian Clan as well as
reduce Malachi to such a sorry state.

“This is Malachi, a member of my
Seethe.” Amelia told Khan. “He is going to lead the hunt for Thomas and
Elsbeth.”

Malachi’s head snapped up, his
icy eyes wide, and he had to steady himself as the guards released their grip
on his arms. When they had come for him, he thought he was being taken before
the Mistress to decide his punishment. He should have expected trouble of a
different sort the moment he’d caught the werewolves’ scent, but he was having
trouble thinking clearly after such a sound thrashing from Thomas.

“You cannot,” he blurted before
he could stop himself.

Amelia raised a brow. “You dare
to tell me what I can and cannot do?”

Malachi snapped his mouth shut,
his cheeks coloring as he realized how foolish he was being. Vampires had been
put to death for showing disrespect to the Seethe Mistress in private, never
mind in front of a werewolf clan.

He bowed low, even as his muscles
screamed in response. “I only meant that I feel it would be a waste of
resources, Mistress. Thomas is not a threat to us, and Elsbeth is a member of
our Seethe who should not be harmed.” In truth he could care less about
Thomas—his strength was terrifying but Malachi was confident he could get
at him again, and would have normally jumped at the chance to do so. But if he
was to follow his Mistress’s orders, going after Thomas meant killing Elsbeth
as well. And Malachi still loved her, even if she’d chosen Thomas over him.

“Elsbeth is no longer a member of
this Seethe.” Amelia’s voice cut sharply into him. “She abandoned us the moment
she made her choice to leave with Thomas, and therefore, I renounce her. You
know as well as I that there is no way to go after Thomas without also going
through her.” A flicker of sadness touched her eyes, and Malachi knew that even
though Amelia was fond of Elsbeth, she would not be swayed.

The moment passed, and her eyes
hardened. “I am not stupid enough to think that Thomas didn’t get a ‘helpful’
push in the right direction, Malachi. Either you do this task, or die by my
hand. Either way you will have been punished for choosing to defy me not once,
but twice in this matter.”

A chill ran down Malachi’s spine,
and he bowed again, not so much out of deference but to escape his Mistress’s
thousand-yard stare. He was out of options, and unwilling to forfeit his life
for the sake of the half-breed that had stolen his woman.

“I am surprised at your
hesitancy, Malachi,” Amelia’s voice was soft. “You owe your life, your very
existence to me. You should be grateful that I have granted you the protection
of my Seethe for as long as I have.”

Malachi raised his eyes again,
and this time they were cool and composed as the met the gaze of his Mistress.

“I have not forgotten. And I will
go.”

“Good.” Amelia clapped her hands
and turned to face Khan. “He will set off with your pack directly after sunset
tomorrow.”

***

Thomas and Elsbeth sat in the
living room, steaming mugs of tea in their hands as they took turns regaling
their tale to Xander. They had all risen not too long ago, the sun having just
sunk beneath the hills. The two of them had been anxious to speak to Xander,
but the vampire had taken one look at their exhausted faced and ushered them
off to his spare bedroom, assuring them that it would be safe for them to wait
until tomorrow.

Despite the axe hanging over his
neck, Thomas had slept deeply, with no dreams. There was something about this
house, this place that exuded a sense of calm, spreading it over the mind like
a blanket. He was grateful for the reprieve, however undeserved it might have
been.

“It sounds like you are in a
great deal of trouble, young man.” Xander stroked his beard, his dark eyes
boring into Thomas’s soul.

Thomas grimaced, instinctively
bristling at the cool look in the older vampire’s eyes. “I did not wish for any
of this to happen. No one told me anything about half-breeds or werewolf
clans.”

“Even so, that does not change
your situation.” Xander set his empty cup down on the small table next his
rocking chair. “What is it you are going to do?”

Thomas set his own cup down and
folded his arms. “Whatever I have to in order to survive and keep Elsbeth safe.
If that means taking down the entire seethe, so be it.”

Xander chuckled and shook his
head. “You are but a whelp who does not understand the depth of his powers.
There is no hope for you at your current level of strength if you decide to
take on the seethe now.”

Thomas curled his fists,
resisting the urge to bare his fangs. Elsbeth laid a gentle, but restraining
hand on his forearm, and he forced himself to take a breath. “I defeated the
group of werewolves that tried to kill me,” he pointed out. “If I can do that,
I should be strong enough to hold my own against the seethe.”

“Thomas.” Elsbeth beseeched him
gently, and he turned to look at her. Her eyes were soft, her grip on his
forearm placating. “You faced but a handful of the Lyrian pack. If they had
been together in full force, you would not have stood a chance. And werewolves
are easier to kill than vampires. It would take many times the amount of wolves
you faced to even compare to Mistress Amelia’s strength.”

“What would you have me do,
then?” Thomas looked between Elsbeth and Xander, frustration etched into his
brow. “I cannot simply sit here and wait for them to find me.”

“Certainly not.” Xander rose.
“You will simply have to use this brief spell of time to hone your strengths
and harness your powers.”

“How?”

“Training.”

* * *

 ‘Training’ consisted of
being stuck in the middle of three of the most infuriating bastards Thomas had
ever met, and tossed back and forth like a ragdoll between the trio. Ranulf,
Gareth and Haden were their names, and they were lone vampires who shared the
mountain with Xander. Neither mercy nor respect seemed to exist in their
vocabulary, and they spent the next four days lording their supremacy over him,
both with barbed words and sharp fists.

But then, as Xander had reminded
him, the seethe would show him none, so it seemed only fair that his teachers
would not either.

“How long do you think before he
gives up today?” Ranulf, the one in the center, called to the others. His
reddish-brown hair grazed his broad, beefy shoulders as they shook with mirth.

“Just try not to step on him too
much,” Haden sneered, looking at Thomas down his hooked nose. “He’s small, so
you might miss him.”

Red hazing over his vision,
Thomas charged forward with a battle cry, fully intending to wipe the smirks
off their faces. He pulled his fist back, aiming for Ranulf’s face, but the
giant of a vampire swatted him like a fly, his meaty arm crashing into Thomas
so that he went spinning away before sprawling in the dirt.

This must be what a fly feels
like right before he’s swatted,
he thought dazedly, the side of his face and neck
throbbing.

“Worthless half-breed,” Ranulf
jeered as Thomas struggled to his feet.

“I am. Not. Worthless!”

Thomas lunged again, and though
his movements were slightly faster, he was still beaten down with little
effort. Still, he refused to give up, rising again and again, every time his
face was planted into the dirt. The laughs and jeers from the three vampires
soon faded, to be replaced with looks of annoyance and anger as they realized
their work had been more cut out for them than they knew.

“I don’t know why Xander insists
on having us waste our time like this,” Ranulf complained as Thomas went
sailing into the air. “You can only kick a beaten dog so many times before the
charm of the act wears off.”