Forged in Flame (35 page)

Ignoring everything around him, Zachary spoke in a loud, clear voice. “I, Zachary Amberhill, am answering an official summons from Lord Samair.”

“Your presence is recognized.” Samair’s voice echoed through the now silent room. “Who have you brought with you?”

“I bring my counsel, Michael O’Brien, and two of the guests who were in attendance at my ball.”

“You and your entourage may approach.” Samair sounded bored and distracted.

Following protocol, Zachary bowed low before strolling to the center of the room as though he had all the time in the world.
 

On the dais, Samair watched him with narrowed eyes, when the three vampires with Zachary didn’t bow or acknowledge his presence. The Lord of San Francisco seemed on the verge of an outburst but thought better of it. Instead, he drew himself up and said, “Zachary Amberhill, you stand before me, accused of contributing to the deaths of thirty of our species. How do you answer for yourself?”

“It was not my doing. The catering company I hired had a good reputation among our kind. I had no reason to believe that members of The Order of the Black Rose had infiltrated them. As you know, they are an ancient enemy that even the Council of Ancients and their Enforcers had believed to be extinct.”

Samair dismissed his words with a casual wave. “Ignorance does not absolve you.”

“By what law do you seek the death of one of my bloodline?” Every eye in the room turned as Morgan spoke, moving to Zachary’s side, her cane tapping out a cadence in time with her heels.

One step behind, Michael and Christophe flanked her, surveying the crowd with cold, calculating gazes.
 

Samair answered, “His negligence was a breach of the laws of hospitality. The vampires who were killed or injured came at his invitation. That fact is not in question. Therefore it was Zachary’s duty to assure their safety.”
 

Morgan considered Samair’s words for several moments, letting the silence stretch to the point of discomfort. All around, vampires shifted their weight, a few began whispering among one another. When she broke the silence, her voice came across as calm, the question simple. “So, you use ancient law to condemn him?”

“It is a tradition among us lowly Nomads.” Samair sneered the last two words before waving Morgan away. “You are dismissed, you have no place here.”

“Then you cannot condemn him by the laws of hospitality.” She smirked and stepped to stand at Zachary’s right side. “If I have no right to speak in defense of one who shares my blood, then you cannot use the ancient Council Law to do away with him.”
 

“Morgan, what in the name of God are you doing?” Zachary whispered through gritted teeth.
 

“Saving your ungrateful, undead ass.” She gestured other bodyguards to stay back.
 

“Just try not to make things worse, okay?” Christophe quipped in a low hushed voice.
 

Two hundred or so years is a good run,
Zachary thought.

“Such faith,” Morgan countered as she approached Samair on his dais.
 

“You are not one of my people. Dynastic lines have no place here.”

“Ah, but that is where you are wrong.” The slight laugh in Morgan’s words sent a chill along the length of Zachary’s spine. “Though he may have turned his back on me, disowned me, disavowed all blood ties, it does not change the fact that I am Zachary’s Sire. And as such, I have every right to speak.”

“Very well, we shall hear what the Council’s lackey has to say.”

“If you truly believe that I am the Councils lackey, you are more delusional than I have been told.” Morgan turned, shifting the tail of her long coat out of the way with casual grace. “What Samair has said is true. Those invited guests were under Zachary’s roof and therefore expected safe passage. That is not in dispute.” Morgan nodded toward the dais where Samair sat watching. “What Zachary has also said is true. He had no indication that the Order of the Black Rose had returned or infiltrated in such numbers. Therefore, there is latitude in the Law of Hospitality. Not every threat can be thwarted because one cannot always plan for the unknown or unexpected.”
 

“This defense has already been brought to my attention. It is the belief among my advisors that Zachary was negligent to even throw the ball, considering the climate in the city at this time,” Samair said.

“The climate?” Morgan asked.

“The Assassin prowls the streets hunting another of our kind. You are in the city, and now we have Nicholai’s Blood Son. What can we infer is that the Council is attempting to overthrow the rightful leader of the Nomads of this city.”

“You are not the rightful Lord of San Francisco,” Zachary whispered loud enough for his words to carry.

Morgan shifted on her feet beside Zachary and fought to keep her expression neutral.

“What?” Samair demanded, his voice booming, face turning a strange shade of red.

“You heard me.” Zachary’s voice grew in volume. He stepped to the dais, tugged on the French cuffs of his shirt, raised his chin, stood straighter and met Samair’s eyes. “But just in case you didn’t… I will repeat myself.
You are not the rightful Lord of San Francisco
.”

Nicholas stepped out of the club and into the cool San Francisco night, stopping and closing his eyes. Opening his senses, he sensed Jayson off to his right. The human he’d taken from the club still lived. Nicholas heard the frantic beating of the heart, racing as though trying to compensate for the blood loss. He smiled, Jayson had just begun feeding, but time was of the essence.
If the human dies, so much better. We don’t need any witnesses.
Nicholas let his power slip, probing and prodding at the edges of the unknown vampire’s psyche. When the level reached the all too familiar fractured conscience of his wife’s Sire, Nicholas recoiled, withdrawing his power in an instant. His head jerked as though he’d been surprised while engrossed in some mundane task.
 

Damn, we have an audience.
“Julian,” he whispered at the same time Eric stepped up beside him.

“Nah, he’s shorter and has silver eyes,” the younger vampire quipped. “A bit crazier too.”

“He’s nearby.” Nicholas ignored the attempt at humor though his lips quirked up in a quick smile.

