Queen of Shadows (14 page)

When he stopped, his gaze swept over the crowd, and as one, they bowed to him. He gave them a nod in return, and they were free to sit back down.

Then he faced the three, his cold eyes fixed on each of them in turn. They were clearly terrified of him, but to their credit they didn’t try to avoid the steel of his gaze.

He moved slowly toward them, walking from the strawberry blonde, past the older man, to the last man chosen.

Miranda’s eyes didn’t even have time to register the movement. Without a word, David turned, reached under his coat, and with a flash of steel, spun around and sliced off the man’s head with a curved sword.

A gasp went up, and Miranda jumped back with a cry and almost lost her footing. Even over the noise she heard the sound of the head hitting the floor, followed by the body.

She dove back for the gap so she could see again, just in time for Faith to seize the man’s sleeve and jerk it back, revealing a tattoo that caused another roomwide gasp.

David never spoke. He simply let the others see, allowing the tattoo to speak for itself, and stood by while two Elite dragged the corpse away by its feet, leaving a smear of blood behind. Miranda didn’t see what happened to the head.

The Prime gestured, and the other recruit was nudged into the spot where the man had stood. Her face was pale, but she swallowed hard and took her place, standing up straight. When David’s attention returned to her, she held his gaze and bowed. He smiled at her, approving, and inclined his head toward Faith.

The Second was completely unfazed by the execution. “Kneel,” she commanded, and the three obeyed.

“Swear now, before these witnesses and before your Prime. Repeat, and take these words to heart: I do hereby pledge my blood and my life to the Signet.”

They repeated, and she went on. “I swear everlasting fealty to the Prime of this territory and to all his allies. I will uphold his law and lay down my life for his if the moment comes. This oath binds me until my last breath, either in battle on the side of the Signet, or by swift execution in the event of my disloyalty.”

All three gave the oath with full conviction.

Faith went to the Prime, who handed her a box from his coat containing three flat strips of metal. One by one Faith fastened a com around each new Elite’s wrist. The three of them were practically beaming by then.

Finally, David addressed them. “Welcome,” he said, his voice ringing off the rafters with absolute authority. “You may now take your place among your brothers and sisters in arms as full Elite.”

The applause was deafening. The three new Elite hugged each other and shook Faith’s hand, then bounded up into the bleachers to an empty spot, where they looked around in a daze, grinning from ear to ear.

David allowed the cheering to continue for a moment before stepping to the center of the room. The Elite came back to rapt attention once more.

“My warriors,” he said, “these times are dark and dangerous, and those of you new to my service have come to us in a moment of challenge. We face an enemy determined to destroy the hard-won peace of our world and return to an older, barbaric way of living for our kind. We have already lost friends to this threat, and I cannot promise we will not lose more; but I give you my word, as I stand here before you, that I will not rest until every last one of these cowards is put down. As you have sworn to fight for me, I will fight for you.”

With that, he bowed to them. Another roar of applause went up, this one thunderous, and the entire Elite stood, cheering for their leader, who drank in their allegiance from the epicenter, smiling slightly, before saying, “Dismissed.”

A herd of footsteps descended the bleachers over Miranda’s head, the sound deafening when coupled with the chatter among the departing Elite. She couldn’t see the Prime anymore thanks to everyone filing out of the room, but she caught glimpses of Faith speaking with the three new recruits, assigning them somewhere with another Elite as their superior.

Everyone was carefully walking around the pool of blood where the executed man’s body had fallen.

There was a beeping noise, and Miranda shrank back into the shadows as the door behind the bleachers opened just wide enough to admit a single figure.

“I thought I felt you over here,” David said, a smile in his voice. She could barely see him in the darkness.

“Are you upset that I’m here?”

“No. I suspected Faith would bring you. What did you think?”

Miranda looked back through the gap again as the last thirty or so made their way toward the exits. Faith and the new recruits had gone, and a pair of uniformed servants was mopping up the blood. They didn’t look disgusted or even unhappy at their task. It was entirely possible it was a routine thing for them.

“That was amazing,” she said. “I mean, you see them walking around the halls with swords and you know they’re good, but . . . Faith especially. She’s fantastic. And the others . . . they really love you. It’s not just a job for them.” She looked back over her shoulder at him. “What about that man, the one you killed?”

