Reaper's Dark Kiss (27 page)

There was no answer.

She closed her eyes. Somewhere, a clock was ticking.

Chapter Forty-Three

In thirty-seven minutes, Marek would execute the contract, Kraeyl would witness the signature, and SkyLynne would belong to Vandar. And the draining would stop, for a time. Never mind that Marek had an uncanny habit of molding victory from defeat. Never mind that Marek’s face revealed nothing but calm confidence in the flicker of too few candles. Never mind that Vandar was tormented with the certainty that the red gold in SkyLynne’s veins was a phantom, one that would elude his grasp.

The chairs before Marek’s desk were placed so that the two parties facing him couldn’t quite see each other. A glance to his right told Vandar that Maggie was sitting perfectly still. Resentment for Marek radiated off her. Kraeyl, standing with his back to the door, his hands at his sides, had his eyes on the antique clock above Marek’s head. Had the clock been a live thing, Kraeyl’s murderous glare would have hurried the hands along.

From the other side of his desk, Marek faced them with smooth calm.

The audience chamber felt painfully small to Vandar, which was part of how Marek worked. Like Oracle, he left no weakness untouched. He knew Vandar hated cramped spaces. A too-low ceiling, too few candles in stone niches, too-close walls, all of it was already grating on Vandar, eating away at his ragged nerves.

Beyond the door stood the three sentinels who had met Vandar and his party and escorted them to Marek.

On Marek’s desk lay what Vandar had come for. He didn’t want to look at it, didn’t want Marek to see desperation in his eyes. The contract, stacked neatly with the signature page on top, was within arm’s length. A fountain pen and inkwell stood by, ready to be called into service.

After Marek’s men had herded them into his audience chamber, the brothers had exchanged what passed for pleasantries. This consisted of them asking after one another’s health while tacitly agreeing not to kill one another quite yet. Now, Marek spoke to Maggie. “Have you been a guest of Night Crypt? You would be most welcome.”

Before tonight, Maggie had heard of Marek but never seen him. From his uncompromising eyes to his body, packed tight with muscle, the young vampire had taken him in with a single dismissive look.

“It’s my first time,” she said, breaking her sulky silence.

“Maggie,” Vandar said, letting a warning edge creep into his voice. “You will behave with respect.”

Grudgingly Maggie said, “It’s my first time, sir.”

“Perhaps another day, under better circumstances, you would give me the honor of showing you the gardens,” Marek said.

The gardens of Night Crypt were a wonder talked about among the young. It was a place where they could walk in sunlight. But none of his younglings had ever seen them. Among younglings, it was known that Vandar would be displeased with any careless enough to be caught outside so near dawn they were forced to shelter in Night Crypt. It was officially neutral ground, but it was friendly to Creed.

At Marek’s invitation to see the gardens, Maggie grew more resentful. “You’re not the only ones who have sunlight that doesn’t burn us up. Lord Vandar has it in his rooms.” She slid a glance at Vandar. “Sir.”

Even though Vandar had the loyalty of many, he was foolishly pleased at Maggie’s show of loyalty and bravery, daring to speak to Marek as she had.

“You must allow into your heart that which you deem impossible.”

The words of a dreamer.

Maggie’s behavior couldn’t be tolerated. It gave the impression Vandar wasn’t in control of those who followed him. “Another show of disrespect, Margaret, and I will be forced to discipline you.” His usual punishment for a minor infraction was depriving the young of blood. As little as two nights without feeding meant agony. “Am I understood, young one?” Even though he hadn’t meant to, Vandar’s voice softened with the last two words.

“Forgive me, Lord Marek.” Maggie bobbed her head in cursory insincere apology. “If I offended, I’m sorry.”

The antique clock chimed out the half hour.

Thirty minutes.

Vandar stood. Kraeyl came a step closer. Maggie rose. Marek stayed where he was, which irritated Vandar.

“It’s time you requested our brother’s presence and prepare to give me what I’ve come for,” Vandar said.

“Of course.” Marek pulled a slim phone from his pocket, tapped the screen, and waited. “Julian,” he said, “Vandar has arrived in my audience chamber. He asks that I summon you and SkyLynne.”

I’ll summon him to hell.

To Vandar’s ears, the voice on the phone was that of a reaper ready to claw out his enemy’s entrails and litter them over his body.

