What Rough Beast [Blood Oath 1] (31 page)

Aidan slid the weapon over his index finger. “No arguments?"

Garrick swallowed convulsively in spite of Aidan's soothing influence. “None."

"Then you've no reason to be nervous."

His control slipped. “I've every reason,” Garrick said, unable to smother the foul temper in his voice but glad, at least, that he'd repressed the sneer that wanted to accompany it.

Aidan paused, lips curving in wry amusement. “You've done this before, vampyr. No surprises for you. That's more than the rest of us could claim."

"Is that why you chose it? To taunt me?” Fresh panic spiked his pulse. “To punish me?"

Aidan's brow furrowed. “You are our brother, Garrick. No matter what you were before, you've proven yourself since. You paid your debt, many times over.” He nodded to the miniature weapon on his finger. “This is no reprisal. We've all been bled by it. We've used the lancet in the ritual since the council's infancy."

Garrick flinched.

Panic consumed him.

His body trembled so violently he wondered that he didn't simply fly apart. “You didn't salvage it from Nathaniel's stronghold,” he said over the buzzing in his head.

"No.” Aidan shook his head decisively. He reached forward and cursed under his breath when Garrick cringed from the hand that bore the lancet. Instead, he awkwardly grasped his shoulder with the other. “You
are
our brother. I would nev—"

"Nor Isaac's?"

Aidan's grip on him tightened, his stare glittering sharp regret. “Nor Isaac's."

Garrick's eyes snapped shut.

"We adopted their customs, the ritual.” Aidan's grasp loosened. “But that is all. I didn't steal the lancet from them."

Relief crushed him. His ears rang. “Then I can bear it,” he finally said, though he wasn't sure he could at all.

"You'll bear it more easily if you allow my influence to quiet you."

His heart sank. He hadn't realized he'd crowded Aidan's sway from him, hadn't intended to. That failure spoke volumes of the wounds he'd fought too long and hard to hide. They'd mended. Luc had seen to that. But not without scars.

He opened his eyes, tried for a smile though he knew his was a travesty of it. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I...freaked."

Aidan stared down at him, his eyes glittering pity.

Which made it all the worse.

"Not that it was a simple thing for any of us, but you'd done it before.” Aidan's lips twisted to a bitter smile. “I thought it'd be easier for you. That this,” he said, nodding to the lancet, “its familiarity, might be a comfort."

Garrick fought the horrendous pain that roiled inside him, struggled to overpower his instincts. Every one of which screamed against leaving himself vulnerable to Aidan again. “It'll be a comfort to me after."

Aidan snorted at the lie. “If I could spare you, I would."

His eyes narrowed. “Then you're a fool."

"Garrick."

The callous reprimand in Aidan's voice startled a low growl from him, but he choked it back.

Aidan's fingers rose to his chin, forcing Garrick's gaze to meet his.

Nausea churned his stomach at the poisonous slide of the lancet's silver against his skin.

"I sense your grief, and I wish I wasn't the cause of it. But I will not tolerate defiance. Not now. Not ever. Do you understand?"

Perversely, the severity in his voice, the unbending steel that glinted in his glare steadied Garrick, shattered the walls his instincts had erected around him.

Aidan's soothing influence poured over him as a flood.

Garrick knew Aidan felt it when his lips slowly curved. “Good,” Aidan said, gently tapping the barbed tip against his cheek. Garrick shuddered, equal parts fear and relief. “Very good. After these many centuries, I finally begin to understand you."

Garrick quivered, even under Aidan's mounting influence. “I'm glad somebody does."

"You are as glad of it as you were to see the lancet.” He chuckled. “But what we like isn't always what we need."

"No, it isn't."

"You are a case, Garrick. Truly, you are. Good to know the one they chose is as screwed up as the rest of us.” His dark eyes sparkled wicked merriment. “You cannot possibly imagine how much that endears you to me."

"No, I can't.” He ignored his embarrassment, let himself sink under Aidan's pull. “But I can feel your amusement. Share it if I like."

Aidan's eyebrow arched. “I forget how dangerous you are,” he said but ruined the effect when he laughed. “But not to me."

Garrick shook his head. “Not to you."