“Last night we took a suspect into custody who’s working for the insurgents. She told me, after gentle persuasion, that they had another agent trying to work his way into the Elite to take Helen’s place as their primary informant. I looked back over the training logs and decided on the most likely candidate. The suspect in custody confirmed my suspicions. I wanted to make it crystal clear how traitors will be dealt with.”

“Is the suspect dead?”

“No. We’re still holding her. I promised her an easy death if her information turned out to be accurate.”

She crossed her arms and leaned against the side wall of the bleachers. “Does it ever bother you, killing people?”

He sounded the tiniest bit hurt that she had asked. “Of course it does, Miranda. I’m not made of stone.”

She didn’t say she doubted that, but she thought it extra loud.

He came to stand beside her, looking out the gap himself at the now-empty training room. “When Auren was Prime, humans all over the South died every night to satisfy the bloodlust of his Court. It was kept out of the media because they feared Auren’s wrath, but eventually our world would have been exposed and the entire territory would have been swarmed with vampire hunters. These people want the no-kill laws lifted so they can take lives again—hundreds of innocent lives. If I have to break the bones of every last insurgent to prevent that, I will, and though I may hate doing it, I won’t waste one second on regret.”

His eyes were hard, glittering in the dim light like shards of obsidian, and he added harshly, “I don’t expect you to understand what I face every night. I am responsible for every vampire under my influence and every human they feed on. That means making difficult choices. Judge all you like—you would do the same in my place.”

“What do you want me to say?” she demanded. “You’re right, I don’t understand. I’m never going to understand. I’m just a human, remember?”

He glared at her wordlessly for a moment before saying quietly, “You’ll never be just anything, Miranda Grey.”

Behind him the door opened again and Faith said with studied nonchalance, “Everything all right in here, Sire? I was going to take Miranda back to the suite before I went to the patrol leaders’ conference call.”

Eyes still fixed on Miranda, David said to Faith, “That’s fine. I’ll meet you in the conference room.”

With that, he turned away from Miranda and walked past the Second out into the night.

Faith watched him go, then gave Miranda an impressed look. “Nice work,” she said. “Not many people can get under his skin like that.”

Miranda tried, and failed, to come up with a clever rejoinder. All she could summon was a sigh. “Let’s go. I’m hungry.”

“You two are so cute,” Faith remarked as they walked.

“That’s not exactly the word I’d use.”

Faith walked with her hands clasped behind her back, ostensibly looking up at the cloudy night sky. More rain was on the way. “You know,” she said, “When I met the Prime, he was a lieutenant in Arrabicci’s Elite, and a very different person. He was arrogant, even cruel at times. War was a game to him, and consequences were for humans.”

Miranda frowned. “What changed?”

“I don’t really know. He’s never been one to share the details of his past—for the most part vampires don’t talk about that kind of thing. We all have a tacit understanding that everyone has a painful history.” She held open the Haven door for Miranda. “All I know for sure is that the Signet changed him. I don’t think any of them realize what a burden that thing is until they have it around their necks. They take the power, the responsibility, and the fame, and there’s no way out but death.”

Faith gave her a sidelong look and concluded, “If you ask me, he needs a Queen.”

Miranda groaned. “Not you, too! I thought you said all of that was just rumor.”

“It is. But it’s still a nice idea. It’s almost a fairy tale, or some sort of archetypal myth. You’re Persephone, wrenched away from spring and taken to live in the underworld, where you eat the pomegranate seeds and become the Queen.”

Miranda rounded on her. “You’ve got to be joking. Has everyone around here conveniently forgotten what happened to me a couple of weeks ago? Do you really think now’s a good time for matchmaking? And what, I’m supposed to give up being human for a
man
? When I don’t think I’ll ever want one to touch me again? There’s so much that’s insane about that I don’t even know where to start, forgetting about the fact that nobody in their right mind would ever, ever want to live like you. God, Faith, please just
let it be
.”

