Shadowflame

by Dianne Sylvan

  There was old, old grief in his voice, and she took his hands and kissed them, almost regretting bringing the subject up at all. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It took years to repair our friendship,” David went on, staring down at their joined hands, stroking her palm with his thumb. “As soon as Jonathan had the vision that I would take the South, I began to understand why Deven and I had never Paired, and that helped. I had my own path to take and I couldn’t do it with him. Not to mention,” he said, smiling again, this time without such sadness, “I had you to look forward to.”

  “But it still hurt,” Miranda said, moving closer to him. “You still had your heart broken.”

  He put his arms around her and said with a sigh, “Yes. Worse than I think I ever had in my life . . . except for when I thought you were dead.”

  She leaned back enough to look him in the eye. “And I’m supposed to like this guy?”

  David chuckled. “I hope you do . . . although I imagine it will take the two of you a while to get there. Dev is hard to know at the best of times. I think you’ll find Jonathan much easier to get along with. He’s more open, friendlier. But please, Miranda . . . give Deven a chance to win you over. For my sake.”

  “I’ll try. But I’m going to have a hard time not kicking him in the balls for hurting you.”

  His smile broadened. “If you want to kick him in the balls, you have my blessing. God knows I wanted to for a long time.”

  “Can I ask you one more thing?”

  “Anything, beloved.”

  “How the hell does he put on all that eyeliner without a mirror?”

  David laughed, but before he could reply, his com chimed. He sobered, sighed resignedly, and said into it, “Star-one.”

  “Sire, it’s Faith. I have news about Jake.”

  Prime and Queen looked at each other. Faith sounded unusually subdued. “Go ahead,” he told the Second.

  “He’s gone, Sire. Someone took him—without his com.”

  “How is that possible? They can’t come off.”

  “They can if the hand comes off, too.”

  David closed his eyes. “You found his hand.”

  “Yes. It had been severed at the wrist and left in the middle of the sidewalk. There’s a lot of blood. The team had a forensics kit so they were able to determine it was Jake’s. But there’s no other evidence we can see. We’re trying to track them, but so far there’s just nothing to go on. No footprints, no fingerprints, nothing on the sensors. No body. He could still be alive.”

  “God,” Miranda whispered, resting her head on the cool glass of the car’s window. “Poor Jake. And poor Lali . . . they were friends.”

  “Keep looking,” David said. “I’ll run a search and review activity in the area. Return to the Haven before dawn and give me a full report.”

  “As you will it. Star-three, out.”

  “He might be alive,” Miranda muttered, holding back tears of both sorrow and anger. “Why would someone kill him and just leave his hand?”

  “I don’t know. If they wanted him for information, it stands to reason they’d remove the com so we couldn’t find him . . . but even for a vampire that’s a serious wound.”

  “Would he bleed to death?”

  “It depends.” David unconsciously rubbed his own wrist. “It would be easy enough to reattach the hand; almost any vampire could do that in a few minutes, though it would take several hours to get all the feeling back. Without the hand . . . if it were me, I could stop the bleeding and force the wound to close, assuming I was conscious, in about twenty seconds. But if he had other injuries, or had been knocked out, or was hung upside down so gravity was working against him . . .”

  “That’s enough,” Miranda said, covering her face with her hands. “I get it.”

  “We don’t know for sure,” David told her. “Let’s not assume the worst until Faith reports back.”

  Even as he said it, though, Miranda knew what he was thinking, and she knew, in her gut, he was right. Jake might have survived the amputation, but they wouldn’t find him alive.

  “Poor Jake,” Miranda repeated, wiping at her eyes. “I liked him.”

  David drew her head to his shoulder again and they spent the rest of the trip home in silence . . . but in her heart Miranda knew that whoever was behind this wouldn’t stop with one murder . . .

  This was only the beginning.

  David was right about one thing: Jonathan was nothing like his Prime. In fact, Miranda adored the Consort the moment they met.

  “Jonathan Burke,” he said, taking Miranda’s hand and kissing it gallantly. “I’m so excited to finally meet the woman who got David’s head out of his Mac.”

  Miranda smiled. “Once in a while, at least.”

  “Good God, David, you didn’t tell us how beautiful she is,” Jonathan added as he looked Miranda up and down with obvious appreciation that was neither lecherous nor invasive. “You’re not nearly good enough for her.”

  Now Miranda laughed, as did David. “You’re absolutely right,” David replied. “But I was hoping she wouldn’t figure that out for a few decades at least.”

  After the formal introductions they retired to the same study where David had taken Hart, although the Pair were given a suite of rooms closer to the Signet wing, in recognition of their relationship with the South.

  Miranda walked alongside Jonathan, who was a good six inches taller than David and therefore almost a foot taller than both Miranda and Deven. He was built like a football player, broad-shouldered with formidable muscles, but he carried himself the way all Signet bearers did, with uncanny grace and comfort in his own skin. It would have been easy for him to be a lunkheaded lumbering giant, but he was good-natured and refreshingly open, with a cheerful British accent and sparkling hazel eyes under his unruly blond hair. He wasn’t as stereotypically hot as many of the vampires she’d met, either; he was handsome, but in a rugged way, someone you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley but would want on your side in a bar fight.