"Let us both hope, then, that I live up to your expectations."

Aidan reached for his hand.

Garrick's breath caught.

He stroked his wrist, the touch feather soft. “Would you have come to us so quickly if Luc hadn't been taken?"

"I would've eventually. I need the security.” He shivered. “But I would've avoided you as long as I could."

Aidan shrugged a lazy shoulder. “I'd guessed as much."

Unbearable heat built over his pulse point. Garrick winced at the sharp stab, but the pain was brief, then gone. He promptly dismissed it. “Would you have come so swiftly to Luc's aid if helping me save him didn't guarantee me to you?"

"Of course not.” Aidan shifted Garrick's streaming wrist so that rich scarlet spattered, wasted, to the floor. “Your price is dear. Many will die."

"More lives would be sacrificed if the rebellion failed or, God forbid, the war marched endlessly on.” He fisted his hand so that his muscles strained, forcing his blood from the wound with greater haste. “You would not have expected me to sell my freedom so meanly."

"Even this,” Aidan said, tipping his head to the blood pooling on the stone below, “doesn't buy your freedom.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Just your loyalty."

"You have that,” Garrick said, the first tugs of faintness dragging at him. “You always have."

"Perhaps."

"There is no perhaps. Luc was a rebel, so I became a rebel."

Aidan shrugged. “Before Luc, then."

"Before him, no man was more tightly bound in chains than I. You were shackled by blood.” He swayed, crippling lethargy sweeping over him. “What enslaved me was far stronger: love. The kind of love that is difficult to sever and impossible to destroy."

"Impossible?” Aidan shifted the barbed fingertip over his own wrist. “Still?"

Garrick blinked him into bleary focus. “Still."

Aidan hissed as he punctured the unblemished flesh of his wrist.

Garrick stared, transfixed, at the lush crimson pouring from the small, neat hole that pierced Aidan's wrist. He inhaled to take in the metallic scent. Startling, the hunger that the sight and scent of the elder's blood birthed inside him even after so long.

With more effort than he would've expected, he lifted his chin and stared directly into Aidan's dark eyes. “I need your blood."

Aidan's gaze on him gleamed dark and triumphant. “Then take it."

Garrick's head dipped to the wound.

His body unclenched at his first draw on Aidan's wrist. His muscles uncoiled. Fear that had held him captive long centuries abruptly loosened. The relief, to be finally free if only to serve another master, made him giddy. “They won't snare me again. Not now."

"Speak to me in the way of our people, Garrick."
Aidan urged his mouth back to the wound.

He didn't consider refusing him.
"I'm free of them."
Joyful wonder burst through him like sunlight through a storm cloud. Invigorated him, nourishing his soul as Aidan's blood restored his body.
"Finally—forever—free."

"Yes. Today, you are truly one of us."
He felt Aidan's smile in the thrum of his pulse.
"Unless one of them kills me to break the blood bond between us, anyway."

Garrick recoiled, the pit dropping out of his stomach so suddenly even Aidan's influence couldn't prevent his wild-eyed stare.

The corner of Aidan's mouth tipped to flash a crooked grin. He ungently nudged Garrick's mouth with his still streaming wrist.
"Drink. The more my blood runs in you, the more vigorous your tie to me becomes."

"Your position is too precarious to risk a meager sampling. Drink deeply."

He drank, but terror squeezed his chest. He couldn't breathe.
"They wouldn't."

But he knew in his heart they would try. Garrick was not so naive as to believe the masters would let him go easily. He understood them, what they were capable of, too well.
"They can't."

"You focused too blindly on your goal. That single-mindedness was necessary to attain it, but now that you have, you must steel yourself.” Aidan's fingers whispered through his hair. “The slaughter of our headhunters, the abduction of Luc, these are just the beginning. Far worse awaits us—and you. Stay on your guard, Garrick. Be ready."

"We won't desert you. Remember that."

He shivered, his fear a tangible thing.
"The rebellion needs you. We need you. I can't let you die. Not for me."

"Your concern is moving. Truly, it is."

"I'm very glad I didn't kill you,” he said, his voice low and satisfied.
"But you worry needlessly. The masters won't kill me. My father wouldn't allow it."