Faith looked neither taken aback by her outburst or the least bit sheepish. She shrugged. “I didn’t say you should go jump his bones right this second, or in a month or a year. I’m just saying . . .” She nodded to the suite door guards and, again, held the door as for Miranda as she said, “Don’t deny yourself the possibility of happiness one day because you’re broken right now. At least consider the pomegranate seeds. Who knows? Besides . . . I hear Hades is spectacular in bed.”

Faith was laughing as Miranda slammed the door on her.

Eight

The insurgent had apparently never seen a Prime before.

He struggled in the grasp of the two Elite who held him on his knees on the wet concrete, his eyes huge and white, whimpering under the gaze of the black-clad man who stood watching him impassively and waiting for him to shut up.

David was running out of patience. The spy in the recruits had been dealt with and the informant executed, but so far none of the captives had provided any useful information leading to the rest of the syndicate. The attacks had died down, turning back on humans again, but their viciousness was increasing. The last victim had been flayed, her skin stretched like a cow’s at the tanner and branded with the Seal of Auren. David could only hope that she had been dead when her flesh was peeled from her bones.

The next step was to take the interrogation to the streets of Austin, and so he had come to the Shadow District where the vampire-only bars and businesses were, to go through all of this again, this time out in public where the others could watch from their hidden corners and carry the news to their friends.

“Are you finished?” he asked.

The insurgent was gaping at him and his mouth was working soundlessly, making him look rather like a fish on dry land.

“Let’s make this quick,” David went on. “I have better things to do than stand out here in this godforsaken weather and torture you. Now, tell me who you’re working for and where I can find them.”

No answer. He hadn’t really expected one. He was starting to think that the reason none of the captives had told him anything was that they honestly didn’t know. He was sure Helen had been higher on the totem pole, but the rest . . . all their tattoos had been fairly new. They couldn’t have ranked too highly in the organization yet. They were expendable, and so they knew little of the real plan or the leadership. Chances were this fool had no idea whose service he was in.

He decided to take a different approach and motioned for the guards to loosen their hold on the vampire. The insurgent all but tumbled to the ground with a grunt, catching himself with his hands.

David crouched in front of him, leaning in to catch his eye. “Let’s just talk, then. What’s your name, lad?”

Confused by the sudden change of tone, the kid—and kid he was, he couldn’t have been over ten years immortal—muttered, “Rollins.”

“How long have you been a vampire, Rollins?”

The kid didn’t meet his eyes, but said, “Three years.”

“So I take it you’ve never seen me before.”

“No,
Sire
.” There was both fear and contempt in the last word.

“What did your new friends tell you about me?” David asked.

Rollins looked from left to right at the guards who were still blocking his escape and judged the odds were not in his favor. “They said you were the enemy. That you want to tell us all when to feed and what we can feed on. That pretty soon we’ll all be living in camps out at the Haven standing in line for blood.”

“I see. Do you know who’s behind all of this, Rollins? Where those stories came from?”

“We’re fighting for our freedom. The Shadow World is rising up against tyranny. You think I’m going to tell you anything? This is worth more than my life.”

David nodded. “Righteousness is satisfying, isn’t it? Sometimes having a cause to believe in is what makes this all worthwhile. But then you have to wonder: When it comes right down to it, are you really willing to lay down your life for a creed, especially one given to people you’ve never seen?”

Rollins looked up at him, baffled.

“Let me give you what you want, then, Rollins. Release him.”

The guards clearly thought their Prime had lost his mind but did as they were told, stepping back from the kid to let him stand.

David straightened. “Here’s your chance,” the Prime told Rollins, holding out his hands. “Be a hero. Kill me, if you can. Everyone else, stand back.”

The boy’s eyes narrowed, understandably. “This is a trick.”

“No trick.” David pulled back his coat and drew his sword, handing it hilt first to the nearest Elite. She held it like it was Excalibur. “Hand-to-hand combat to the death. Show me how strongly you believe. Kill me and take the Signet back to your masters. I’m sure the rewards will be great.”

Rollins stood staring at him, thunderstruck, trying to gather his wits and his courage; he had to know how ridiculous the idea was, but at the same time, if he really did buy into what these “freedom fighters” were selling, he couldn’t pass up the chance. There had to be some kind of standing order to slay the Prime on sight.

