Keystone (Gatewalkers) (24 page)

Rhys knew his shock showed on his face, but he quickly wiped it away. That incident was sealed in Guildmaster Scatha’s records. It was how she came to offer him a place in the guild; because Rhys succeeded where an entire hunting party failed. Master Dragus’ fingers had dug deeply.

The prince’s smile grew wider. “Now, what business could Alta’s favorite toy have in the Northern Reaches? Could it be that the Death Wind searches for a certain missing princess? Perhaps Alta seeks to gain favor with the High King by having a hand in the rescue of his sister. Or perhaps the Death Wind himself wishes to join our crusade." The prince laced his long fingers together. "After all, what we do here will benefit all who are cast out by the elves." The empty eyes watched Rhys closely. “Would you not prefer to live without hiding behind a façade? No longer at risk of exposure?"

Rhys remained silent. The Blood Prince’s methods were hardly to be recommended, kidnapping girls and slaughtering healers.

"No?" The Prince sounded amused. "Perhaps you prefer living in secret. Never knowing when someone will find out what you are and destroy you for it."

Rhys’ defiance wavered. His first years as a vampire were spent living in terror, and though he’d adapted to his new lifestyle there was always chance of discovery. Having a silver stake pressed to his heart was not an experience he desired to repeat.

"I do not care for it," the Prince said flatly, his smile vanishing. "We cannot change what we are. Why should we suffer for it? Die for it? Allow them to kill us for it?"

"They cannot help their fear," Rhys said hollowly, his shoulders sagging slightly. After all, vampires were monsters in the end.

"Yes," the Prince said, his voice hard. "They should fear us. They should fear us all the more for what they have done to us. They have made us stronger." The Prince leaned forward, his intensity like a living thing crackling in the air. “What would you do if I said that you can purge the last vestiges of your weak mortal blood? Truly transform into one of the Night People?”

A strange fire leapt into Rhys’ chest. Any natural born vampire was easily stronger and faster than himself. He would know; after all he lived with three of them for two years. “How do you mean?” he said, but his cautious tone did not fool the vampire prince.

“The true tragedy of those that are brought into our family by being bitten is that the very thing sustaining them becomes a weakness. When you feed, the venom in your blood looses its strength. Your own strength is diminished. Waiting between feedings allows you more strength, but the longer you wait the greater the thirst becomes. If you do not feed, you will die or be killed.”

Rhys slowly nodded.

The Prince’s mouth curved into a smile. “I see myself in you. You wait to hunt because you enjoy the power. The strength. Mere men cannot stand against you. I can offer you that strength permanently. No weakening. No waiting. You could hunt whenever you please without diminishing yourself.”

The tip of Rhys’ tongue absently flicked over his fangs. “How do I know there is any substance to your claim?” Rhys had never heard of such a thing. Nor had he heard of a cure to the vampire venom until after his transformation. Dragus’ strength had nearly been that of a born vampire. Had he taken this offer?

“Think of it, Rhys Death Wind,” the Prince said. “You are meant to be one of us. You share the same hunger as the Night People. The hunger for strength, for power. Blood is merely the means to gain that power.”

Perhaps, but that was also the price: blood. Others’ blood. “I cannot simply accept,” Rhys said. Though accepting the offer of transformation needn’t include accepting a place as the Blood Prince’s man.
That
he could not accept.

The Blood Prince’s smile twisted into a bitter smirk. “Why? For the sake of loyalty to your pale Duke cowering in the shadows of his castle?”

“Many have done things they are not proud of, if it is a matter of survival,” Rhys said quietly. The instinct to preserve one’s life proved very strong indeed. Duke Gareth of Alta was no exception. Nor was Rhys.

“We would know best, would we not?” the Blood Prince said. “Make that choice once more. Choose the power, and a place among my men.”

His men. The dead traitor Dragus. The terradi who attacked Mae’s search party. The ones who kidnapped Mae. Rhys’ fists tightened and his blood turned even colder.
 

His muscles so tight that they quivered, Rhys released his ribs and unclenched the fingers of his left hand. A small pewter dragon with outspread wings sat in his palm, the purple glass orb in its claws nearly black in the candlelight. Charlotte’s pendant.

Pain that had nothing to do with broken bones or torn flesh ripped through him.

