Venators, page 10
She tried not to smile, but she couldn’t help it. As much as she wasn’t ready to relax into this realization, it felt like she’d come home. It was hard to accept a place when she was technically a prisoner, stripped of the ability to leave. But around the bitterness seeped the comfort of being exactly where she was supposed to be. She suspected Grey felt the same—he’d never looked so happy.
The only thing still nagging her was Ryker. Was he here? Was he safe?
Suddenly, the concern morphed, shifting into an angry beast that had broken free of its containment. She’d been dumping all her authentic thoughts and feelings into a personal Pandora’s box for years, depositing everything while holding tightly to the “should dos” or “should feels.” But her decision to walk away that night had cracked open the box, and those emotions had spilled out in a swirling mess that she had no idea how to deal with.
Her hands balled into fists, and she clenched her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut. The craziest sequence of events had just occurred—a sequence that could have set her free. But no; the unknown status of her brother forced her back into the old role of protective sister—sacrificing her desires for his needs, again.
Why did they have to take him? Why couldn’t she have come on her own and simply missed him—instead of being angry?
Her face flushed in shame.
Ryker could be dead, and all she could think about was herself.
Should’ve, would’ve, should not. She should not be angry, she should not be selfish, she should not feel good or comfortable or like she’d come home. Should not!
She pulled out the necklace from under the collar of her shirt—the white half of a yin-and-yang symbol. It had been her gift to Ryker on their fifteenth birthday. They’d both worn them ever since.
She missed him . . . the old him.
A thought tickled at her consciousness, and it was beautiful. Once she’d stepped through the gate, the itch had vanished. If Ryker were here, surely this side would offer him the same peace she’d found. What if it brought him back? The old Ryker could still be in there somewhere, and now that Rune knew what had caused the change in him all those years ago, she could think of no better place to fix it than here.
That line of thinking was comfortable and warm, and Rune gratefully allowed it to wash away all the shameful and selfish anger. She would find her brother, and when she did, she would truly get her twin back. Things could be like they used to be.
Below the window, a familiar green-skinned woman strutted through the square. Kit. She moved with her eyes focused on a target—a very large man with broad shoulders wearing a long black cloak, the hood pulled up to obscure his face. She walked straight to him and pushed up on her tiptoes to whisper something. The figure beneath the cloak went rigid, and his head swung to look down at the faery. Kit lowered with a smirk, one hand on her hip.
The man reached beneath his cloak, his head not moving away from her, and pulled a brown leather pouch from his waist. She hefted the bag, weighing to judge what was inside, and smiled. The pouch disappeared a moment later, the same way the coins had vanished when Tate had paid her. Kit leaned back in, whispering more.
Rune found herself with palms and nose pressed against the window, trying to decipher what was going on. Something told her it was bad. Call it a gut instinct, but—
A knock at the door pulled her attention from the window. The markings on her arm flared up again—red.
What the hell did red belong too?
With poorly veiled hesitancy, Rune called, “Come in,” unsure if she actually wanted whoever it was to come in or not.
A petite girl who looked to be about her age nudged the door open with her shoulder, arms piled with clothes. She had blonde hair, red lips, and huge blue eyes. She wore snug black pants with a low-cut blue top that laced in the front to show off her figure.
“I’m Verida.” She set the clothes on the chair in the room and smiled, exposing a delicate but deadly looking pair of white fangs.
Rune stared and then blurted, “You’re a vampire!”
Matching the shock in Rune’s voice but adding a thick layer of mockery, Verida responded, “You’re a Venator!”
Unconsciously, Rune took a step back and hitched against the wall. Feeling like a fool, she cleared her throat and tried to think of something intelligent to say.
“Well, you don’t look very surprised to see me.” Damn it! That did not qualify as intelligent.
“That’s because I knew you were coming. I work with Tate.”
Rune nodded but didn’t move.
Verida rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to stand against the wall like that. I’m not going to bite.” She leaned forward and put her hand to the side of her mouth as if revealing a great secret. “And even if I did, you’re immune to vampire venom.” Grinning, she straightened.
“Oh.”
The vampire tilted her head, looking at Rune like a bug on a slide. “You really don’t know anything, do you?”
Realizing how ridiculous she must’ve looked pressed up against the wall as if death were coming for her at any moment, she forced a laugh. “Not even a little.”
“Honestly, I should probably be more afraid of you than you are of me. Let’s try this again.” She stuck her hand out. “I’m Verida.”
Her arm hung in the space between them until Rune finally peeled herself away from the wall and stepped forward to shake. “Rune.”
She expected Verida’s hand to feel cold . . . dead, maybe? But her skin felt normal.
“Nice to meet you.” She jerked her head over to the pile she’d brought in. “Tate sent up some clothes for you.”
“What’s wrong with what I have on?”
Verida smirked and dropped onto the edge of the bed. “Let’s just say—it’s not the look Venators usually go for.”
“I thought we were extinct,” Rune quipped, feeling more relaxed by the second. “How do you know what look we go for?”
“Vampires are extinct on your side, but you still recognized these.” She pointed to her fangs.