Garrick's body jerked. His mouth tore from the wound, a dazed rumble slipping from his lips as, eyes wide and uncomprehending, he gaped at Aidan.

"You didn't think me capable of organizing our motley crew of weak, half-starved slaves, did you? If you'll recall, the rebellion failed under my so-called leadership."
He rubbed at his wrist, careful to hold it away from his body so no blood dripped on his clothing.
"After the masters scattered us, our hopes resurrected only because of his guidance. His governance. He told me how to regather them, what to do to transform slaves to soldiers."

"Every prince must have his king, Garrick."

His jaw worked up and down, but his voice failed him. Words flitted in and out of his mind, but none of them made sense. “Jesus,” he finally managed on a prolonged wheeze.

"Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain; for the Lord will not hold him guiltless that taketh his name in vain.
Exodus 20:7.” Aidan glowered at him. “God will not hold you guiltless. And your king even less so. Mind your tongue, vampyr."

He staggered, reeling. His strength left his body in a frenetic rush.

His butt kissed the floor, but his eyes didn't leave Aidan's.

"You have a king?"

The prince's scowl shifted to sardonic amusement. “
We
do."

His hands rose to his temples to hold his chaotic thoughts inside him, physically if necessary. “
I
have a king."

Aidan nodded. “Yes."

He rubbed furiously at his eyes, sure there must be some manner of trickery in Aidan's response.

"You've my blood in you, Garrick. Link with me and know what I speak is true."

But Garrick didn't need the link.

He knew Aidan wouldn't lie about this.

He just couldn't wrap his mind around it.

A king.

No.

Not just a king.

He knew what this meant, the only thing it could possibly mean.

An ancient.

The rebellion, the cause of the slaves, had been championed by an ancient.

He'd never dared to entertain the notion that any of those stories could be real. Humans had their folklore, seemed to need fantastical myths and legends. His species derived from them, so why should vampyr be any different? Silly vampyr mythology. Or so he'd convinced himself.

He'd been so sure.

"He's quite fascinated with you, Garrick, has been from the beginning."

He shook his head. Violently.

Aidan grinned so wide he beamed. “Take another minute to steady yourself. He warned me the shock would be brutal to you especially."

Garrick breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth. “Do the masters kno—” He frowned. “No. Of course, they don't. If they knew, they'd go to ground and take our enslaved young with them."

"Awareness of him would embolden our unmated males for the fight, but even they cannot know, can never suspect. They may turn and warn the dark masters, become masters themselves. You must never speak of him outside the safety of the council.” Aidan's hand fell to Garrick's shoulder. “You and I, we are the key. He's told me that much. All was uncertain until you mated, until we knew you'd survive, but you have joined us. You are one of us now in every way.

"We've hard, bloody work ahead.” Aidan squeezed his shoulder. “But we
will
win the war, Garrick. We will, all of us, be free."

He gradually returned Aidan's jubilant smile.

For the first time, Garrick believed.

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Caravans of RVs, campers, and battered trucks pulled into park facilities within a fifty-mile radius of Gettysburg. Jobs were abandoned, homes left vacant.

A traveling carnival cancelled Atlanta and steered eighteen-wheelers laden with Ferris wheel components and the mechanical detritus of amusement park rides to Pennsylvania. It was too early to head north, too cold for locals to try their luck at darts, shriek inside Tilt-a-Whirls, or steal kisses from young wives tending toddlers on the merry-go-round. But Marsh Brothers Unlimited employed no less than three packs rigidly segregated by function: food vendors, game trailers, and ride operators. All three had elected to answer Peter's call.

Loners on motorcycles answered as well.

A pair of alphas shepherded two whelps to the female's mother in Maryland. They ignored her sires’ condemning disapproval for the thousandth time, and grinning at one another, checked into a discount motel.

America's weres converged on southwestern Pennsylvania.

A Walmart parking lot provided adequate cover for transportation and extra vehicles. A rusty blue pickup arrived every thirty minutes, and small clusters of silent men and women climbed into the back. They piled out again when the truck reached a crossroads nearby. They faded into neat rows of shoulder-high pines on a Christmas tree farm. Some stripped, piling neatly folded clothes near a marker known only to them before shifting. Others waited.