The Greyfriar (Vampire Empire, Book 1) by Clay & Susan Griffith;Clay Griffith;Susan Griffith (24 page)

Gareth watched Adele as she went about arranging her new quarters at the
museum. She had not noticed his arrival, which pleased him because she
was uniquely attuned to the threat from vampires. She was straightening
a few Egyptian objects she had rescued from the rubble, including a small
bust of Ramses. Gareth was struck by the juxtaposition of the timeless face
of a king and the fragile life of the future empress. He suddenly understood the value of such objects. One day there would be statues of Empress
Adele that humans generations from now would see. They would know
something of her from the mute stone. Part of her would transcend time,
perhaps even long after Gareth was dust.

Humans lived a short time compared to vampires, but humanity
remained immortal. Vampires would never understand that. And it
would be their downfall. Humans swoon and falter, they often died off
in great swathes-Gareth remembered the days of plague when the
vampires took advantage and killed many thousands across Europe-but
the vampires' wave crashed and slid away, as it always did, and the
humans recovered. As they always did.

The Great Killing a century and a half ago was more than just another
wave. The humans had been uniquely vulnerable-losing the magic of
faith but not yet masters of steam and steel. In the ensuing century, the
humans had made their choice to embrace technology. Rumors from the
frontiers spoke of new weapons-gas that blinded, cannons that deafened,
and guns that spewed bullets at great rates-which would allow a single
soldier to kill many vampires, no matter their speed. Human armies
everywhere were showing greater skill in fighting vampires and, even
more significant, the petrifying fear that had served the vampires so well
during the Great Killing was diminishing with familiarity.

Even shut away in his refuge, Gareth could hear the sound of riot.
London was alive with celebration. Thousands of humans had been
driven into the city to feed the gathering revelers. He imagined the
floors of the palace would be slick with coagulating blood by now and
his father likely would be bloated and incoherent, as he would stay for
the remainder of the gathering. Cesare, on the other hand, would be the
ever-alert stand-in for the king. Gareth intended to pass the festivities
closeted here in his museum. He refused to lend his presence to the
monstrosities occurring across the city.

Gareth was comforted by the thought of Adele making a home here
with him. Despite a myriad of choices for lodging in the vast building,
she had chosen a small plain room and surrounded herself with a few
items, perhaps because they reminded her of home. She had appeared
comfortable and appreciative, even chatting in what seemed to be an
unguarded fashion for the first time while they shifted the Macedonian
refuse into the corridor.

Now Gareth watched with fascination as Adele made some sort of
tea with herbs she had found around the grounds of the museum. Her
hands astonished him. Her skin was so much darker than his alabaster
flesh. And she used her fingers so effortlessly for intricate tasks. He was
mesmerized by their gentle dance as she nimbly plucked small leaves
from the stems. The scent of the herb clung to her fingertips, which
were smeared with its oil, mixing with her normal scent to create a
tangy, almost spicy aroma. He breathed in the heady fragrance.

Adele heard Gareth inhale deeply and said without starting, "It's
mint. I find it soothing."

He took that for an invitation and stepped into the room to stand
beside her. "So much preparation."

She scoffed. "All it takes is some leaves and a little hot water. Not
much work at all. It's not as if I'm cooking a banquet. But I suppose it
looks like far too much labor for a vampire."

Water boiled in a bronze helmet, but his gaze slipped again to her
hands as she readied a small cup. They were so gentle handling a piece
of porcelain, but he had seen her use those same hands to dispatch many
a vampire.

"How did you manage to disable the three vampires who attacked you
in the Tower yard, without a weapon?" The question seemed simple
enough. But Adele merely shrugged and smiled at him. Then she settled
back onto her mat with her cup of hot herb water. The princess wasn't
going to answer. Gareth knew there would be no further conversation. He
could watch her all he liked, but she was intent on drinking her tea.