“Valid point.” Rune picked through the stack, crinkling her nose. “They’re all black.”
“Of course they are. Nobody’s maid wants to be cleaning blood off your clothes.”
Rune dropped the shirt. “Blood? Whose blood?”
“Oh, honey. Tate told you what your job was, right?”
“He did, I just . . .”
“Never equated that with blood?”
“Yeah.”
Verida laughed. “Well, try them on. I’ll even look the other way. Tate tells me humans can be a little shy about their bodies.”
Rune had to try on three pairs of pants before she found a pair she was comfortable in.
“No,” Verida said when she turned around. “Absolutely not. Too loose. Try the size down . . . maybe two.”
Rune could barely button them. They hugged her legs from hip to ankle. The shirt was black as well, tight, with sleeves that barely capped the shoulder. A wide black belt with loops running around it was added, per Verida’s instructions, as well as a pair of boots that laced up to mid calf. She looked down at herself. “I look like I belong in a comic book.”
“A what?”
“Never mind.” She looked around for a mirror but found none. “How do I look?”
“Like a Venator. A new Venator, but one nonetheless.”
“What? Why do I look new?”
“Your markings. You haven’t learned how to shut them off.”
Rune’s head snapped up. “I can make them go away?”
“No, but you can make them stop changing colors. Have Tate teach you.”
“Thanks.”
“For what?”
Rune looked down at her shoes. “For not biting my face off.”
Verida burst out laughing. “Come on. I’m supposed to take you downstairs when you’re ready.”
There weren’t many patrons left in the bar, but the ones there fell silent as Rune marched through behind Verida. Her markings were going berserk, rolling through colors like a kaleidoscope. Red, green, orange, blue, and every color in between.
All eyes followed Rune. Some with a nervous fascination, others with excitement, most with distaste. After hearing their past experiences with Venators, she couldn’t blame them.
A burly figure in the back of the room looked out from beneath the hood of a dark cloak. His mouth was set in a thin line, and his eyes blazed. Rune met his gaze—the hatred behind the stare seemed to crawl across the room like a living thing, sending a chill through her and freezing her to the spot. Although she hadn’t seen his face earlier, Rune was sure it was the same man Kit had talked to outside her window. Same cloak, same size.
He lurched to standing, towering well over six feet, and issued a low growl.
Verida vaulted over a table in an instant, landing between Rune and the man. “There’s only one of you,” she hissed, lowering her stance.
The man hesitated.
Verida tilted her head, eyes fierce. “You want to go a round?”
It looked ridiculous: a waif of a girl egging on a beast of a man. But apparently he didn’t “want to go a round.” He turned, cloak swinging. A gust of air that smelled like the back end of a horse wafted over them as the man stomped to the door and flung it open.
Verida took a few steps, as if to chase him, but then stopped, staring as the door banged shut. The room was deathly silent. “What are you looking at?” she shouted. “Drink.”
Hushed mutterings buzzed over the awkward clink of forced refreshment.
Rune came up along Verida’s side, feeling more comfortable next to her.
“This isn’t good,” Verida muttered. “Not good at all.”
“I’ve seen him before. Kit was talking to that man right before you came up.”
“What?” Verida whirled on Rune. “Are you sure?”
Rune gave a small nod. “Positive.” She lowered her voice, not wanting to be overheard by the straining ears around them. “He gave her a leather sack. I don’t know what was in it.” But she had a pretty good idea.
Verida clenched her teeth as if holding back a lengthy stream of curse words. “Come on,” she growled.
Stomping to the corner of the room with her shoulders pulled up to her ears, she led Rune to an arched doorway sparsely covered with a tattered piece of burlap. Verida pushed it to the side, but then her head snapped up and she stopped midstep, the burlap still over her palm. “Whoa.”
Rune peeked over Verida’s shoulder. Another “whoa” would’ve been in order.
Grey stood hunched in the corner of the room, his hands shoved in his pockets. His hair had been cut—short on the sides, a little longer on top. The black hair emphasized the brightness of his blue eyes. The length no longer hid his facial features but complimented a strong jawline and high cheekbones. His clothes were as tight as hers, and the thin material of his shirt put everything on display.
Heaven have mercy.
Verida ran her tongue over the tip of a fang before pursing her lips in obvious appreciation. A flare of jealously rose up, and Rune mentally berated herself. This was Grey. She wasn’t jealous because Verida was looking at Grey. She couldn’t be.
Tate walked in behind them. He scooted around their obstruction of the doorway, oblivious to Verida’s blatant staring. Rune was beginning to notice that he was oblivious to a lot, though she was unsure whether it was intentional or not. He sat down at the table and looked Grey and Rune over. “Perfect. You both look like Venators. Grey, stop slouching. You’re supposed to look intimidating. Not terrified.”
Grey wearily pulled his hands from his pockets and straightened, but his eyes remained on the floor.
“Come,” Tate said. “Sit.”
They sat around the table just as the innkeeper slid in. Rune tried not to stare at the one large eye in the middle of his forehead. He had three bowls balanced up one arm and held a single bowl in the other hand. He dropped the first unceremoniously in front of Rune, then Grey. Tate’s was no gentler of a delivery, and the bowl clunked against the wood of the table. The contents should’ve sloshed over the side, but the stew that had been served was so thick and gelatinous that it merely jiggled.
