Venators, page 14
Tate repeatedly ran his palm over the hilt of the sword that hung at his waist. He’d been waiting next to the carriage he’d secured for several hours—watching, listening, scanning the tree line for any sign of movement.
For a moment he thought he saw something. But whatever it had been, the fleeting shadow was gone before he could take a second look. He was desperate, and this was not the first sighting that had been merely imagination fueled by frenzied need.
Seven curses! They should’ve been here by now.
The sun had set, and a large full moon hung above. There had been a time when his only freedom was the slim view of the night sky through a barred window. Better than the stars or the occasional shooting star were the nights when the moon was at its fullest. It would swallow up his entire window and chase away the shadows from the darkest corners. It made him feel, for a few hours, that he’d fled his cage and was lying out beneath the wide-open sky.
But tonight was different. Tonight the moon hung low and heavy. Of all the nights to lose two Venators, this was possibly the worst. The werewolves would be at their strongest—something even Verida had enough sense to be worried about.
Tate growled in frustration. It was his responsibility to get Grey and Rune to the council. To bring them this close and fail—it would be unforgivable. Everything he’d put together, all his plans, would crumble. They would be back to square one—except fighting against, instead of with, two new Venators who would be hand chosen by the corrupt council members.
He paced back and forth, the gravel crunching beneath his feet. The horses became agitated, which Tate attributed to his own distress. But the animals grew worse, snorting and stamping. Tate took a step forward. Their eyes were wide with fear, and they tossed their manes, flinging chunks of the froth that coated their bits.
Tate turned, leapt onto the back ledge of the carriage, clambered onto the roof, and began scanning the area.
He was completely surrounded by trees. Even the path the carriage would take to the council house was lined with thick pines for the next fifty feet before the ground gave way to sheer cliffs. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, but he hadn’t inherited the sight of the Venators, and he could make out very little in the dark.
The horses were now in a full panic, whinnying and throwing their heads while fighting against the harnesses. The carriage lurched forward and knocked him off balance. He grabbed the edge to stay atop, yelling the halt command to the frightened beasts.
Something was coming, no doubt. He strained his ears, trying to hear past the chirp of insects and slight hiss of the breeze. Finally, the sound of bodies crashing through the thick forest came from his right. He pulled both blades from the sheaths on either side of his hips and crouched lower, ready to leap.
Verida burst out with Rune and Grey at her sides. “They’re right behind us!” she shouted. “Get ready.”
Tate jumped off the roof and resheathed one of his swords, leaving his left hand free. He grabbed the carriage door and wrenched it open. The others were halfway to him when three large wolves surged out from the shadowy trees and into the wash of moonlight.
Tate swore. “Come on!” he shouted. “Faster!”
Grey leapt inside, followed by Rune.
Verida slid to a stop. “Get in,” she demanded. “You’ll need help from the outside.”
Tate jumped in, shouting to the horses. “Sum-ha!” The horses were anxious to comply, and the carriage jolted. The inner compartment was large enough to sit four across on either side, and the open space left Tate without anything to brace against for balance. He stumbled and fell forward, landing on Grey.
Verida hung on the outside of the carriage, one arm wrapped through the window. A wolf jumped. She swung up and kicked, catching him square in the chest—terminating all forward momentum. It yelped and dropped.
“Who’s driving this thing?” Rune shouted.
“No one.” Tate scrambled to the other side of the carriage. “The horses won’t stop until they reach the council house.”
A wolf crashed into the door. Its claws gripped the rim of the open windows, sinking into the trim, and a large muzzle entered the carriage.
Rune screamed. Tate deftly sliced his blade across the top of the wolf’s feet. Blood bloomed through fur, and it cried out, retracting its claws and vanishing from view. Tate leaned his head out to make sure the werewolf hadn’t managed to grab onto the back as it fell.
A thump came from the roof as the third beast landed, the thin wood sagging beneath the weight. Tate’s head was still out the window, and before he could pull himself inside, Grey ripped the second sword from his sheath and shoved it up through the ceiling. The wolf screamed, a ghastly mix of human and beast.
Finally the trees dropped away, leaving nothing but cliffs on either side of the path and no avenue for the remainder of the pack to flank them. Verida slipped inside the carriage feetfirst.
Tate turned, huffing as he wiped the blood from his face with the back of his arm. “A little close, don’t you think?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Maybe you didn’t notice the full moon.” She plopped down next to Rune. “I’ll have you know—we were just fine, had a nice lead, actually, until the sun set.”
Grey handed Tate back his sword, coated with blood.
“Nice move,” Tate said.
“Thanks.”
Howls rose from the forest, and Verida glanced outside. “Those wolves will be angry tonight.”
Tate’s expression darkened. “I know, and I worry who will feel the heat of it.”
Bloodlines
Grey let out a long, slow breath and leaned his back against the silk cushion. They’d just been hunted.
Flat-out hunted.
It had been the longest day of his life. After they’d evaded the wolves by jumping the canyon, they’d spent until late afternoon moving down the valley and looking for a spot to cross back over to meet Tate. By the time they’d finally found a place where Verida couldn’t smell any wolves, the sun had been dangerously low in the sky.
