Running From the Night (23 page)

A few minutes passed, and after the humor subsided, they sat on the bed in silence once again. Then she leaned over and placed hand on his chin, turning his face toward hers. This time, she kissed him on the lips. The minutes passed as their kiss intensified, and soon they were sitting closer. They finally separated and looked at each other for a long time. Then Alisha placed a hand on the side of his face and kissed him again, then again.

Every time she touched him, every time they kissed, it was like tiny jolts of electricity shot through his body. Her soft, full lips drew him into her world, and he could have remained there forever. She placed a hand on his leg, just above the knee, and leaned closer to him. He put his hand on her hip, enjoying the feeling every time she moved. As their kiss intensified, he found all of his worries and concerns melting away.

“I have a question,” she whispered.

“Yeah?” he whispered back, trying to decide if he should attempt to gently unbutton her shirt. They kissed again. “What’s up?”

She leaned away from him, her lidded eyes suddenly becoming clear and focused. “You know we’re not about to have sex, right?”

Her words were like a bucket of ice water dumped into his pants. “Of course not!” he stumbled. “It’s not like I’m trying to undress you or anything.”

“Of course not,” she repeated, softly, looking knowingly into his eyes. “Not with our best friends sitting outside the room and us still getting to know one another.”

“Of course!”

“Of course.” She leaned in and kissed him one last time, then stood. “If you’re finished moping around in here, come out and sit with the rest of us.”

At that moment, it seemed like the weight of their situation comfortably settled itself back on his shoulders. Alisha saw the change in his face. “I’m worried, too. But maybe if we put our heads together, we can survive all this.”

“We will,” he said. He wished he felt as steady as he sounded.

***

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Yako knelt on the cold stone floor, eyes straight ahead, back straight. He had been in this position for nearly eight hours now, half that time spent in meditation. The Elders had been very displeased at his failure to eliminate the
dampeal
and her brother, as well as the two humans. He had attempted to explain the situation in detail but had been immediately silenced, which was unusual.

He scanned the walls, each housing the chiseled likenesses of the Elders of the High Council. “Contemplate your failure, and how you believe we should act with regard to your ineptitude.” Massius had said those words. That one had never been enamored of Yako. He had never understood the Elder’s dislike of him, but the Eldest Hunter spent little time contemplating Massius’s unearned enmity.

Before departing to his confinement, Yako had taken quick note of the faces of every one of the High Council members. He knew that most of them saw Massius’s words for what they were; an attempt to discredit him. But one other face showed agreement.

At both sides of the arched table where the High Council members sat, a Reaper stood, statuesque, and imposing. As their title might insinuate, they were dressed in long flowing cloaks, and a scythe was strapped to their backs. Yako knew their arsenal didn’t end with the intimidating weapons. Each of the warriors would have several concealed weapons about their person.

Yako had also taken a quick study of their features as well. Always consistent, always unwavering, the two Reapers may have truly been statues for all the indication they gave as to whether they’d been listening to the exchange or not. What mattered was whether or not a vampire was ever foolish enough to try to move against one of the seated Elders.

Yako had seen a Reaper in action once, and it was a frightening but awe-inspiring sight. He had put his scythe to deadly use, eviscerating the offender with such speed and precision, Yako couldn’t help but admire the perfect skill. He wondered why his coven had been so insistent on his training to take the Trials of the Ancients. Yako had never once doubted his own abilities, but seeing that Reaper in action had given him pause.

Not that he had even desired to ascend to such a position. He had little use for the politicking of the Pureblood Council, let alone having to endure the affairs of these Elders. Yako found the posturing and maneuvering to be an annoyance. He preferred to be out in the world, directly interacting and influencing events rather than stagnating in a high seat of power, having little contact with the outside world.

The cold iron door creaked open and Mariska stepped in. She had spoken on his behalf, also trying to explain the nature of their foes and what they’d learned. Massius had been quick to override her as well. Still, Yako would not forget her support.

“Eldest Hunter,” she said by way of greeting.

“Second.” He remained where he was, and she walked around to the far wall and faced him. For a time, they regarded each other in silence until Yako spoke again.

“They convene to decide my fate.” It was a statement of fact, not a question.

“Massius would have you walk in the sun for your shame of failure.”

Yako’s features remained controlled but a soft red glow smoldered in his eyes. The news was not unexpected, but it was grating nonetheless. He considered the possibility. If he truly believed his failure was because of his own inability, he would have returned and announced his own intention to meet the sun. But this was Massius’s hatred of him and nothing more. Yako decided that if it was decreed that he must meet the sun, that troublesome Elder would precede him in uncreation. He believed he was fast enough to deliver a killing blow before the Reapers took him.