“Thank you,” Tate said, pulling his bowl closer to him.
The innkeeper looked at the meal he still held and then at Verida, unsure of what to do.
Verida smiled, exposing her fangs. “Give it to Tate. He’s a big boy, he might need it.”
The innkeeper shrugged and handed it over. “My mistake. That one’s on the house.”
Tate grunted his gratitude and waited until the innkeeper had left the room before taking his first bite.
“Did you secure the room?” Verida asked.
Tate nodded and shoveled more food in. “Had the magic woven by a half-rate wizard Arwin recommended while they were getting changed.”
Verida drummed her fingers against the table, watching Tate eat through half-slit eyes. “So, how much did you pay Kit?”
“Why?” he asked around a mouthful of food.
“Just tell me how much.”
“I can’t remember if we left it at three or four gold dakems.”
“Mmm, I see. And what did you start with?”
“One.”
Verida’s lips thinned, and her nostrils flared. “Is this the first time you’ve dealt with her?”
“Yes,” he mumbled, shoveling another bite of stew in. “And hopefully it’s the last.”
Verida took several deep breaths through her nose before she continued in a tightly clipped cadence. “Kit has a minimum price to keep your business your business. And you didn’t even come close to hitting it. She found another way to get the money she felt was due—paid by a werewolf who just marched into the inn to check if the information he paid for was good. He saw Rune and is on the way to tell the pack.”
Rune’s head snapped up. Werewolf!
“What!” Tate shouted. His spoon clattered against the table. “How could you let that happen? Couldn’t you smell him before you brought her downstairs?”
“Don’t blame this on me!” She launched to standing and slapped her palms on the table. “He was wearing a heavy wool cloak that smelled like it had been rolled in a barn! This one’s on you.”
“Me!” Tate rose to his feet.
“You should’ve let me come like we’d originally planned, and this never would’ve happened.”
“Stop it!” Rune shouted over them. “How about you both stop bickering with each other and tell us what’s going on?”
Tate looked at Rune and then Grey. His body sagged in defeat. “I knew I couldn’t get you to the council unseen, but there’s a large list of people from whom I wanted to keep your existence a secret until after you were safe within the confines of the council house.” He paused and then grudgingly added, “It’s not going as planned.”
“OK,” Grey said. “So what do we do?”
Tate shook his head in disbelief. “You two are handling this well.”
“It’s called naivety.” Verida dropped back to her chair. “They have no idea what just happened.”
“I’d hoped to spend a day here to prepare you both before introducing you to the council,” Tate said, ignoring Verida. “But we’ll have to shorten our stay and leave in the morning.”
“Are you sure that’s best?” Verida glanced toward the arched doorway. “We could smuggle them out tonight.”
“No. The pack knows they’re here. If we get caught in the woods after dark, I can’t guarantee their survival. And neither can you.”
At the word survival, Rune thought she’d be sick. Grey looked like he’d been punched in the gut. So much for naivety.
“They’re Venators,” Verida objected.
“Rune doesn’t know anything. Grey can run, but that’s all I know for sure.”
Rune wanted to object, because that’s what she did when told she couldn’t do something, but she really didn’t know anything. So she kept her mouth shut.
“We’ll cover as much information as we can tonight and leave first thing in the morning. At least then daylight will be on our side.”
“Very well,” Verida said, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms. “They’re your Venators.”
Ownership . . . again. And snap went her hair trigger. “I am not anyone’s Venator!”
“She didn’t mean it like that,” Tate said distractedly. “I’m responsible for you. That’s all.” He motioned at the untouched bowls. “Well, eat. We have a lot to discuss, and I can’t have you hungry.”
Introductions
Grey was in no mood to eat but took a bite anyway, trying to pretend he didn’t see Verida staring.
“First,” Tate began, “you’ll need to learn names. The council won’t take kindly to you not knowing who they are.”
“We’ve never even met them,” Rune said. “How can we be expected to know their names?”
Verida chuckled. “Trust me, darling. They don’t care.”
“First rule of politics—always know who you’re dealing with. It shows respect and a grasp of the situation.” Tate pulled a small globe from his pocket and set it on the table. It looked a bit like the one he’d given Grey all those years ago, but Tate tapped it, and a holographic image popped up. A severe-looking man with dark, slicked-back hair, a thin nose, and high cheekbones shimmered above the orb. “This is Dimitri. Head of the council and a vampire. He has no tolerance for imperfections, mistakes, or any type of emotion. He has little patience for anything or anyone.”
“Especially if the person or topic runs contrary to what he wants,” Verida added.
“Exactly. Retrieving the Venators was his idea, I’m told, and in regards to what we discussed earlier, watch your backs.” Tate hit the orb again. The next picture was of an enormous man, shoulders wider than any Grey had ever seen, with bright-red hair that hung just past his chin in waves. “This is Silen, a werewolf. He won’t say much, which is what makes him dangerous. You won’t know you’ve offended him until retaliation arrives.”