The minute stretched out interminably as Rollins panted, his eyes wide, his hands fisting at his sides. David simply waited, letting his power-aura expand to show the boy exactly what he was facing: the full complement of darkness and death that bent only to the Prime’s will. The Elite watched on full alert. They were ready to pounce on the boy the second he twitched if it looked like he might actually harm their leader, although it would hardly be necessary. Even if he did try to attack, it would take a much greater vampire than Rollins to defeat a Prime in anything like a fair fight.

Finally, Rollins lowered his eyes. Fear choked him and he shook his head dumbly.

David smiled, this time without any trace of compassion. Rollins went even paler at the nastiness of the expression. “Kneel to your Prime, boy,” he snapped.

Instantly Rollins dropped to his knees.

“Now tell me what you know.”

Rollins took a shaking breath and stammered, “They . . . they don’t tell us much. Just what the next mission is. There’s a woman in charge of my group. I don’t know her name but I heard one of the others call her Black . . . Black something. We meet in a warehouse on East Nineteenth. It used to be some kind of downtown hippie commune or something. There’s paint everywhere and it stinks like pot. Please don’t kill me . . . please. I told you what I know. Please.”

“Thank you, Rollins. That will do.” David turned to the Elite, who gave him back his sword; the guard gave him a questioning look, and he nodded silently back, then turned and walked away, sliding the curved blade back into its sheath inside his coat.

Behind him, he heard a faint scuffle and a whimper, then the swing of steel and the thump of something heavy hitting the street.

“Star-three,” he said into his com.

“Sire?”

“Faith, I need a search run on any female Blackthorn of rank within the syndicate, whether they’re presumed dead or not. Cross-reference with the list of Auren’s known supporters and see if there are any commonalities. Also have a unit run recon on the old Austin Art Collective warehouse on Nineteenth. The insurgents may be using it as a meeting point for their lower-level enforcers. Have a scan run for heat signatures while you’re at it to see if anyone’s living there.”

“As you will it, Sire. I’ll send the scan results in fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you. Star-one, out.”

He walked up the street to one of the less seedy bars in the Shadow District, and as he passed he heard movement in the alleyways, footsteps retreating as he neared.

Yes, let them run. Let them creep back under their rocks. He was going to have a drink.

The bartender at Anodyne knew him, of course, but unlike a great many others he didn’t so much as bat an eye-lash at the Prime’s arrival. There were a few places where David never deigned to set foot, but this one was frequented not only by him, but by most of the off-duty Elite.

The businesspeople who understood the bigger picture knew that running a vampire bar in a Signet-controlled city was a wise idea; if they were on the Prime’s good side they never had to worry about violence or intimidation from gangs battling for the district. Their patrons could drink in peace. That was one reason why Haven cities tended to have much greater concentrations of vampires, and the Signets focused most of their resources on those; he had to worry about vampire crime a lot more in Austin than, say, Little Rock. The only other city in his territory he was often compelled to visit more than once a year in person was New Orleans. Vampires plus voodoo tended to be a treacherous combination.

Inside, the bar catered to three of their kind’s favorite things: darkness, privacy, and beverages. Most of the room was cordoned off into booths, only a few of which were populated on a night like tonight.

The bar itself was empty except for a single man who saw the Prime approach and immediately decided to take his drink to a booth.

David took one of the stools while the bartender came over. “Evening, Sire,” he said, his accent a familiar comforting combination of Hispanic and Texan. “What can I get you?”

“Good evening, Miguel. I’ll have a Black Mary.”

“Top shelf?”

“Stoli, please.”

Miguel measured vodka into a shaker, then retrieved an opaque bottle from the fridge marked O NEGATIVE and filled the glass the rest of the way. He glanced over at David and asked, “You want Tabasco or Cholula?”

“Cholula.”

He slid the drink over to David, who took an experimental sip and said, “Perfect.”

He smiled to himself, thinking how Miranda would react if she saw—or better yet, smelled—what was in his glass. He could picture the face she would make.