They hadn’t made it very far into the forest when the wolves found their trail. Shortly after that, the sun had set. He would never forget the sounds. How a howl coming from a man could change midcry as his face shifted into that of a wolf. It morphed from something flat and one dimensional to a rich, resonant sound as the vibrations of the cry moved up the length of the snout. He hadn’t been able to see the werewolves, but he’d literally heard the change happening. Once in animal form, they’d been a close match for speed to Verida and two Venators.
They’d run for longer than Grey had ever run before, and nearing the end, he’d finally felt fatigue. That had terrified him. A waving red flag that he was, in fact, not invincible. Nor did he have unlimited energy, as he had previously suspected. It was possible that his speed and endurance could fail him, and failing in this world meant death. Tonight it could’ve come as claws ripped out his throat. He shuddered and pulled himself from that abyss of thought—it would do nothing but harm.
Rune stared out the window. Her face was drawn, and her shoulders hunched. Grey knew exactly where her mind was—the same place his had been. But she didn’t seem to be pulling out of it, and that worried him.
“Hey, you did well today.” Grey leaned forward, elbows on knees. “You about outran me a couple of times.”
“Thanks.”
“It was like watching you at the state tournament.”
Rune half-smiled. “Yeah, just like it. Except I don’t remember the other team trying to bite my face off.”
“See? Biting is motivational—you moved much faster than you did at state.”
Verida chuckled, and Rune finally laughed. “Yeah, I did.”
Tate had been wiping the blood from the swords using the bottom edge of his trench coat. He carefully maneuvered around the carriage occupants to sheath the blades. “Were there any other problems besides the wolves?”
Verida glanced to Rune, who tensed, eyes pleading for discretion.
“No, no other problems. A pack of wolves on a full moon is sufficient.”
“Good.”
Rune mouthed a small thank you to Verida. Tate didn’t seem to notice.
“I’m sorry I had to leave you. The council didn’t want confirmation of their involvement until the announcement—political reasons. Plausible deniability. Verida’s work with the council was suspected but not verified—”
“It’s verified now,” Verida muttered.
Rune’s nose crinkled as her eyebrows pulled down in puzzlement. “But you said word already got out that we were coming.”
“Rumor got out.” Verida gave a sly smile. “Since only about fifty percent of rumors are actually true, the council can deny until things are verified. Deniability is the situation of choice, and as annoying as it is, it’s a thought process you would do well to learn.”
Tate leaned to the side, peering out the carriage window. “We’re almost there. Now listen. Verida will introduce you to the council. Don’t say anything stupid. Listen, observe, and figure out what you’re dealing with.” He gave a stern look. “And remember their names.”
“You’re not coming in with us?” Rune asked.
“No. I have a few things to do first, and then I’ll be waiting for you outside the dining hall.” He saw their disappointment and added, “There are a lot of things about this world you don’t understand yet. I apologize, but I can’t introduce you.”
Something about the way he said it didn’t sit well with Grey, like Tate was trying to carefully cover a hole with grass mats—one step, and you would tumble into spike-laden truth. “Why not?”
The muscle in Tate’s jaw jumped.
“They’ll find out soon enough,” Verida said. “We might as well tell them now.”
Tate’s eyes slid over to her through half slits, but he didn’t object.
“Tate can’t introduce you because his status isn’t high enough.”
“His status?” Grey sat up straight, disgusted. “What does that even mean?”
“It means they trust me enough to train you, teach you, and die for you, but I don’t have the right bloodlines to present you.”
“Bloodlines!” Rune burst out.
“Tell me you’re joking.” Grey looked from Tate to Verida—neither seemed amused. “That isn’t right.”
“I know.”
In a land filled with vampires, werewolves, humans, fae, and elves—creatures of every different size, shape, and color—where outer appearance didn’t seem to matter, Tate was discriminated against for his bloodlines. Grey looked at him, wordless, because there was nothing adequate to say. But there should’ve been words—something—and he searched for anything besides a simple, I’m sorry.
Tate must’ve seen what Grey couldn’t articulate, because a glimmer of hope flickered in his dark eyes. He reached out and gripped Grey’s knee. “Maybe someday things will change, but today is not that day. You’ll go with Verida.”
The carriage slowed as the horses came to a stop. Tate popped the door open and leapt to the ground, all emotions dropped. “Welcome to the council house.”
Grey let Verida and Rune out first, then stepped down and looked around.
A black stone castle stretched into the night sky, all walls and spires and paned windows. Its dark walls were washed in moonlight that was unable to dispel the dismal gloom that wrapped around it. Stone gargoyles trimmed the higher ledges and were broken up with stained-glass windows that told stories he was too far away to make out. Large torches hung on both sides of the tall black double doors, crisscrossed with thick iron braces. The torches blazed, but instead of adding an air of warmth, they solidified the overall feel of doom. On either side of the door, draped in thick shadows the torches failed to penetrate, two statues stood well over fifteen feet high, each holding a battle-ax.
“When you said house, I expected something . . .”
