Authors: Adrian Phoenix
“What’s it to you, anyway? It’s not like it’s yours. Dante told me that turned-nightkind shoot blanks.”
Silver rolled his eyes. “I know it isn’t mine. That’s not what this is about.” He dropped his gaze to the weathered sidewalk underneath his sneakers as he gathered his thoughts. Whenever he looked at Annie, he saw himself again on the Portland streets, desperate and alone, stubbornly shoving away what few friends he had because being alone was all he thought he deserved.
“What
is
it about, then?”
“Being your friend.”
Annie snorted. “Oh, don’t worry. My getting knocked up hasn’t changed your ‘with benefits’ status.”
Silver raked an exasperated hand through his hair. “Fuck, Annie, stop being a dick. Just for five minutes, okay?” He closed the distance between them. “I’m just saying you can talk to me. I’m here. You’re not alone. That’s all. Christ.”
Annie studied him from beneath her lashes, her hands knotting into fists, then unknotting again, then she stretched up on her slippered toes and planted a warm kiss tasting of nicotine smoke and ashes on his lips; a kiss that he returned and deepened.
“So garlic doesn’t work, huh?” Annie said, ending the kiss.
Silver frowned at her abrupt change of topic, then realized it wasn’t a change but a self-protective gas-pedal stomp into reverse. He glanced at his—Jack’s—garlic-redolent T-shirt. “Oh. Right. Nope. It might make us gasp for air, but that’s about it.”
“So what
does
work against vampires? I mean, given that just a couple of weeks ago I didn’t even know you guys existed outside of paranormal romance novels and the CW Network, I wanna weed truth from fiction.”
Silver shook his head. “Can’t tell ya. Trade secret. When we’re turned, we each take a solemn vow
not
to spill the details of how best to ice our asses. Sorry.”
Annie nodded. “Smart. Especially during a breakup.” She tilted her head, studying him. “Y’know with your hair like that, you remind me of that Zero character in those manga books of yours—except your hair is purple, not silver-white, and your eyes are silver, where his are violet, and not to mention that you’re flesh and he’s not—but other than that . . .”
Silver blinked, surprised by the comment, then felt a pleased smile stretch across his lips. “Zero Kiryu, huh? Didn’t know you liked
Vampire Knight
.”
“Gorgeous nightkind, sex, and betrayal, what’s not to like?”
Another voice chimed in. “Mmm-mmm. I hear you, girl. And he
does
look like Zero.”
Catching a whiff of spice and smoky cloves, Silver turned to face Merri. She stood on the curb, her weight on one hip, arms crossed over her suede-jacketed chest. Frustration and a deepening concern glimmered in the dark depths of her eyes, despite the amused smile curving her lips. And that told Silver all he needed to know. Nothing new on Von.
Aside from what he’d learned.
“Merri’s here, so spill, dude. Anybody see our missing nomad?”
“Pizza dude said he saw Von,” Silver said, tucking Von’s keys into a front jeans pocket. “But he wasn’t alone. Three others were with him, a blond chick and two guys in kilts—all nightkind.”
Merri straightened, dropping her arms to her sides. “Kilts. That sounds like the
llafnau
,” she said, voice grim. “And no one else would dare lay hands on anyone marked with a crescent moon. No one with brains, anyway. You can bet your sweet ass that if
llafnau
were in the French Quarter, they weren’t here to drink Hurricanes and traipse about on vampire tours.”
Silver nodded, jaw tight. That was his thought too. Dammit. The only question was: “Why would they come after Von?”
“You know why,” Merri said softly. “Think about it. Von kept silent about Dante until that announcement. Kept silent. Lost his impartiality. He broke his oath to the order.”
“Shit.” Silver drew in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “If Von broke his oath, then it was to protect Dante. And I know there’s nothing Dante wouldn’t do to help Von—if he was here. Same goes for me. There’s gotta be something I can do.”
“Maybe there is,” Merri said. “I think I’ve heard from my
mère de sang
that the
llygaid
compound is in Memphis. If that’s true, we could be there in seven hours. I’ll contact Galiana for the address.”
“Aside from the fact that you’re hot for Von’s tattooed nomad ass, why would you do that? What’s it to you? Von ain’t your friend, ain’t your
llygad
. Hell, he doesn’t even trust you.”