In France, the princess had possessed a softness-perhaps the shock
from the attack and her brother's death had caused her to need Greyfriar
for sanity. That was gone now; she was an empress now. Distant. Aloof.
Mysterious. Commanding. Even her scent was different. While with
Greyfriar, she had smelled sweet, although tinged with fear. The undertone of fear was still present, but the dominant scent was spicy and harsh
and defiant. It was a scent he rarely got from humans in vampire territory, and he had only smelled it this strong in very few humans anywhere. It was intoxicating.

If Gareth hadn't seen the frightened girl in France from behind his
mask, he would never have suspected this princess was ever anything
other than her imperious self. It made her more appealing. She had her
own mask, it seemed. He longed to see that delicate other side of her just
once more.

He slipped away to the ground floor and the gallery that led to the
large chamber with the huge statue of Ramses, Adele's ancestor. Odd
that Gareth had wound up wandering here. He was thrilled at the
prospect of spending time with Adele during the clan gathering. The
festivities would last for days and consist of endless hours of blooddrunk chest thumping and threats against the humans. The lords would
swear fealty to Dmitri and promise to come whenever he called, but
when the king's herds ran dry, the bloated guests would totter into the
sky and depart. During the gathering, Gareth and Adele could wander
through his museum home at their leisure. The lonely Prince of Edinburgh now had someone to share it with.

However, as much as it pained him, Gareth would then take advantage of the stuporous, sluggish days after the gathering to spirit Adele
out of London and back to the Continent. He would slip her into the
hands of the human underground that he knew as Greyfriar, and they would ensure she made her way safely home. Then he would return to
Edinburgh and renew his efforts against Cesare and his peoples' blind
savagery.

The sound of a bird flitting in the rafters drew his attention. He
immediately sensed coldness seeping down from above, and smelled
stale blood in the air. Something moved on the granite shoulders of
Great Ramses, writhed around the massive head, and slid into the dim
light filtering through the broken windows.

Flay.

Gareth lightened and pushed off, silently floating up into the air. He
settled onto Ramses' crumbling other shoulder, gripping the stone with
the talons of his left hand while with his right he seized the surprised
Flay by the throat.

"How dare you," he hissed at her. "Did Cesare send you? I could kill
you, if I wished."

The war chief looked down in obeisance. She wasn't here to attack,
or she would have struck before he saw her. She had given her life to
Gareth in the instant she allowed him to grab her, but she knew full
well that the moment he might have slain her out of instinct had
passed. Unlike most of their kind, Prince Gareth rarely acted out of
instinct.

For his part, Gareth had no wish to fight Flay. While he had no
doubt he could kill Cesare in a fair fight, if Cesare ever engaged in such
a thing, Flay was another matter. Every day of her long life she had been
a warrior; she did nothing else and cared for nothing else. He had
matched her well in France, but Flay had been interested only in capturing Adele, not in drawing out a fight with Greyfriar. She normally
would not have suffered Gareth to seize her without striking back,
prince or not. So clearly she had a purpose coming here.

Gareth loosened his grip. "Talk."

"I am not here from Cesare. I am here for you. You must move now
if you wish to stop him."

Gareth stared at her. He tried to decipher what her message meant.
What was his brother trying to trick him into doing?

Flay saw the dark prince pondering and insisted, "This is not a trap. I risked my life coming here. You could've killed me. Or you can leave
me to Cesare's revenge should you refuse my offer. If you don't move
now, he will take control of the clan. If you ask me, I will betray Cesare.
Most of his packs would follow me to your side. But you must act now!
Once he begins his war, you'll have only two paths-serve him or oppose
him. Either way, he wins."

"The lords won't go to war now. They are too fat and lazy."

"The attack on Bordeaux has fired them up, and the prospect of a
human alliance frightens them. Once they're feted, they'll do whatever
the king tells them. And the king will do whatever Cesare wishes. I tell
you, Cesare will have his war. Unless you stand up."

Gareth released the female and floated to the floor. "Why would you
betray my brother for me? What am I to you?"

"You are the heir." Flay massaged her throat. Then she slid languidly
down the pharaoh's naked torso. "I will make Cesare's army yours. You
can kill your brother and take the clan. Let me help you." She clutched
the statue's massive chest with her thighs and reached out a thin strong
hand. "Let me serve you."

