by Tanith Frost
She steps back into the outer supply chamber, but she’s walking slowly as I fall in beside her. “When so many want nothing more than to please me, there’s a danger of them going along with anything I want, and that leaves me nearly blind. I need those who see things differently.”
“Forgive me, but it doesn’t seem productive at a time like this. We need unity. Strength of leadership.”
She shrugs one shoulder. “A vampire clan is too large a ship for one captain to sail alone. It takes a competent crew, especially in stormy seas. They will obey me when the time comes to make decisions. That’s how your friends the werewolves survived as long as they did—I ordered, and others obeyed, if grudgingly and with much complaint. What was it you were going to say before you left the meeting? That their power strengthens ours?”
For some reason, I feel nervous. I know what I’ve felt and seen, but I have no hard evidence. “It’s something I’ve felt for a long time, ever since their power became a part of mine. Fire and void battle against each other, and I think that’s why we hate werewolves so instinctively. But Bethany and Lachlan said they felt something different in Maelstrom’s vampires, something that was more evident in me but is present in all of us. And I think it’s something we have because you’ve allowed other powers to exist here, challenging ours and changing it in the process.”
“I confess that has been my hope as well,” she says quietly. We’re approaching the hallway now. “It seemed rash to destroy energies we knew nothing about even if they apparently opposed ours. But I’ve never been able to prove it, and to most vampires, the theory seemed crazy. I don’t speak to many about it anymore.” She smiles gently as though to herself. “I’ve experienced… well, nothing like what you have with another power in you but enough that I’m most certainly willing to believe you may be on to something.”
So that’s why she saved the werewolves. It’s as she said to Genevieve—not out of the goodness of her heart, but because she thought they’d be useful to her.
At least we have the same goal if not exactly the same motivations.
“I’ll trust you to do what you must to help us win this war,” she says, and steps out into the hall. Guess our conversation is over.
My stomach sinks. She can’t leave me like this—directionless, untethered, relying on my rebellious nature to give me direction, fearing that the fallout of my decisions might be the end of me this time.
“Wait,” I say, and jog a few steps to place myself in front of her. I don’t dare to lay so much as a hand on her arm, but she stops. “I can’t.”
My heart is as still as it ever is, but it feels as if it should be pounding. This isn’t like me.
Or maybe it is, and I just haven’t been fully introduced to myself before.
She tilts her head gently to one side. “You can’t?”
I clear my throat and force myself to look her in the eye. “I won’t. I understand why you had to send me to Tempest without orders—when Lachlan asked whether you’d sent me, I could say no without lying. But that wasn’t the only time you left me adrift. I went to watch over a dragon and ended up uncovering a small piece of Viktor’s plot, and I don’t think that was a coincidence. And then you… you turned your back on me and left me without direction or orders. I had to bumble my way into uncovering Viktor’s plans, and look where that got me.”
“Your reputation—”
“Was tainted, I know. Protecting me would have been a bad look for you. But damn it, Miranda, I’ve risked my existence over and over for the sake of this clan. I’ll do it again if I have to. But I’m finished with being treated like a grunt who doesn’t need to know what the general is up to. You say I’ve impressed you as I’ve stumbled blindly in the directions you’ve pointed me, and I’m well aware of how it’s allowed you to keep your hands clean if things went to shit, but I’m done. I deserve better.”
Miranda lowers her gaze.
“It’s not that I don’t appreciate the freedom I’ve had,” I add. “That was it, right? The nature of your experiment?”
A smile plays at the corners of her lips as she looks back into my eyes. “I suppose it was in a way. And I haven’t been disappointed. You’ve made decisions I wouldn’t have if I’d been in control of your actions, and at times I’ve doubted the wisdom of my choice to let you run wild. But I’ve been right so far. Your loyalty is genuine, and your actions unfettered by laws or our society’s expectations.”