Rhys fought to keep his voice steady as he wrapped the cord of the pendant around his wrist. “Take a place among your men?” He gave a choked, bitter laugh.
 

Rhys gathered up all the power of his remaining strength, turning it into a crackling white heat at his center. He did not have the strength to pull lightning from the sky, but he could draw it out of himself.

Rhys swayed on his feet, his knees nearly buckling. “Twice you have destroyed everything that ever mattered to me.” He loosed a lightning bolt at the Blood Prince, pouring out everything he had in a concentrated attack.

A woman stepped into the path of the bolt, taking it into herself. For a moment she glowed with it, but the glow faded and left her undamaged. Her upper lip curled into a snarl. “That was uncomfortable, pet.”

The mind magic slid into Rhys’ skull like a stiletto, then ripped out his pain and his anger, leaving behind an empty numbness.

 
“I should let you think it over,” the Blood Prince said with forced cheer. “You are of no use to me if you die.” He gestured to the terradi. “Take him to one of the secure guest chambers. One with no windows.”

The terradi seized Rhys’ arms to haul him away. Rhys stumbled, but kept his feet.
 

***

The trip through the halls was harrowing and terrifying. Any moment, Charlie expected to be stepped on or spied. Finally the terradi threw Rhys into a small room, locking the door behind them. When the terradi had gone, Charlie squeezed under the uneven door.

The room was little more than a niche with a door placed over the opening, lit by a small, wavering candle. A straw pallet with a single blanket lay on the floor, but Rhys sat slumped against the far wall. The gash above his temple colored a streak of his pale hair bright crimson.

Charlie couldn’t tell if he breathed. Did vampires need to breathe?
 

Almost in answer to her anxious question, Rhys gave a shuddering sigh that made his shoulders shake. He gave a hiss of pain, clasping his ribs again.

Not thinking, Charlie scampered forward to help. The room suddenly brightened, and Charlie fell back with a squeal. Wisp thin lightning crawled around Rhys’ bare hand, mere threads compared to what he could usually do, pointed at Charlie.

“Rhys! It’s me!” Charlie tried to shout. It came out as incomprehensible rapid fire “chuck chuck chuck chuck.”

Rhys lowered his hand, the tension in his frame evaporating, leaving only weariness. The light bleached his already pale, drawn face. He looked older again, and utterly exhausted. “How did you come down here?”

He understood me!
Charlie thought elatedly, then started to explain, but then he continued.

“This is no place for a squirrel. Something might decide to eat you.” He let the faint lightning fade away, leaving only the dim light of the candle. He sank into a curled ball on the floor.

Charlie let out a mournful noise.
Come on, Rhys.
Someone
needs to figure out who I am. I don’t want to be stuck like this forever. I don’t want to get eaten either!
Charlie shivered, heaving a squirrelly sigh.

Charlie cautiously crept over and laid a paw on his forehead. He felt cold and clammy.

“Do not bite me,” Rhys mumbled. “I bite back.”

Charlie gave a disdainful “burrrr.”
What am I going to do with you, Rhys? You are all I have right now.
Charlie wanted to give another squirrelly sigh. Well, she could at least make sure he didn’t kill himself by sleeping on a cold floor without a blanket. Charlie left him and hopped over to the pallet. The blanket was threadbare and ratty, but at least it looked clean, which was more than she expected. She supposed they were trying to be relatively nice, to make Rhys want to join them.
 

Why was she so worried, anyway? He was a
vampire
.

Charlie paused, the scene in the throne room playing in her mind's eye. He didn’t really want to be a real vampire, did he? But she remembered the look on his face when the Blood Prince suggested it. Charlie cast Rhys an uneasy look.
Ok, Charlie, enough thinking. Back to what you were doing.

Charlie grasped the blanket with her stubby fingered "hands," and found a small problem. Squirrel paws weren’t made for dragging. She eyed the blanket, then decided it was best if she didn’t look too closely. She closed her eyes and gingerly took the edge of the blanket between her teeth. She tugged it in Rhys' direction. At least the smallness of the room meant she didn’t have to drag it far. Dragging was harder than it looked at her size.