His smile faded. That very reaction was the proof of how impossible it all was. He could think about her all he wanted . . . and he had been unable to stop for the past few days . . . but in the end, she was human. Even if by some miracle she was ever interested in sex again, and even if that interest were to turn to him, the fact was, it was doomed before beginning. She would grow old and die. He wouldn’t. He was a predator. She wasn’t.

He could tell himself that all he wanted, but it apparently made no difference to his body. He had caught himself staring at her, his eyes following the sweet line of her neck and shoulder, remembering the sight of her fingers on the guitar and wondering what it would feel like to have those fingers ghost over his skin. Every time she spoke, the curve of her soft lower lip occupied his thoughts for hours.

He had to fight with himself every night not to seek out her company, and he tried to be content with the time before and after their training sessions when they sometimes just talked for a while. He hadn’t known anyone since Lizzie who could make him laugh so easily. Miranda was far smarter than she gave herself credit for; there were times when she offered an insight into something weighing on his mind that made everything crystal clear. She made him laugh, she made him think, and she made him want desperately to tear the clothes from her body and taste the sweet flesh of her thighs . . . and her mouth . . . and the copper-cinnamon of her blood.

It was slowly driving him mad.

“Rough night, Sire?”

Thankful for the distraction, he looked up at Miguel. “You could say that.”

“I hear there’s a war coming. Bad for business.”

“That depends on who wins,” David replied wryly. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything about these bastards.”

Miguel shrugged. “Their kind don’t come in here. They don’t mess with me, I don’t mess with them. They know your people are my best customers.”

“I figured as much.”

He had to get back soon. Miranda was expecting him for another session. After almost another week she still wasn’t progressing nearly well enough for his peace of mind, although she had finally stopped having a panic attack every time she tried to shield. He wondered if perhaps, subconsciously, he was trying to sabotage her efforts by setting the bar too high, trying to keep her with him longer; but surely his subconscious wasn’t that stupid? The longer she stayed at the Haven, the more danger she was in. Before long the enemy would know all about her, and she would prove another vulnerability. Networks could be upgraded, but Miranda’s life was a risk he wasn’t willing to take.

“Another?”

“No, thank you, Miguel.”

The bartender raised an eyebrow and said casually, taking his empty glass, “Why do I get the feeling like you’ve got something on your mind more important than war?”

“What’s more important than war?”

Miguel laughed. “Everything you’re fighting for, Sire. But most of all: women.”

“Women.”

“Damn right. You got woman trouble?”

“Women are always trouble.”

“I’ll give you that. But if you’ve got a woman, what are you doing here?”

“I don’t have a woman,” David told the bartender, tossing a folded twenty on the bar and standing up, “but I’m afraid she has me.”

“Shit! Lost it.”

Miranda fell back against the cushions, gasping for breath, sweat pouring into her eyes. She reached for the bottle of water beside her chair and resisted the urge to pour it over her head instead of drinking it.

“That was better,” David said. “Now tell me why it didn’t work.”

“The back. I put too much into the front and it got unbalanced. Again. Fuck.”

She cursed a lot more when they were in the training room. She didn’t especially care if she offended David’s delicate sensibilities. He had yet to complain.

Despite her failure that first night—and her continued failure—David hadn’t let up on her. In fact he seemed more determined than ever that she master her powers, and though his methods weren’t nearly as relentless as they had been at first, he still drove her every night, sometimes for an hour and sometimes two, until she was so exhausted she wanted to cry, and often did.

But she was getting better. She could get her energy into the shield, though keeping it up was proving the bigger challenge. Shielding demanded 360-degree awareness, and she had no idea how she was supposed to manage that and do anything else at the same time. David had promised her that once she got the trick of it, it would become second nature. She tried hard to believe him.

After another forty minutes of brain-frying effort, he called a halt, and she sagged in her chair with her water bottle in her lap and her hair falling out of its ponytail.

“Drink,” he reminded her. “Remember the headache you got last time.”

She shuddered inwardly. A psychic overexertion migraine plus dehydration had added up to a truly miserable morning that two Vicodin had barely eased. Thankfully the rest of her body was mostly healed except for the cut on her hand, which still bothered her after she’d been playing guitar for too long. She hoped it would heal by the time she left here; if she decided to go back to performing, she’d have to be able to handle more than a couple of songs.