“But they’re not.” I step closer. “I’m glad of every assignment I’ve had, everything I’ve accomplished, every accident, even the failures. They’ve made me stronger, more aware, and given me one of those unique perspectives you seem to want. But your laws still apply to me. Society still judges me. And I was nearly executed for it.” I pause. “And I think you would have let that happen if you hadn’t known I’d go to Tempest to find Daniel. I’m here because I’m useful, right?”
She doesn’t answer that. I didn’t expect her to.
“I want to be useful.” My voice wavers. “I want to see Lachlan not just thwarted, but exposed for what he is, and destroyed. But I won’t help you if it’s going to end with me doing the right thing and then suffering for it.”
I can’t read minds. I don’t know what she’s thinking. But she nods as if she understands. “You want permission.”
“Yes. Not your faith or admiration or trust that I’ll figure things out. I want official orders, even if they’re not publicly given, to make a mess if that’s what it takes to sort all of this out. I want to know you’ll stand with me if I have to bring the werewolves in or take whatever opportunities come up. And if things that I did while I was in Tempest’s territory come to light, I want to know that you’ll publicly acknowledge that I was working for you at the time.”
She narrows her eyes. “This is a bad time for those sorts of revelations.”
“I know, and it’s fine if we keep all of that quiet for now. I just need your word that I won’t become a scapegoat again or suffer for actions I take in order to save us all.”
Footsteps are approaching from behind me. Miranda looks up. “Clark, a moment?”
He stops beside her, then pulls a pair of flip phones and several wallet-sized cards out of his pocket and gives half of the items to me. My new ID and credit card.
“Since you’re here, you will be our witness,” Miranda tells him. “Aviva has my permission to seek out alternate paths to victory, should an opportunity present itself. She remains responsible for her own actions and the results of them, but she is released from the requirement to strictly follow plans as set out for the rest of our teams.”
My shoulders slump beneath the invisible weight that suddenly falls on them. This is what I wanted—a safety net of sorts. But it doesn’t protect me from the consequences of my actions.
Maybe this is the balance I need, though. I can’t be reckless, but I can follow my instincts knowing I do so as a soldier or a spy, not a rebel.
Clark’s jaw tightens. “Very well. Where’s Daniel? I have his things.”
“You can give them to Aviva. Thank you.”
Clark hands them over somewhat grudgingly. “If there’s nothing else, Miranda, you’re needed upstairs.”
He’s still talking as they walk away, but Miranda turns back.
“The showers are that way,” she says, nodding toward a door on my left. “Communal, but there is a lock on the door if you’re feeling modest.”
And in a moment I doubt I’ll ever forget even if I survive another five centuries, Miranda—the dignified, powerful, care-laden high elder of Maelstrom—winks at me.
I step into the steam-filled room, close the door, and slide the lock in place. The uneven dripping of water falling over a wet body guides me toward the far end of the room, past several large, curtainless shower stalls separated by tiled walls—enough that an entire team of rogue hunters could have a quick wash-up after they’ve stopped in at the club for a feed before heading back out on th
e hunt. Tonight, there’s only one in use.
I set my bag down, remove my clothes, and leave them next to Daniel’s on the low bench that runs down the middle of the room. The floor beneath my bare feet is cool and damp with the condensation that quickly covers my skin.
The stalls on the end are the largest, and well lit. I pause as I catch sight of Daniel, shrouded by steam. He had more than enough time for a good wash-up while Miranda and I were talking, but he’s still standing under the spray, his hands braced against the wall under the shower head, letting the scalding water wash over his body, forming tiny rivers that hug the shallow valleys between muscles, waterfalls that cling to his skin.
He must know I’m here, but he doesn’t turn.
I step closer, cautiously, as if I’m approaching an animal that might turn on me. He’s back; he’s as safe as anyone can be right now, but there’s still a disconnect between the old Daniel and the vampire who stands before me. He tenses when I lay a hand against his shoulder, then relaxes when I press myself against him, letting my lower belly mould itself to the curves of his ass, pressing my breasts against his back, holding him tight. He’s been standing under the hot water for so long that it’s warmed him, and I wonder whether this is what he felt like when he was alive.