“And the others?” he asked.

“They disagree.”

“The targets?”

“There is talk of the hunt being taken up by another.”

There was a long bit of silence that followed. Though she had not spoken the words, Yako knew who “another” meant. They were considering sending her instead. Though he had no doubts of Mariska’s prowess as a Hunter, the
dampeal
alone would be too much for her; had been too much for him. With that damnable guardian brother of hers there would be little more than death awaiting her, should Mariska be charged with the task.

Yako’s eyes narrowed. This whole business had Massius’s stench all over it. He hated Yako, and by extension, anyone directly under his command. “How capable do you feel?”

“With you and two others, survival would be a possibility. On my own, uncreation seems only a certainty.”

She may have been speaking about a game of chess, for all that her tone gave away. Yako gave a barely perceptible nod. One of the reasons he considered her so valuable a Second was her ability to assess a situation and her effectiveness in it without involving ego. In Yako’s experience, there were only two types of individuals who honestly knew their limits: a smart warrior and a craven. The former would figure out a way around their shortcomings. A craven would flee the situation.

He looked into her pale gray eyes. There was no fear or uncertainty. She would figure a way around the disadvantage.

“When will a decision be reached?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Nikko.”

“He was there. He knows the truth and stands with us, though silently.”

As silently as he can. Yako didn’t blame him for wanting to remain as neutral as possible. Nikko would stand with them in his own way.

“I believe the High Council will rule in your favor,” Mariska said, interrupting his thoughts. “Though I believe there is some other factor at work that we do not know about.”

Yako stood, rising for the first time in eight hours of kneeling. He turned and briskly moved to the back of the room and gazed up at the figure of a tall, cloaked vampire. It was an imposing figure, and even the stone it was carved in seemed to radiate power.

“They claim a decision will be reached tomorrow,” Mariska continued, moving beside him. “I do not believe them.”

“You think they lie?” Yako asked, still staring up at the statue carved into the wall.

“I think some stall for time.”

This was not wholly unexpected. “Another hunts,” he surmised.

“Or another watches.”

That was very possible. Massius wouldn’t expect the High Council to simply rule on this situation out of hand, without any information. It was more likely he had pushed to detain Yako here and have another Hunter from his own hand survey the situation and report to the Council. Another likely scenario would be that if this other Hunter were somehow able to eliminate the
dampeal
and her brother, the humans would pose little challenge. The problem would be solved, Yako would be proven to be incapable, and Massius could continue with whatever his agenda was.

Yako was not even slightly concerned about the latter. He had fought that big vampire alongside two other very skilled Hunters and barely walked away with his life. He had been completely at the mercy of that
dampeal
woman, and had felt the power in her. He doubted there was any Hunter in his coven, perhaps anywhere in the world, who would be capable of dealing with those two. Perhaps a Reaper, or two. But Massius wouldn’t take that route. If he suggested sending the Reapers it would not only validate what Yako and Mariska had been trying to say but it would also rouse more questions about the nature of these two anomalies.

Whatever Massius was planning, a lengthy inquiry about a powerful vampire and what seemed to be an equally powerful
dampeal
was not part of it. Mariska was right. Someone was sent to watch them. But who? The answer came to him as soon as the question entered his mind.

“Remy.”

Mariska nodded. “My belief as well.”

It made perfect sense. Yako and Mariska stood between the ever-ambitious Remy and the coveted title of Eldest Hunter. Perhaps the fool would make an attempt at the siblings, and Yako would finally be done with that thorn in his side. Unlikely. If there was one thing Remy knew how to do better than most—much to Yako’s annoyance—was to not die.

Mariska moved closer. “You will be released soon, but will not be allowed to leave the coven grounds.” He heard her footsteps cross the room, the thick iron door creaked open, then shut again.

Yako never moved. He’d heard her unspoken words as clearly as he’d heard the door shut behind her.
We will talk away from listing ears,
her words truly said.

He continued to look at the statue carved into the wall. The figure depicted Denry Ordine, a powerful Elder who had been killed by a lycanthrope nine hundred years ago. It was during a time Yako wished he’d lived in. More Elders fought alongside their Hunters and Reapers during that time. Though they mostly were still the major governing body of vampires, there were occasions when they ventured from the fortresses and covens to rally their forces against creatures humans were so oblivious to.