Merri held his gaze, chin lifted. “I know. And I can’t think of a better way to start earning it than by taking a rescue run to Memphis. Unless you’d rather sit on your ass at Jack’s house and twiddle your thumbs?”
“Fuck, no.”
Silver raked a hand through his gel-spiked hair as he pondered Merri’s suggestion. Her words resonated deep within him, a pealing bell. She hoped to gain Von’s trust and he hoped to regain Dante’s. He remembered a nearly week-old conversation with the nomad about just that.
He doesn’t trust me.
Nope. Not anymore. But he
does
care about you, man. You still have a chance to earn his trust again.
Silver had no doubt Dante would be all for a rescue run to Memphis. And, until Lucien returned, sitting on his ass at Jack’s house, twiddling his thumbs would be
exactly
what he’d be doing.
No thanks.
“Yeah,” Silver said finally. “I like the idea. Jack and Emmett could take turns driving the van during the day while we Sleep in back. I don’t want to leave anyone behind.”
Merri nodded. “Smart. That works. The
llygaid
will be Sleeping too. Whatever they plan to do with Von won’t happen until after sunset. We’ll be there in plenty of time.”
“Look, I’ll drive, okay? But on one condition.” Annie’s gaze skipped over to the zydeco-bopping tavern. Lingered. “Can we eat now?”
Silver laughed. “Food it is. And a beer sounds good.”
“Maybe even two,” Merri agreed.
As Merri and Annie started across the narrow street for Aunt Sally’s, Silver paused to take another look at the buzzing crowd of nightkind and mortals milling restlessly in front of the club. Excitement pulsed through him when he saw a towering figure strolling through the crowd, moving with an orca’s powerful grace through a school of sardines, thinking Lucien had
returned—until the figure stepped out of the shadows, revealing short red hair. And a pair of nightkind companions.
One was a stranger with short, stylishly cut burgundy hair, wearing jeans, a short-sleeved black shirt, and an expression of knitted-brow concern on his
Esquire
-handsome face. Mediterranean
Esquire
, Silver amended, given the guy’s hawk nose. But the other Silver knew all too well—Guy Mauvais. The aristocratic shithead was dressed in an ash-gray frock coat, slacks, and fancy white shirt with lace cuffs and neckpiece, his wheat-colored hair loose about his shoulders.
“Hey,” Annie called. “You coming?”
“Yeah,” he replied, his gaze never wavering from Mauvais’s pale face. “Go grab a table and order me an Abita. I’ll be there in a minute. Just remembered something.”
“You sure?” Merri questioned, really asking,
You need backup?
“Yeah. I’m sure. Just give me a minute.”
“Okay,” Merri said. “You got it, then.”
A knot of grief and cold fury and frustration tangled itself around Silver’s heart as a conversation with Von, this one about Simone’s death just five nights ago—a fiery death Silver himself had barely escaped—sounded through his mind.
We all need time.
People
always
say that, like time is fucking OxyContin. Like I could just down a handful of time and not worry about it hurting any more. Instant fix. But I can’t. And time takes fucking forever to heal. How’s that for ironic?
Fuck
time. And fuck Mauvais for taking her from us.
I hear you, bro. And trust me, Mauvais
is
fucked—he just don’t know it yet.
Renewed grief tightened Silver’s throat, burned behind his eyes.
He fucking will now.
Silver
moved
.
N
EW
O
RLEANS
T
HE
F
RENCH
Q
UARTER
T
HE SMELL OF SMOKE,
of scorched wood and rubber and plastic, of fire-dousing chemicals clung to Club Hell’s shutter-style green doors like a whore’s cheap perfume. Mauvais’s gaze shifted from the thick chain looped through the door handles to the hand-scrawled
CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE
sign nailed to the doors.
Mauvais drew a lavender-scented handkerchief from the sleeve of his shirt and breathed in its soothing scent. “Well, it seems we’ve wasted our time,” he sighed. “The place is closed and”—he paused, leaning in toward the door and listening for heartbeats, before straightening again and swiveling around—“empty.”
“So I see,” Loki murmured.
“Apparently those rumors about a fire and shootout were true, after all,” Giovanni said, his smooth Italian purr full of a regret that Mauvais suspected was every bit as false as his own. “Makes sense, then, that Dante, his household, and his father would go underground for the time being,
sì?