There’s no sound but the water for several minutes, and neither of us moves. I’m here, I think, hoping it’s enough. Taking one of my hands in his, he raises it to place a soft kiss on the backs of my fingers, then turns it over and touches his lips to the palm of my hand before releasing it. I shift slightly, letting my breasts slide over his back, absorbed in the feel of skin on skin.
We almost lost this. Not only during our escape, but before that, when I let myself think that ultimate personal power and strength might be worth more than the shared vulnerability of trusting someone enough to expose broken bodies and hearts in the hopes of finding understanding and healing together.
This isn’t what we were made for, or what most vampires want. I don’t care.
My left hand slides over the skin beneath his ribs and finds the place where an opponent’s knife dug deep into his flesh, where the wound reopened as he fought our enemies, outnumbered from the start and with no hope of survival, to give me a chance to escape. After just a few nights, it’s already closed, but the evidence of the injury is still clear.
I keep my eyes closed as I explore more of his body. No more scars reveal themselves to my fingers, though I don’t doubt that the shadows of a few other injuries still mark his skin. It won’t be long before he can convince almost anyone that he walked away from Tempest unscathed.
He sighs and shifts his weight slightly, bringing my attention back to the increasing warmth of my own body as he moves against me. I keep one hand pressed against the centre of his chest while the other travels lower over battle-hardened muscle and water-slick skin until I find confirmation that he’s feeling what I do. As I grip him tight and slide my hand in slow, sure motions, he stiffens further until it seems as if he should burst from the pressure.
“Aviva,” he says, his voice hoarse.
He says my name frequently even in conversation. At times, it’s sounded like a prayer. At others, a curse. This morning, it’s a plea, though I don’t know what for.
He turns. I expect him to kiss me, but he reaches for the bar of soap on the ledge beside us, instead. He steps aside, and the full spray of the shower hits me, scalding hot and forceful enough to sting like a thousand needles hitting my skin. He turns the temperature down slightly and adjusts the shower head to something more gentle before he rubs the soap between his hands, building the foamy lather, and steps behind me.
Daniel’s got big hands, and they cover far more of my body than mine did when I touched him. He cleans my back, pushing my wet hair forward over my shoulder to reach the back of my neck, and I shiver despite the heat in the room. My arms are next, then my hands, with each finger getting its share of his attention. My skin tingles under his gentle touch. He pours citrus-scented shampoo over my head and digs his fingers deep into my hair, tugging gently as he washes away any scent or sign of Tempest that might linger on me. I flinch as his fingers brush the tender spot where his former teammate tore out a chunk of my hair.
“Turn around,” he whispers in my ear. I do, leaning my head back to let the water rinse my hair, reaching up to make sure every bit is clean. Soapy fingers touch my throat, then skim lightly down over my breasts and stomach. Daniel kneels before me and takes one foot at a time into his hands to wash them. It tickles, but I’m not laughing.
He’s taking care of me.
“Do you think this is wrong?” he asks as he washes my legs, moving slowly upward, reaching behind me, slipping his fingers between the cheeks of my ass and making me gasp. He reaches up and slides his hands over my stomach and my breasts. His eyes follow their every movement. “I want you so badly. I want to lose myself in you, to forget everything for a few moments, but it seems disrespectful when so many others aren’t able to experience the same—or to experience anything.”
My body is alive with anticipation, and every focused graze and grasp of his fingers is sending pleasurable sensations down my body, reminding me of where I really want to feel his touch. But the question deserves better than the of course not that might get me there faster. This is the wound he’s been so reluctant to fully expose, the one that’s held him back from acting like his old self around me. One of many such injuries, perhaps, but it’s what he’s chosen to show me now.
I take his hands in mine and urge him to stand. He’s too damned distracting down there, and it makes me feel like an asshole.