It was another time, when lycanthropes—lycans—roamed the nights more boldly, and relations between them and the vampires were less than cordial. Only a skilled vampire and an Elder could effectively deal with a werewolf. Even in human form, they were at least as deadly as a vampire. In their lupine bodies, they were great deal more formidable.

It was another time.

The door creaked open again and Yako turned to see Braggus Rayne filling the doorway. The Reaper stood a full seven feet tall, his head nearly brushing the top of the arch. To a one, all Reapers were deadly, but this giant was a walking legend. He had risen to command the Reapers long before Yako had taken his first breath in the night. The stories of Braggus were as large as the Reaper’s presence, and every bit of it true. Every vampire knew the stories of how Braggus had taken a team of Hunters on the trail of sixteen werewolves who had slaughtered an entire coven of vampires.

The team had numbered ten, and at the end of it, Braggus and one other had survived the hunt. He was the only vampire Yako had ever known who could match the strength of a werewolf in its lupine form.

They stared at each other for several moments, each taking the other’s measure. He was a man Yako would prefer not to fight. He didn’t fear Braggus, but he respected him.

“Eldest Reaper,” he said, by way of greeting.

“Eldest Hunter.” There was respect in the Reaper’s tone as well. Though he outranked Yako, Braggus nonetheless respected him. “Your confinement has been relaxed to the grounds of the coven.”

Yako nodded. “Though I am honored by your personal delivery of the message, it seems a trivial matter for you to attend to personally.”

“Maybe I was sent to watch you.”

Yako breathed a silent laugh. Few Elders truly knew the capabilities of their policing force. By rank alone, every Reaper would be considered capable of besting Yako, should he attempt to run. Of course, the vampire warriors themselves knew better than that. Still, there were others who could be considered capable of serving as his watchdog.

“Maybe,” he replied, “but not likely.”

The giant vampire smirked. He wore loose-fitting blue pants that were so dark they looked black. His matching shirt was a thick coarse material that hugged his form simply because he was not a small man. The black coat he wore was red on the inside and hung loosely about his ankles.

“Come,” Braggus said, stepping back out the door.

When Yako and Mariska stepped out, he closed the heavy iron door and, with a glance over his shoulder, turned and strode down one of the darkened path. Mariska dipped her head in deference and went in the opposite direction.

They walked for several minutes in silence, Yako following the other through the bending corridors. The dank, cold stone hallways were no discomfort for them, nor did they have any trouble navigating in the pitch darkness.

“I have to admit,” Braggus’s deep voice rumbled, “I was surprised when word had come all the way across the ocean that the deadly Eldest Hunter had nearly been killed in his third failed attempt to slay two humans.” Yako continued to follow in silence.

“Of course, there is much more to the story than that.”

“Of course.”

“Some would say your skills have waned.”

“They are welcome to test their theory.”

Braggus laughed, his baritone voice echoing through the dark corridor. After a few minutes, the ground had begun to incline. They were moving toward the surface.

“I don’t have to tell you that Massius has grabbed greedily at this news.”

“You don’t.”

The corridor steepened until, finally, it leveled out again, and they reached an iron door, even thicker than the one that had detained Yako.

“You have quite the steadfast enemy in that one,” Braggus said, his words quivering with mirth. “One would think you had personally wronged him in some way.”

“I remind him of all that a craven is not.”

Braggus went rigid just as he was reaching for the door, and Yako thought maybe he had spoken too candidly. He became even more aware of the large scythe—blade alone more than half the length of Yako’s body—strapped across his back. He was fast, very fast, but he had no doubt that before his fingers could completely wrap around the shaft of that weapon, the Reaper would have him.

“As Eldest Reaper,” the big man declared formally, “I am charged with the personal uncreation of any who speak ill of the Elders.” A pale red glow crept into his blue eyes. Yako waited. If he’d had his weapon, he might have had a chance. Against this giant, and with no weapon, he doubted his odds. But then, the red glow dissipated, and the smirk returned. “Of course, the truth is often undesirable to hear.”

Yako didn’t relax. “Do you find this truth undesirable, Eldest Reaper?”

Braggus turned a heavy latch on the door and several locks within the wall clicked audibly. He pushed the, no doubt, four to five hundred pound door open as though it were a wooden screen. “The only thing I am finding undesirable is the formality between us.” He looked over his shoulder again, and Yako saw no ill intent in his eyes. “Be at ease, and perhaps we can become something resembling friends.”