Giver of Light (43 page)

Before Doug can answer, Shane manages to send me a look. For a moment I am stunned at the emotion on display: sorrow, fear, regret, shame. I delve into his mind without consideration and what I find makes me stagger back a step. Doug is using his talent to control their thoughts, their communication with me. Not many know Doug has this talent. It is an ace up both our sleeves. But right now, he has prevented my vampyres from communicating with me. I can still read their minds, but it must be initiated by me. I hadn't thought to communicate with anyone other than Doug this evening. I had only conversed telepathically with him, as he can be trusted to a certain degree, to be discreet.

I sift through the memories in the minds of those vampyres being held by Doug and force myself to stay on my feet. In less than a minute I am aware of what has happened. My mind flicks to Doug's and I feel her there. Lucinda has glazed him to believe she is OK and to ensure that none of my line follow her from the premises.

She is not OK. I know this now and I force myself to act, to break free of the grip fear has placed on my body.

I spin and look directly at Erika. I ram into her mind, meeting shield after shield that momentarily stuns me, then in an instant images of what has transpired flash across my eyes. I forget about her mental fortifications and concentrate on what she has uncovered. The human Doug had shown me has forcefully taken Lucinda from my bar.

I let my vampyre float to the surface and roar like a caged tiger. I absently counter-command Doug's mind manipulation over my vampyres. I cannot override Lucinda's glaze, she is too strong even for me, but I can get my vampyre's minds free from my bartender. They will now just have to battle his physical detention only. As I flash across the clubroom floor, stunning the Norms in attendance with my preternatural speed, I send a command to Erika to detain the human, ensure Amisi is safe and tidy up the mess I leave in my wake. She will glaze the Norms, keep my secret from getting out.

Within seconds I am on Queen Street. The Bond tells me Lucinda is still there, I cannot believe my luck. My vampyre urges me on,
faster, faster, faster
. We must get to her before she is harmed. I make it as far as the Town Hall, but then stumble. Lucinda is gone. I struggle to decipher what I am feeling, sensing. Or better said, not feeling, not sensing. I am not feeling her down the Bond connection. I do not sense her at all.

My vampyre threatens to take over completely. He is enraged. But I am Lucinda's kindred, as much as he. I will not let him turn me into a mindless killing machine. She is as much mine to save as his. I pick up speed, I am barely a blur. Not even a flash of colours anymore, I simply wink out of sight with such incredible speed, that to the naked human eye I have disappeared.

I only stop when I reach Lucinda's place of work. Numbly, I bend down and with a shaking hand pick up her Svante sword and dancing dragon necklace. I stare at them for a moment, not fully comprehending what this could mean. The sword disappears at my side with a small smattering of
Sanguis Vitam
. The necklace to my inside jacket pocket, followed by the two silver stakes still lying discarded on the ground. I feel the silver through the thin material of my shirt. It burns slightly, but not as painfully as the wrenching ache in my heart.

I know I have stopped breathing, my heart may ache, but no longer beats. I let my vampyre come closer to the surface, I fear I may falter without him to keep me on course. I lift my head and inhale, trying to decipher the remaining scents. I smell Lucinda and another. I catalogue his scent. I do not recognise it. I follow the scents to the kerb. It is obvious they have driven away in a vehicle. I cannot track a vehicle, but the Bond is still there. I may not be able to sense Lucinda down it, but the Bond will always be there. I let that thought calm me and I set out to follow that unbreakable connection to my kindred.

I will find her. I will rescue her.
She
is
mine
.

I don't know how much time has passed since I left Queen Street. All I know is the hunger in my soul to reach my kindred. I move faster than I have moved for any length of time before. I feel my
Sanguis Vitam
flowing like a life force through me. I have enough to spare, but this is taking its toll. I reach Mount Albert, I know I am getting close. The Bond is stronger than before. I am gaining on her abductors. I will win this race against time.

I force myself to ignore the worry of what they may be doing to her precious body. I will not entertain such thoughts yet. She will be all right. I will save her. She will be in my arms again.

I dodge late night traffic. I weave in and out of unsuspecting vehicles on the road. I take the footpath when a bottle neck appears at the New North Road intersection. I leap across the divide, landing on both feet and running again before even a second has passed. The pound of my feet on the pavement is met with the roar from my vampyre-within. With each step I take I know I am closer to her. I search the vehicles ahead, I try to determine which one she is being held captive in. But none appear any different from the other. The Bond does not co-operate as it should.