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “It does seem unfair. But your misery can’t bring them back. They’re gone. You’re still here. If your positions were reversed, if you had been executed and one of them had survived, what would you have wished for them?”
He swallows hard. “If I could have made that trade, I would have faced oblivion wanting them to squeeze every drop of joy they could out of the time they had left.” His voice is thick and hoarse. “I’d want to be remembered, not mourned.”
“And do you think they’d have wanted any less for you if they knew the truth about what happened?”
“No.” He smiles sadly. “None of them were perfect, but they were as selfless a bunch of assholes as I could have hoped to work with.”
“Then they wouldn’t want you to punish yourself for what Tempest did to them.” I rise up on my toes and plant a soft kiss at the corner of his lips. “Keep fighting. I’ll be here, no matter how long it takes to win this battle.”
I’m about to step away, to give him space in case he needs to think it over, but he takes my face in his hands and kisses me. I don’t know whether my answer was right or wrong, but I guess it made sense to him—the promise I felt when he kissed me earlier is magnified now. He nips my lower lip and tastes my blood as his hands roam again. One slips between my legs—no teasing this time. Hot water washes over us as our bodies entwine, each of us fighting to offer pleasure to the other until we’re driven halfway mad.
I turn away from him, and he bites the back of my neck, then my shoulder, leaving a trail marking me for the moment as his, introducing his venom to my blood. It heightens every sensation and makes me more aware of him, more focused. I lean forward, taking up the position I found him in.
He doesn’t need more than a hint to understand what I want. He enters me slowly, opening me further with each movement, stroking my breasts with one hand as the other braces him against the wall. Then he moves his touch lower, and the pressure builds as his fingers accompany his rhythm.
I’ve come to think of myself as a creature of contradictions—void and fire, humanity and monstrous nature. But in this moment, as void and fire rise as one, all thought is washed away, and I give myself permission to forget, just for a moment, the various battles I’m fighting. I’m wholly myself, wholly present, lost in the sensations of our bodies and our energies comin
g together to create something larger and stronger than ourselves.
I shift my position, letting him in deeper, and lose the world entirely as it melts away under waves of raw bliss. If I had any thought at all, it would be gratitude for this solitary room and water to drown out the cries that well up from my throat as I let myself be carried away.
Daniel presses his lips to the side of my neck, muffling the sounds of his pleasure as he thrusts hard and deep, slowing his pace, then stopping. He nuzzles my shoulder and holds me close for a few moments longer before he pulls away.
“Your boss will be wondering where you are,” I say.
He smiles. “The world can wait a few more minutes. Now, where did that soap go?”
We’ve lost so much, Daniel and I, and we have so many battles left to fight, and even if we’re working together, we’ll have to keep things professional. This is our reprieve, our brief furlough before we head back to the trenches, stolen time no one can ever take back from us.
It can’t last forever, but I’ll take what I can get.
8
The town of Twillingate sparkles in readiness for Christmas, with coloured lights twinkling on the houses overlooking the harbour. The gentle flurries make it feel as if we’re in a snow globe. All is calm, all is bright—and it would probably all be quite enjoyable if I weren’t sitting beside a stranger in the back seat of a Jeep as we cruise about with the windows down, looking and listening for signs of fucking zombies.
Daniel got me assigned to his team. Genevieve, too. She’s sitting in the front passenger seat, fur-lined hood pulled up against the cold. She’s the only familiar face in the vehicle, though. Daniel and Eric, a vampire from the Department of Unnatural Resources, stayed back in our hastily rented house so they’ll be rested for when they drug up, suit up, and take the day shift. I can’t say I envy them. Not only has Daniel described the effects of daylight serum to me—something like a hangover when it wears off and a serious risk of addiction—I also hate the idea of skulking around, trying to remain unnoticed while wearing all that odd protective gear. We may have found ways to survive daylight, but we’re still unwelcome guests.