“Smaller,” Rune interjected.
“. . . and less like Dracula’s castle.”
Tate chuckled as he unhitched the horses from the carriage. “Dracula’s castle looks quite a bit different, but if you’d ever like to visit, Verida could probably get you in.”
“Thank you so much.” Verida managed to glare and roll her eyes at the same time. “Would you like to add anything else, Tate?”
He clicked his tongue at the horses and turned to lead them away. “Not really. If you don’t want to give them a tour, just say so.”
“Somehow I don’t think a tour of the dungeons would be their idea of a good time,” she called after him. “But maybe you’d like to see them!”
“Quite familiar with those already,” Tate tossed back over his shoulder.
Grey was both confused and intrigued. “Dracula?”
“Don’t ask. And I mean that in all seriousness. Just don’t.” She marched toward the front entrance.
They were nearly there when the statues moved. They stepped into the light, their battle-axes swinging down to cross in front of the door. The towering men wore kilts that came to the tops of their knobby knees and white button-down shirts they seemed to have outgrown—the buttons bulged, ready to yield to their terrible task at any moment. The sleeves had been ripped off at the shoulders, and fraying threads hung down their arms like strands of wet seaweed.
“Who goes there?” said one of the things Grey had mistaken for a statue. The giant peered down at them through beady eyes.
“Stan!” Verida snapped. “No one says ‘who goes there’ anymore, and you know who it is!”
“You didn’t answer his question,” the other giant said.
Changing tactics, Verida batted her eyes and cooed, “These are the new Venators. You don’t want to make them angry, do you, Bob?”
Stan and Bob both jolted up straighter, raising their battle-axes. “Sorry, Verida,” they muttered simultaneously. Bob, who had blond hair matted to his head and small black eyes, reached over and pushed one of the doors open with an enormous hand.
Rune and Grey stared up at the two hulking figures as they passed. Stan’s face was so flat it looked like he’d been sat on shortly after birth, and Grey wondered how he breathed through that nose.
Stan glanced down and winked.
Rune hurried forward. “Are those giants?” she hissed.
“Yes,” Verida said.
“And their names are Stan and Bob?”
“Is there something wrong with that?”
Grey walked backward to watch the towering figures swing the outer doors closed. He chuckled. “Stan and Bob. I like it.”
Verida just shook her head. “Good. Because that’s probably the last thing you’re going to like for a while.”
The long, rectangular foyer was immense but somehow still seemed to close in on Grey at the same time. The walls were covered with portraits of myriad different creatures. Each wore a robe with a red-jeweled brooch on the shoulder in the shape of a four-pointed star. Their eyes seemed to track them as they walked. Normally he would’ve told himself he was being paranoid, but tonight, in this place, he wasn’t so sure.
The floor was tiled in one-inch pieces that had been used to create mosaic landscapes. Bright-pink swirls twisted through the tree branches. It was hard to fully see the art while walking over it. He would need to look at it from the second level.
The castle was deathly silent, and their footsteps echoed loudly. Grey thought he saw another set of eyes hidden in the shadows above, but when he looked again, they were gone.
They headed toward a set of double doors at the back of the foyer, where two guards stood watch. One looked very human; the other . . . Grey had no idea. The man had skin with a faint orange tint to it, four arms instead of two, and horns that curled around his ears like a ram’s. Grey tried not to stare, but it wasn’t working very well. All his years of studying, and he still only recognized half the things they’d seen so far.
Verida lifted her hand to knock, but the doors swung open. Standing just inside, with her hip cocked to the side and a coy smile, was Tashara, the succubus. It had to be. She stood nearly at Grey’s height, with thick blonde hair that fell down her back. Her dress was red and cut very low, hugging every curve and leaving little to the imagination.
Her eyes glittered the same eerie green Grey had noticed in the images, but they were even more striking in person. He imagined falling into them and never coming out.
The accuracy of that thought jolted him, and he looked away.
Tashara leaned in and sniffed him. “Well, hello,” she purred. “You do not disappoint. Welcome to the party.”
“Thank you.” Verida stepped deftly between Grey and Tashara. She extended an arm in introduction. “This is Rune and Grey.”
“Grey,” Tashara mused, completely ignoring Rune. “What an interesting name. Pleased to meet you.”
Verida put her hand on Grey’s shoulder and steered him into the room, motioning for Rune to follow. “Keep your eyes off her and your thoughts out of your pants,” she murmured in his ear, “or she’ll suck you dry.”
“I thought . . .” What had he thought? That a succubus stole life from a kiss? “She . . . she can do that?”
“Not kill, at least not from a distance, but she’ll feed off the sexual energy you emanate, leaving you so exhausted you’ll wish you were dead.”
Grey pulled away from those sea-green eyes to focus on the task at hand. But his mind rebelled, turning again to Tashara against his will.
Magic. He was fighting succubus magic.
He glanced over to Tashara, who watched him with a playful smirk.
Grey jerked harder to be free of her, reaching into his mind with determined fingers and nudging the temptations out of their hiding places. His thoughts responded, but slowly, resisting every move away from the succubus.