"So you, of all people, want me to stop this war?"

"No!" Flay's eyes burned with cold blue fire. "I want you to lead the
war. I remember you serving Dmitri. You were magnificent. With me at
your side, there is nothing you can't do." Her voice was hypnotic, her
words full of smooth poison.

The opportunity to use Flay as the tool to destroy Cesare was something Gareth had never foreseen. But here it was, an extraordinary gift,
waiting to be grasped. Cesare would never suspect Flay might betray
him. And once Cesare was gone, Gareth would have no rivals for clan
leadership. He could halt the war drums. Perhaps he could even begin
to negotiate for some future where both species could survive. Gareth
felt as if he were suddenly on the edge of a great precipice.

The sinuous Flay was beginning to look quite inviting, exuding an
aura of power and allure. Her bloody exploits were legendary; it was no
surprise that Cesare had made her his war chief. Gareth had often wondered if there was anything more between those two. It could be
nothing official because Flay was too common to birth a prince's child. She was enormously attractive, a physical specimen that any male
would covet. And she couldn't possibly make it any clearer that she
would welcome Gareth's advances. He stared at the hard muscles of her
stomach and the smooth hollow of her throat as she clung to the stone
colossus like a spider.

Then he asked, "Are you sure you could seize Cesare?"

"I can." Flay licked her lips. Gareth watched her with an interest,
even approval, that she had never seen from him before. His blue eyes
softened, and Flay saw the cloudy warmth of desire that she saw in all
males. "I know where he is at all times. And I can place my most loyal
packs around him. Once I take him, you will kill him."

"I will deal with my brother in my own way."

Flay drew back against the chest of Ramses. "Let's be clear, my
prince. Cesare must die, and it must be by your hand. To do less means
none of us are safe."

Gareth scowled, playing the lord annoyed by an underling. "Don't
overstep yourself, Flay. Leave it to me. I'll deal with him."

"Good." Flay smiled with excitement, unfazed by Gareth's rebuke.
She enjoyed his show of authority; she expected nothing less from the
future king and her master. "But there is something you must do before
I can move against Cesare."

Gareth inclined his head and breathed out sharply through his nose.
Here, finally, was her bargain. Various propositions floated through his
head-some ridiculous, others vaguely attractive. Would she ask for a
lordship? Would she ask to be queen? Would she ask for some profession of love?

Gareth asked, "What do you want?"

"The death of Princess Adele."

"What?"

"Kill your prisoner. Her presence adds to Cesare's prestige, and the
information he believes she has is part of his war plans. Take her out
of the equation now. I will kill her if you wish. I'll go now. And once
she's gone, you will accuse Cesare of playing with the security of the
clan for his own purposes. I will seize him and you will parade before
the clan with your brother's blood on your hands. The most savage of the lords will be delighted at such a coming-out. You'll be the belle of
the ball."

As Gareth listened, his thoughts moved from surprise to rage. When
she paused with a horrible sly smile on her hard face, he snarled, "Now
let me be clear, Flay. If you dare lay a hand on Princess Adele, I will dismember you." The fury of his response surprised even him, but it rushed
out before he could stop it. It was pure instinct.

Flay was taken aback. She lowered her eyes again in supplication. "I
meant no disrespect. I merely offered to kill her for your convenience.
You may feed off her. Kill her yourself if you wish."

"Get out!"

Flay stared in dismay. Her mouth hung open in shock. Her plan had
been complete. She was to serve Prince Gareth. They would fight side
by side and rule the clan together, just as she had always dreamed. Now
he glared at her with hatred and disdain. Could it be because of the
Equatorian prisoner? Surely there was just a misunderstanding. She had
stepped over some unseen line. She had gone too far too fast, and triggered his natural princely scorn for an upstart commoner.

She attempted another explanation. "I didn't ... I don't ..."

Gareth cut her off with a booming, "I told you to get out! Crawl
back to Cesare. I'm sure your usual place at his feet is still vacant."