As though that thought is a trigger, I feel the Bond slipping from my grasp. Then with a final, resounding crack, it is gone.

I know I am frantic. I feel the wetness of tears on my cheek. The Bond cannot be lost. It is unbreakable. It is fail-safe. It just is. Once a joined kindred Bond is established, it cannot be denied. It may suffer from neglect and maltreatment, if not protected and nurtured and guarded with our hearts. But, it will always exist. Always. Once a Bond has been made, it is for eternity.

I continue on the path I am on, in the hopes of picking up a familiar scent. Of spotting long shining brown hair, hazel eyes, golden cream skin. Of something.
Anything
, that will bring me to my kindred.

No Bond
, my vampyre cries in dismay.
No kindred
, he whispers and I growl.

I search and search and search, but it becomes obvious I have lost her. I have no leads. I am roaming blindly. I am desperate. I am a void full of sorrow.

It is some time later that Jett finds me. I have walked every street within a ten kilometre radius. I have even made it as far as the airport, my desperation bringing me to the conclusion I had refused to believe. She is gone. From my mind. From the Bond. Maybe even from the city. The country.

But she will never be gone from my heart.

"Michel," Jett says, his voice soft and laden with concern. "It will be dawn soon."

I continue walking, my
Sanguis Vitam
all but depleted in the search. Jett matches my stride. It can't be hard, I have slowed to human speeds.

"Master," he says, beseechingly. "The sun comes."

I shake my head, but do not answer. What has the sun ever meant to me?

For several minutes we walk in silence, my heart an empty cage, the gnawing hole so big, so large, it threatens to consume me. My vampyre paces within. He is bereft, angry, hungry for blood. I feel nothing but a sense of pure loss.

Gone.

She is gone.

And I didn't protect her.

I stop and fall to my knees, a guttural howl escaping my lips. I recognise Jett's masking, his
Sanguis Vitam
sweeping out to hide us from prying eyes and ears. I let myself go. I give in to the need to release my anguish, my fear, my loss and heartache.

I give in to my vampyre's desire to rage.

Jett lets me, he says nothing, but simply masks me from the world.

I don't know how we make it home, but there are voices around me. Jett's, Erika's, Doug's. I hear my guards being commanded to protect the house. I hear Jett ordering Erika to start investigating the American Families, I don't have the will to decide if he is right or wrong.

Amisi is nearby, she rests a hand on my shoulder. She says something I do not hear. She leaves when I don't answer. Sometime later she returns, but she is not alone. She has a human donor with her. I refuse to feed.

I know I should be stronger. I know I should be doing what I need to do to find Lucinda. But I can't. I just can't. I am in shock. I am numb. I cannot wake from this stupor and yet I know I must. For Lucinda. For us both.

I have failed her. I did not protect my kindred from harm.

Amisi is back. Another donor. Another refusal to feed. She escorts the donor out and I feel... relief. But, it is short lived. The Egyptian returns and kneels before my seat. She takes my hands in her own delicate, bronzed fingers and squeezes, making me lift my gaze to hers.

"You need to feed, Michel."

I just look at her, without answering. Will she take Lucinda's place? Become Auckland's Nosferatin? Will time pass and memories of my kindred, myself, be forgotten? Replaced with only memories of this capable Nosferatin and whomever would replace me as Master of the City. She is a good hunter, Nafrini told me so. But she is not Lucinda.

"Three days," I hear her say. I do not know if she has said something else, I am unsure if I have heard all of her words, but they come to me now. "In three days it will be more than just lack of blood that will weaken you. In three days your window of opportunity will be lost."

I have not heard Amisi talk like this before, something about it intrigues me enough to listen further.

"You are vampyre, Michel Durand. You must survive at all cost."

It is as though her words are spoken from the lips of a goddess. A Light shines around Amisi's head. It is dazzling, captivating, alluring. It is so different from Lucinda's I do not baulk.

"First you must feed," Amisi's goddess voice intones. "Then you must attempt to find her before the first three days of separation have passed." She waits for me to acknowledge I have understood. How can I not? She commands like a goddess. I do not have a goddess, but in this moment I wish my goddess to be her.

I nod in acquiescence.

"Good," she says, her voice still not her own. Then she stands and disappears and the emptiness returns. Only to be replaced by hunger when a donor is brought back in the room.

I blink in surprise. I do not wish to feel hunger, I wish to wallow in my heartache.