“Do you think he’s watching?” From one moment to the next the jovial young vampire had been replaced by his cool, efficient other side.

“Yes. It’s against protocol, but I’ve got to take the chance. If Samair was right about anything, it’s that Julian can’t be allowed to live. The question is what do we do about it?”

“We?” Eric’s head snapped back as if he’d been slapped. “I’m not an Enforcer.”

“Tonight, you are. I need you to take care of Jayson. Makes no difference to me how you do it, but that one has got to die tonight. He’s run out of time.”
 

“You’re going after Julian?”

“Morgan may hate me for a while, but he’s become too much of a wild card. I don’t care if Lucian is controlling him or not. I need to do what I can to neutralize him.” Nicholas frowned as though working something out in his mind. “I need about two minutes. Can you give me that?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Good.” Nicholas stepped away from the building and stopped. “Be careful. I don’t want to explain your death to my wife.”

“Aww, Nicholas, I didn’t know you cared.”

“I do,” he paused, “about pissing Morgan off.” The Lead Enforcer chuckled and ran across the alley, using his preternatural speed.

He stopped beside the door of the empty warehouse where he sensed Julian’s strong presence. Nicholas took a deep breath and grabbed the padlock securing the door. A quick yank broke the hasp from the casing and pushed the door open.

Eric stared, watching the Lead Enforcer and shook his head. The darkness extended the length of the alley up to the pool of light where Jayson fed on the human. Eric recognized the victim as the man he’d seen Jayson chatting up in the club. He heard the human’s heartbeat in his mind and moved through the alley, knowing that Enforcers could use their abilities to slip deeper into the shadows. He didn’t have the same advantage, but relied on his years of training as a cop to use the shadows as cover.

Each step carefully placed. The heartbeat he heard in his mind, still strong. It appeared that Jayson had chosen to draw out the kill. Eric planned to use that to his advantage, so he drew his weapon from its holster. With a soft, metallic click, he chambered a round. His skills with a sword were improving, but he preferred a gun. Faster, and with a silencer in place, his side arm would be a lot quieter than a sword fight. He just had to wait for the right moment to take the shot.
 

Jayson cupped Braden’s neck in his hand as he laughed, the kind usually shared between lovers. Closing his eyes in anticipation, the vampire caressed his victim’s pulse under his thumb, savoring the way it fluttered at his touch.

His gaze turned to the end of the alley. Others were watching, just as planned. One man with a small camera in his hand waited at the end of the alley. The second plant, a woman, wasn’t facing the alley. Instead, she leaned on a lamppost, camera hidden in her oversized purse. The electronic device had been chosen to get the best footage possible. She wouldn’t know when the feeding started but would know that the human had died.
 

The cocky vampire frowned, an awareness danced along the edges of his consciousness, the one he’d come to know and not fear. He sensed the so-called Assassin on his tail again.
Some boogie man. Can’t even catch little old me. Maybe it’s time he retired.
Jayson turned his attention back to Braden as a lazy smile curled his lips, revealing fangs.

“Time to play.” He breathed into Braden’s ear as his canines lengthened, their tips sharpening to needle-like points. 

Feeling the stranger’s hand at the back of his neck, Braden grinned, oblivious to the danger. Jayson took his time, caressing the thundering pulse at his throat. A sigh escaped Braden’s lips and he thought he heard Jayson whisper something about play.
Feeling his body respond to Jayson’s touch, the endorphins kicked in and his entire being seemed balanced on a knife’s edge waiting to be tipped over one way or another.

Alarm bells went off in a distant part of his mind, but Braden ignored them. After his fight with Peter, he’d been looking for some fun, a way to cut loose and unwind. The club had offered just that.

Jayson had offered more.
 

“I…” he shook his head and tried to push Jayson away. “I can’t do this,” Braden whispered as the ghost of Peter’s cologne drifted into his nostrils.
 

“Oh, but you can,” Jayson whispered, digging his fingers into Braden’s neck. 

Feeling the pressure at the base of his skull, Braden realized the first stirrings of panic rising up in his gut. “Please. This was a mistake. I wanted to get back at, to hurt Peter the way he hurt me.” Braden shut his mouth with a snap, biting his lips to put a stop to the flood of words tumbling from his mouth.

“It doesn’t work like that.” Jayson’s free arm wrapped around Braden’s waist, settling at the small of his back. “You came here of your own free will, and now I will take what I want.” Jayson’s hand at Braden’s neck drew him closer, and Jayson tilted his victim’s head to the right exposing more flesh.
 

Braden’s panic exploded into a mushroom cloud of terror as he struggled, trying to claw free of Jayson’s vice-like grip. When that didn’t work, he reached out and scratched four long furrows into each of Jayson’s cheeks.

The vampire chuckled, and Braden’s heart sped up even more as he watched the scratched area bleed for a moment and then heal. Jayson threw his head back and belly laughed, long fangs flashing in the dim light of the alley. 

“No.” Braden breathed, trying to wrap his mind around the unreal vision.
 

“Yes,” Jayson replied as he struck.
 

Light and sound exploded. The world turned red with agony and sounds warped, becoming nothing more than white noise while fangs ripped into Braden’s flesh. Jayson’s fingers dug deeper into the base of his skull, but Braden didn’t give up. He clawed at Jayson’s arms while his heart hammered out a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Though his nails scored red lines on the vampire’s flesh, they had no effect on the creature’s grip, if anything he held on tighter.