The blanket suddenly became lighter, lifting away from the floor. Charlie let go and opened her eyes. Rhys had risen to his knees and picked the blanket up. He scrutinized her with an odd look on his face.

"Jack?" he said tentatively.

Charlie brightened.
Oh! He gets it!
Charlie shook her head wildly. Of course, hauling blankets wasn’t normal squirrel behavior, she supposed. Nevertheless!

A furrow appeared between his brows. "But not a squirrel," Rhys ventured.

Charlie nodded vigorously, hopping from one foot to the other. Rhys started to speak, but stopped and shook his head, frown deepening.
Oh, come on, Rhys!
Charlie mentally shouted.
It's me!

"Charlotte?" Rhys said tentatively.

Her vision jerked, like a film that missed a frame.

"Yes!" Charlie shouted. She flung her arms around Rhys' shoulders.

Rhys wrapped his arms around her in return, just short of crushingly tight. For the first time since the spawn attack, she finally felt
safe.
“I thought you must be dead,” he said, sounding stunned. “Or worse.”

Charlie could feel his heart beating, his breath warm on her cold shoulder. “No,” she said. “Just turned into a – Wait.” All the blood rushed to her face as she suddenly became very aware that she was
human
again. With human skin instead of fur.
Skin
.

Charlie started to jerk away, mortified and face flaming, but with one arm Rhys kept her from pulling back. With the other he picked up the blanket from where it fell, and pulled it around Charlie’s shoulders.

“Thanks,” she muttered, pulling the blanket tighter around herself as she pulled back, her cheeks still clashing with her magenta hair. Rhys carefully didn’t look at her until she was fully wrapped.
 

“I followed,” Charlie said, needing to fill the quiet. “Through the gate and then here. But…” the color in her cheeks darkened, “I don’t know why I suddenly changed back.”

“I am not familiar with transformations,” Rhys said. “Jack works… worked magic differently than I do.” He held himself straighter now, some of the weariness having fallen away.

However it happened, it was a definite relief
not
to be a squirrel anymore. Charlie pulled the blanket tighter, shivering. Being covered in fur had its advantages, though.

“Here,” Rhys said, noticing her shiver. He stripped off his tunic and held it toward her. “I apologize for the blood, but it must be warmer than –” he abruptly broke off. Charlie suspected he would have been blushing, but his pale cheeks never changed color.

Warmer than nothing,
Charlie mentally finished, but she hesitated.
 

“Won’t you be cold?” she said, staring hard at the offered tunic to avoid looking at Rhys. The corner of her eye told her that his physique was even better than she thought. The pure lean muscle of an athlete, like a dancer or martial artist, but short of obsessive body builder.
 

“I am cold blooded,” Rhys said lightly. “I will be fine.”

Charlie reluctantly accepted the tunic and Rhys turned away while she pulled it on. The drying blood felt cold and sticky, but the tunic felt warmer. The sleeves fell past her hands, and the hem draped to mid thigh. Charlie hesitantly touched the hole in the right shoulder.

“Can we do anything about your wounds?” Charlie said. It felt like a
lot
of blood, though not all of it could have been Rhys’.

“It is almost healed.” Rhys displayed his shoulder.
 

It did look well on its way to healing. Pale purple scar tissue sealed together the edges of the slash. Fading greenish bruises dappled one side of his rib cage, marking where he’d cracked a rib or more. He
definitely
didn’t have the body of an older man.

 
Just how old
was
he? Nowhere near fifty. Maybe not even forty. As young as thirty? Might be a bit of wishful thinking on her part, but thirty wasn’t all
that
much older than twenty four…. What was she thinking?!
Stop that,
she told her brain firmly. Thirty year olds didn’t have white hair and crows feet. With her luck, he was probably sixty or so, and it would just be gross to…. To what? Date a guy who was older than her father?
Euch.
 

Old scars crisscrossed his pale skin, all white and faded with age. A few looked like they’d been fairly nasty, but many were small. Rhys lifted aside his hair to show that despite the blood, the gash on the side of his head was healed altogether.

A glint of silver and a flash of purple dangling from Rhys’ wrist caught Charlie’s eye. She gasped and grabbed his wrist.
 

“My necklace!” She’d thought her little dragon was lost forever along with her sneakers. Tears stung her eyes before she could suppress them.