Amisi guides the donor to the side of my chair and raises the donor's wrist to my lips.

"Feed," she demands and I do. I bite before I can find the willpower to deny her command.

The first taste makes me choke. It is not Lucinda. This blood is full of life, but not Light. It is not Dark either, it just is not Lucinda's. I have become accustomed to a fine, exclusive wine and Amisi attempts to give me a
house red
.

"Survive at all costs, Michel." It is Amisi's voice I hear, not a goddess, but she is right.

I drink the donor's blood without further pause, lick the wounds closed, thank him for his gift and release him from my glaze. My eyes flick up to Amisi's. She is watching me from the other side of the room. There is no more Light around her head, but for me, she will always shine.

"Thank you," I say simply, she smiles and leaves the room.

Within seconds I have called my most trusted vampyres to me. I am on the phone when they walk in the room. None show surprise on their faces, but I feel it.

I am the Master of this City and my kindred Nosferatin has been stolen from my care.

I will seek vengeance. I will have her back.

"Alain," I say into the mouthpiece of the phone as those present make themselves at home around the room. "Ready your team, this will be your only priority from here on in. I want everything you have on the American Families." I notice Erika stiffen to the side. She's had her chance and she has failed to see this outcome. I fear Jett is right, America is involved. "Who have we got on the ground there?"

"It will take me a few moments to gather what you require, Michel," comes his familiar and calming voice down the line. "I'll have it sent to your phone within the next ten minutes. Anything in particular I should be looking for?"

I take a breath in to fortify my resolve, saying this aloud takes more courage than I anticipated. "They may have my kindred. I want her back."

I don't hear his reply, I don't need to know how he will dedicate himself to the task. He has been by my side for three centuries. His role in Europe is invaluable to me and his abilities to ferret out information unprecedented. I will no longer trust just one source, I will use everything in my power to resolve this issue.

To bring my kindred home.

Three days before the joining will begin to suffer. I pray my heart will stay strong enough to survive. I pray Lucinda will stay strong enough until I reach her.

Three days.

The clock is already ticking.

No one ever said my job was fun. Until a few weeks ago, I was your friendly neighbourhood business banker at the Queen Street branch of the Bank of New Zealand. My dream job, one I was so proud to have successfully earned. And one that I really couldn't have easily described as fun. Predicable. Mundane even. But, because of that lack of surprise, I
did
find it a breath of fresh air. But not fun. Never really fun. Counting coins, though, was my sanity saviour in a world gone batshit crazy. The methodical and consistent task of counting coins and conversing with my local business owners was cathartic and grounding.

Until my night time gig got in the way.

So, now my employment consists of hunting the evil undead creatures of the night. And little else. It is unpredictable, a constant challenge and takes me to any manner of locations at any time of the day. But it is also
not
what I would call fun. It also doesn't pay well. Hell, it doesn't pay at all. It's not like the
Iunctio
, the vampire governing body, offers up a retainer for Nosferatins like me. They may have accepted our role in the supernatural world, begrudgingly, but they certainly aren't going to encourage us with money, that's for sure. No, we're on our own and Nosferatins, or born vampire hunters, like me, make do with odd jobs that fit around our night time hours and responsibilities.

It isn't so bad though. Being joined to the Master of the City means I have it pretty cushy actually. Swanky house, flash car, everything provided for me that I could possibly want.

Except independence and my own means of paying the bills.

Something I have had issue with for some time, but my conscience, that pesky little voice inside my head that keeps me connected to the Light, has meant continuing to take a salary from the BNZ whilst not actually working there, goes against the grain. I mean, I'm supposed to be one of the good guys. Having the Norms I work with constantly glazed to believe I was working that week, when I wasn't, due to injuries, or all-nighters that left little time for sleep before daylight working hours came knocking on the door, or other sundry Nosferatu claims on my time, does not sit well at all.

So, I have been forced to take a break from my normal human working arrangements. No job, no income, no independence. Not a happy camper, but what can I do?

Reluctantly I have been relying on Michel, my kindred Nosferatu, to pay my way. Something he was more than pleased to do, hell he was ecstatic about it. But, I've warned him not to get too comfortable with our arrangement. I am job hunting, looking for something that will allow me a little leeway, but provide for a little financial independence too. Also, something that won't condemn me for the tattoo-like
Sigillum
on my neck. One of three marks that Michel has placed on me, claiming me as his own, but this one on my neck is hard to miss, laced with a little of my Nosferatin Light, it looks more like a colourful tattoo, swirls of iridescent colours and a geometric design surrounding the tiny fang marks of his bite. So far, no luck with a prospective job that doesn't mind the decoration, but I am a positive sort of girl, I won't give up on the dream just yet.