Marek ended the call and laid the phone on his desk. “It seems he’s delayed. He’ll be with us shortly.” He looked into Vandar’s eyes, gambling, daring him.

To call Marek a liar would mean a blood fight between them. It would be Marek’s right to defend a blow against his honor as a Creed warrior. Such a fight took long nights of negotiation. The proper ground had to be chosen. Both sides had to agree to a time. Weapons had to be chosen. Endless details could be argued over. But most important to Vandar, once a blood fight was called for, no contract could be signed until a victor had been declared.

Vandar sat down stiffly. After a confused moment, Maggie took her seat again.

“In twenty-four-and-one-half minutes, precisely at noon,” Kraeyl said, as though pronouncing a new law into being, “you will execute the contract, Marek. I will witness it. And you will call on your sentinels to bring Lord Vandar his slave.”

Marek bowed his head and said, “Of course,” as if the very thought of doing anything else would be the height of ungraciously bad manners.

The minute hand on the ancient clock ticked through three hundred and nineteen seconds in utter silence until Maggie said, “Seeing the gardens would be nice.”

Vandar’s fangs came down so quickly and unexpectedly, they cut into his gums. He knew what Marek had done, but he couldn’t say it without inviting a blood fight. He’d been foolish to bring Maggie. Marek, a Remnant, could easily Influence her will, especially for something she wanted as badly as an invitation to the gardens.

“My lord,” Kraeyl said, nearly ready to spit from the sound of him, “you have the right to challenge. The youngling has clearly been unfairly Influenced.”

“Prove it,” Vandar said, not turning to his counselor, “or be still.” To Maggie, he said, “If you go to the gardens with Marek—”

“It would be dishonorable to threaten one so young,” Marek said. “Were I to witness such a thing, I would be honor bound to call on the council to review your actions with a revenant so newly turned. In that time,” he added after a meaningful pause, “the signing of the contract would be delayed while my claim was investigated.”

Scrutiny from the council was the last thing Vandar wanted. What he did with the young was questionable enough. If Marek wanted them in the gardens, it could only be a ploy to delay the contract, but Vandar saw no way out of it.

His beast, so rarely heard, rose in a clamor.

He will sign, or I will make war on him and those he loves.

“I wouldn’t threaten one so young and so helpless before my powers,” Vandar said. A beat of silence passed while Marek pretended to believe him.

He will sign, or he and all who follow him will come to know mayhem and horror!

Feeling as though he were talking over a roaring crowd, Vandar said, “I was only going to remind Maggie of her duty to me. And let her know that she is free to go to the gardens with you. But if she does, she will not be returning to my bed.”

“The sunlight in the gardens,” Maggie said in a dreamy voice. “They say it’s outside like the noon circle, but it doesn’t burn. It’s been years since I was out in sunlight.” She gave a wistful sigh.

Even though he knew Maggie wasn’t betraying him on purpose, Vandar wanted to choke the life out of her. His fingers twitched with the urge to wring her neck. His beast rose in her defense with a single word.

Belayth.

Just so. This was Marek’s doing. Maggie’s high emotion—her
love
, gods help him—had made her vulnerable to Marek and his filthy, unseemly tactics.

“Yes. The sunlight is very beautiful in the gardens.” Marek was already on his feet, offering Maggie a hand. “Come. It won’t take long. Then we shall return here and do as your lord requires of me.”

The clock chimed out the quarter hour.

“Marek, you will do no such—” Kraeyl began.

But Vandar cut him off. What could the reaper do with the mortal female in the fifteen minutes left? “Let us walk with them, counselor,” Vandar said. “It’s been decades since I’ve walked through sunlight from above.”

Obedient but furious, Kraeyl stood aside to let Marek pass with Maggie.

The thirst for vengeance gathered in Kraeyl’s eyes convinced Vandar that bad behavior was very much part of his counselor’s agenda for the day.

Chapter Forty-Four

Sky’s cry of pain ripped into Julian sharper than any blade ever had. He was across the room in a second, holding her hands back from her lips. He should have been able to give her sleep, get her past the pain. But he couldn’t. Time was too short. Vandar dies for this, he thought and said to Sky, “Open your mouth.”

She slowly parted her lips. Tiny fangs, needle thin, were growing out of her upper and lower teeth.

Viper hunkered down beside Julian’s bed, giving Sky’s fangs a careful look. “Too thin. If she tries to drink, they’ll break off in your neck. Then they’ll take days to grow in again.”