”
“Perfect sense,” Mauvais agreed, taking a final sniff of lavender before tucking the handkerchief back into his
sleeve. “Perhaps we should give it a week or two or three and then return.”
Giovanni nodded. “At the very least.”
Loki laughed, a low, amused chiming, his gleaming gaze flicking from Mauvais to Giovanni and back again. “You’re doing it again. Both of you.”
Mauvais arched one eyebrow. “
Oui?
And what would that be?”
“Playing your little vampire games. Trying to misdirect me with half-truths and outright lies. Tap-dancing madly. But all you’ve managed to do is fuel my curiosity.”
“We only wish to protect what belongs to us,” Giovanni said, his voice heated steel. “Your grudge is against this Lucien De Noir, not his son. What the Fallen do to one another is none of our business, but Dante is a True Blood—”
“And Fallen,” Loki said quietly. “Which makes him Fallen business.”
Not for the first time, Mauvais regretted the timing of the release of Dante’s announcement. He regretted even more the inadequate shields of the younger vampires aboard the
Winter Rose
while in the presence of a fallen angel.
A very curious fallen angel, and one adept at plucking thoughts and emotions from fledgling minds.
“No.” Giovanni shook his head. “He is vampire first. Our bloodlines are determined by the mother. Dante’s mother was
vampire
, not Fallen. Therefore he is
ours
.”
Laughing once more, Loki shook his freshly-barbered head—
Time for a change. Do you happen to have a barber on board, as well?
—his red locks cupping his skull and curving against his temples in a rakish cut that reminded Mauvais of long-ago highwaymen and Romantic poets.
Now
there’s
a dangerous combination,
he mused.
“Vampire bloodlines mean nothing,” Loki said, once his musical laughter had ended. “Less than nothing. Only Dante’s Fallen bloodline matters.”
Giovanni stiffened. His sea scent, deep and stormy, intensified. When he opened his mouth for what would no doubt be a scathing—and disastrous—rebuttal, Mauvais gave the Italian’s shoulder a warning squeeze.
<
Calm yourself,
> Mauvais chastised, <
and keep quiet. I shall handle this.
>
Giovanni snapped his mouth shut. He glanced away, jaw tight, hazel irises slashed with red. <
Then do so. But quickly.
Before
he actually finds Dante Baptiste.
>
Offering Loki an apologetic smile, Mauvais said, “No one is playing games. Not
now
, anyway,” he amended smoothly. “I truly believe waiting a few weeks for things to cool down, to give Dante time to return, would be wisest.”
Loki regarded Mauvais with shrewd, golden eyes. “And once Dante does, what glib lie will slip from your tongue then, hmm? That by the time you realized Dante had returned, he’d already departed for a tour of Europe? Or will I need to snatch the truth from
another
member of your household?”
“That
was
unfortunate,” Mauvais admitted ruefully.
But it
had
allowed him the opportunity to slip a tracking chip onto the back of Loki’s torc while he’d been distracted questioning Rafe. If the immortal should catch wind of Dante’s whereabouts first, Mauvais intended to follow.
Although stunned by Dante’s little coming out announcement, Mauvais had also been pleased to realize that his suspicions about the defiant
marmot
had been correct.
True Blood and Fallen. And utterly invaluable to the vampire race.
And with that realization, Mauvais’s long-held desire to have one of the Fallen standing at his side transmuted into a desire to have Dante standing at his side instead, an alchemical bit of magic—not lead into gold, but gold into diamonds—crafted by equal parts ambition, practicality, and a deep-rooted instinct for survival.
We are stagnating. Our Bloodline diluted, tainted. Dante’s
blood will renew us. Inject much-needed chaos into our ordered existence.
Convincing the young True Blood to overlook the fact that Mauvais had ordered his home burned to the ground, resulting in the death of a household member, could prove to be a bit of a challenge, however.
A challenge,
oui
. But not impossible. Not with the future of our race hanging in the balance.
“It would ease our minds if we knew what you intended for the Nightbringer’s son,” Mauvais said. “True Bloods have become increasingly rare, and we’re quite loath to lose one because his father is involved in some kind of blood feud with you. Surely you can understand our concern.”