Considering that my night time job has also started being an all day, any time of the day kind of job, means finding an employment opportunity outside of those rather demanding hours, is likely to be an impossibility. And turning my back on the task at hand, or the pull as we call it, just isn't an option either.

Especially, when faced with proof of what an evil Dark vampire can do when not policed, such as tonight.

I am usually pretty good at what I do. I can fight a level one
Sanguis Vitam
vampire and more often than not walk away from the encounter relatively unscathed. I can even take on more than one at a time, what with the plethora of Nosferatin skills I have accumulated over the past two and a half years. And, on top of that, I am the Giver of Light, the one Nosferatin tasked with the job of calling all Dark vampires towards the Light and balancing out the universe.

Sounds good in theory, but in order to do that, I have to get close to the most evil, most vile, most Dark of all vampires. And that is never a nice thing. The one facing me now was evidence enough of that. Just because they are evil though, did not mean they didn't know how to dress.

This one was tall and swarthy looking, with long black hair and exceptionally good dress sense. His muscular frame was clothed in designer jeans, tight fitting black T-Shirt and a well cut leather jacket, that accentuated his broad shoulders and narrow waist. He had a thick black leather belt on and solid looking, expensive shoes, poking out of the bottom of his perfectly placed jeans cuffs. It was all made-to-measure and he knew he looked damn good in it too.

His cocky and sure, deep topaz gaze, travelled the length of me, but God knows what he actually saw, because I wasn't really here. In fact, he shouldn't have been able to sense me or smell me, let alone see me. Tell that to him though. He cocked his head to the side and smiled, a wicked smile that vampires seemed to be able to master so well.

I swallowed under his heavy scrutiny and felt the beginnings of unease trickle down my spine. The human he had been feasting on lay discarded at his feet. Dead. Drained dry. Done and dusted. He had obviously been hungry, this well groomed harbinger of death, because he hadn't bothered to hide his efforts from prying eyes. We had an audience, not something I was familiar with, but clearly something he found rather amusing. Maybe he planned on dealing with me and then tucking into dessert with one of the three pub crawlers held by his glaze, standing watching in horror, at the end of the narrow lane we were in.

What to do? He reeked evil from every pore, it was like treacle, thick and viscous, sweet smelling, but slightly burnt. Coupled with the amount of
Sanguis Vitam
rolling off him, he was no two-bit player. A master in every aspect. In fact, I had a sneaky suspicion, he was more than just your average level one master. I'm not quite sure what tipped me off about that fact, but my inner monologue was whispering,
tread carefully, very carefully
inside my head
.
I usually listen to that voice, it's pretty damn perceptive.

“Another Nosferatin. How droll.” His accent was upper-crust British. Not surprising, considering I was in London. Knightsbridge to be precise. Not all vampires have well bred accents, but when you've been dead a few centuries you learn to pick up the accent of your choice. This chap had been around close to a thousand years, not a usual age for a vampire - usually they don't make it that far, a stake in the chest will do it - and he had established himself in the upper echelons of society, I should think. “Have your brethren not passed on the memo?” he purred.

What memo? I chose to ignore his urbane question and just glanced down at the dead human at his feet and then slowly up the length of his tall body to finally rest my very hard stare on his face. He noticed the move, creepy but true. Until now, there were only two other vampires who could see me in this realm - this Dream Walking realm - and to them I appeared as nothing more than a hazy outline, a representation of my aura. This vampire, somehow, could see all of me. I don't know how, but I sure as hell would like to find out.

But, first things first, show no fear. Rule number one on the Nosferatin charter of behaviour.

“You seem to have over indulged this evening, vampire. Tsk. Tsk. It is against the rules, you know.” I fingered my stake, allowing the silver of it to catch his eye. He just smiled more broadly.

“You are on my turf now, Hunter. My rules. My world. You are not welcome here.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” I answered and spun in the air towards his right hand side.