“Hurts,” Sky said.

“Don’t talk,” Julian said. “You could pierce your tongue. Think about your fangs pulling in. Like they were on long strings, and you could tug on them.”

Sky shut her eyes, wincing. The little fangs receded. “When, Julian?” she asked in her hoarse whisper of a voice. “This thirst. It’s bad.”

The ground shifted under Julian’s feet. He didn’t stagger, but he came close. In battle, he’d never been caught by indecision. He always knew what to do to win the fight. He always knew what to sacrifice, where to strike, who to bring down.

If he handed her over to Vandar, he’d make sure Sky didn’t drink from Julian for the next hundred years. If he challenged Vandar to an honor fight, he would laugh and wait for the clock to tick down, and then he’d watch Marek sign the contract.

Julian couldn’t let that happen.

He
couldn’t.

Viper’s phone rang. He answered, listened, then ended the call.

“Marek says to meet him and Vandar in the gardens.”

“I heard. What are they doing there?”

“Be Nice To Rebel Heretics Day?” Viper said. “I don’t know. Get Sky. Let’s go.”

Marek would have known Julian was beyond answering his phone. He’d talked to Viper, but the words had been for Julian.
Tell Julian to come armed in his honor.

When Marek first taught Julian to fight in this world, he’d repeated one thing over and over—a
warrior without honor is disarmed and worthless
. Marek was telling him not to run, to trust him. But trust him to do what?

“The stone has the power to ease the pain of the fledgling,” a quiet voice said behind Julian.

Oracle.

In moments, Viper and Harli were on either side of Oracle, boxing him in. Julian rose and stood before him. “What do you want?”

From inside his hood, Oracle said, “I have already told you, Prince. The stone will be of help.”

“How?” Julian asked. “Will it make her fangs grow in faster?”

“You younglings make communication so very hard,” Oracle said. “Do you know your brother Vandar has the same difficulty?” He gave a small sigh, as if Julian tired him out. “Deathbringer. Fetch me the stone.”

Viper, Julian almost told Oracle, didn’t fetch for anyone. But when Viper moved to obey Oracle, meek as a novice Seeker, Julian knew his brother was desperate for a way out of this. If it came down to fighting Marek, they both knew Marek didn’t lose fights. He allowed challengers to walk away with less than lethal injuries. Julian didn’t stand a chance against his brother.

Careful to use his jacket sleeve to grab it, Viper gave the stone to Oracle, who took it and chipped it free of brick fragments. He rubbed the stone between his palms, getting off the last of the powdery residue. When he held it out in his palm it seemed to give off a satisfied gleam.

“Why doesn’t it poison you?” Julian asked.

“This is why I did not allow you to ask questions when my counsel was sought,” Oracle said. “You continually ask about the self-evident.” Oracle tilted his head to one side, his hood pooling against his shoulder. “Your female has swallowed a pin’s head worth of dust made from the stone, yes?”

“Yes,” Julian said. “After the Dark Kiss. So what? Can it make her fangs grow in or not?” And gods, he wanted to go for his knives and
make
Oracle tell him.

Oracle ignored Julian’s question as if an angry reaper were something too minor to acknowledge. He held the stone out and said, “Give this to her.”

“What time is it?” Julian said to Viper.

“It is time for you to risk everything you have ever known, reaper,” Oracle said. “And allow love to transform you into a fighter that can never be defeated. Become a rebel of the heart.”

All of a sudden, Julian knew what to do. He was going to fight for Sky, and he was going to win. How? It didn’t matter, because he loved Sky too much to lose.

Wrapping his hand in his sleeve, Julian took the heart stone from Oracle and pressed it to Sky’s lips.

She let out a sigh of relief and took it into her mouth. “Better,” she whispered.

“Do not swallow it,” Oracle said. “Keep it in your mouth, as though it were a sweet.”

A mist as gray as the inside of a silver cloud gathered around Oracle. Then he flickered, and he was gone.

“What are we doing, brother?” Viper asked in a slow dangerous voice. “The gardens?” He paused. “Or something else?”

A glance at Sky told Julian her fangs hadn’t started to grow in again yet. The pain would show on her face.

He knew what “something else” meant to Viper. It meant fight their way out, through as many warriors as they had to, hide in the tunnels with Sky, and run at sundown.