Spin fighting is one of my learned talents, it's not inherited, not inherently Nosferatin, just a skill taught to me by my former Nosferatin trainer, Nero. He had been the master of the manoeuvre, a stunningly brilliant move he made look mesmerizing. We have enhanced speed, courtesy of our ancestors and joining with a kindred Nosferatu, making the spin appear nothing more than a blur and the time taken to cross the space between where I had been standing, to where he hovered over the remains of his supper, only a split second. Usually enough to get the drop on the vamp I was after. Not only because of the superhuman speed, but because the move is spectacular and even the undead have an appreciation of beauty.

Of course, occasionally it can go wrong. Like tonight.

I landed to the side of the vamp and had my stake up ready to make the killing blow, when he simply thrust out a hand, taking advantage of my continued momentum, casually flicking me away. He would have used a fraction of his full strength, nothing more than a slight movement of his fingers, like you would if you were swatting a mosquito away. But, it was enough to send me over ten feet down the paved lane and crashing against the glass of a boutique shop window, tumbling through the enclosure and across the polished concrete floor of the shop.

Clothes stands went flying, designer garments crashing to the ground and the ornate counter providing a shockingly non-absorbent landing pad. I felt the bones in my right arm, my fighting arm, shatter on impact. Crap, but it hurt.

He didn't fly after me in that preternatural speed they have, he simply stepped over the carnage of the window, the scattered outfits worth thousands of pounds and glided across the mess with slow purpose towards me. I struggled to right myself, using only my left arm, transferring my stake to my non-dominant side and pushing up off the ground, turning to face him.

OK. So he had some clout, but I don't give up that easily. One handed I still had some tricks up my sleeve.

I started gathering my Light, preparing to blast the Darkness out of him and turn him from something completely engulfed in evil to something with a choice. Usually, they chose to carry on with their nasty ways, but occasionally they did the right thing and walked away a new vampire, ready to start a life well within the rules. When he made it to within two feet of me, I began to release my Light, as though I was physically touching him, prepared to bring him into my line. I wouldn't have to do that though, it was all in the intent. I have one vampire already in my line, but that didn't mean I had to have more. As long as my intention was to bring the Dark vampire under my wing, the Light would do the rest.

I really didn't want to add to my stable, so avoiding physical contact was essential in this little routine. As long as I didn't touch the object of my Light's focus, they would simply be balanced out and have a choice to make. Good versus Evil. Light versus Dark. I could live with that. If they chose the wrong way, I'd just stake them. If they made the right choice, I'd let them go on their merry way with a rap across the knuckles.

Easy.

Except, when they try to grab you as the Light flees your body. Of course, the outcome would be basically the same, although they would no longer have a choice, they would simply be under my command, under my line, subject to me. Their new master. But, they would be good and not evil any more. I did not want that. I really needed to get over this little aversion to adding to my family line, because I immediately flinched as the vamp's hand wrapped around my wrist, painfully tightly and changed my Light from a balancing the universe power, to simply its natural manifestation in an instant. A natural reflex action to the abhorrence of adding to my line.

Damn.

The vampire collapsed to his knees, a small moan escaping his lips, with me in tow. Unfortunately, my Light has a habit of including me in the experience when I don't temper it at all, when I let it do its thing in its natural form. And unfortunately, its natural form is rather an embarrassment.

Heat washed over us and wrapped around our bodies, sending shockwaves of pleasure through the length of us, melding us together in an erotic maelstrom of desire, lust, hunger and need, taking us on a high like no physical intimacy ever could. The after effect was always one of sated bliss, a post coital experience without having to get dirty to achieve it. Yuck. I hated that this was my natural Light's ability. Sure, occasionally it was fun, but only when I did it with my kindred.

This guy was not my kindred, not by any stretch of the imagination.

He recovered faster than most, but then maybe finding release through physical contact was just par for the course in an evening's adventures for this chap. He rolled over the ground, covering the distance between us in a split second, to press my body into the scattered garments at my back, making a surprisingly comfortable bed. The hard length of his body moulded to mine, his hands securely fastening my arms at my side, a simple twist of my wrist and my stake was gone. The break in my other arm screaming, but the voice in my head drowning it out. Shit. This was not good.

He leaned in slowly, his face at my neck and inhaled. Vampires love scent, it's very personal and very revealing for them. They can hunt you by your scent alone, they can recognise you, taste you, be captivated by you, all because of your scent. It is erotic to them, enticing, enthralling and in some cases, absolutely addictive to them. If your scent just happens to be the one that hits their buttons, you're doomed. I held my breath and prayed to every god I knew, that this guy didn't have a penchant for candied apples, sunshine, honey and Spring. My signature scent.