  He was dressed in a suit and tie in a gorgeous dark purple, and Miranda had to return his compliment: “You’re pretty damned impressive looking yourself, my Lord.”

  Jonathan paused and did a runway-esque turn in the hallway. “Thank you, my Lady. I’d like to take credit for this, but I have the fashion sense of a blind Amish ditchdigger. Deven dresses me on special occasions; otherwise I’m strictly a jeans-and-tees sort of fellow.”

  Deven glanced back over his shoulder at Jonathan, and the smile he gave his Consort was fond, even gentle. “You’re just lazy,” he said.

  “I am, indeed, darling. But I also know when to let an expert take over.”

  They entered the study and took up two love seats, one Pair in each. The servants had already brought a bottle of whiskey, which Deven picked up and read, then smiled at David.

  “You’re learning,” Deven said. “Macallan Fine and Rare Collection, forty years old. Not bad at all.”

  David snorted softly. “That’s to keep you from complaining about my trailer park taste.”

  “Jack Daniel’s is worse than trailer park,” Deven said. “It’s a date with your sister at the family reunion.”

  “You, my love, are a snob,” Jonathan told his Prime with a smile. “I’ve seen you drunk on just about everything from Château Lafite to bathtub gin.”

  The men all drank whiskey, which Miranda hated; she poured a glass of Cabernet and sipped it, admiring the way the firelight caught the wine’s jewel tones and made it look like blood-colored stained glass.

  “I understand you had something of a row with Hart,” Deven said. “Well done.”

  “That was Miranda’s doing,” David replied, taking her hand. “It’s been a long time coming, but Cora, one of Hart’s women, was the catalyst and Miranda the spark. After he murdered the other girls, any hope of amity between us was done for. The next Council gathering should be interesting.”

  “You’ve opened a bloody hornets’
nest,” Deven said, a bit sternly. “It’s not wise to cross someone as unstable as Hart. This will come back to haunt you, I promise.”

  Miranda said coldly, “I’ll gladly take that chance if it means saving Cora from that animal.”

  Deven looked at her over the rim of his glass. “That’s because you’re too young to know any better.”

  Her temper flared. “And would you have let him take her, Lord Prime? Knowing what she was going through and how she was going to die?”

  Deven was unaffected by the edge in her voice. “In our position we must consider the common good and not go courting wars because of our pet causes.”

  She knew her eyes were going silver, but she didn’t care. “Perhaps you should consider the common good and not go courting wars to compensate for a cold heart or a small—”

  “Miranda,” David began, but Miranda held up a hand, and he fell silent. Meanwhile Jonathan was watching the whole exchange with a slight smile, glancing back and forth between the Queen and his Prime as though it were a highly entertaining tennis match.

  Deven tilted his head again, set down his glass, and said, “Any fight between us, my Lady, will be short and unpleasant.”

  “Just like you,” Miranda bit back.

  Silence.

  Then Deven laughed.

  Miranda didn’t, but she felt the tension in the air dispel and sat back with her wineglass.

  “I like her,” Deven told David. “She’s bright and fearless, just like they say. Give her fifty years and she’ll be a force of nature.”

  David gave Deven a look that made Miranda feel a lot better. “She’s a force of nature right now, and I think you’d best keep that in mind, as well as the fact that regardless of our past relationship, I don’t take kindly to anyone baiting my Queen.”

  Whatever words David had given her in the car, Miranda could sense now that things between him and Deven were far from resolved. There was anger there, steeped in the pain of betrayal.

  “Jonathan,” Miranda said, “how would you like a tour of our Haven while our Primes discuss whatever business they need to discuss? I’d love a chance to show you our home and get to know you better.”

  She pointedly ignored Deven as she spoke.

  Jonathan grinned. “That would be lovely, my Lady. Shall we?”

  He offered his arm, and Miranda smiled and took it, leading the Consort out of the study and taking no little delight in closing the door firmly behind them.

  “London?” Miranda asked.

  Jonathan grinned, loosening his tie. “Good catch, my Lady. I was born and raised in Southwark, served the Queen for a good many years, then made my way across the Atlantic and, eventually, to the West, like so many settlers before me.”

  “How did you two meet?”

  Jonathan clearly found that funny and chuckled as he flipped the caps off two of the beers from the six-pack they’d fetched on their way. He handed her a bottle and kept one for himself, and they clinked them together before taking a drink. “It was like something out of a bad romance novel,” he said, leaning back against the chimney. “It was 1952—a big group of the Elite, and the Prime, were having an after-hours drink in a bar downtown, and I went to try to get a job with them. I was new in town; I figured I’d be on patrol duty for a few years and work my way up. I met David and Faith, who took me to meet the Prime, and the minute we shook hands, bam! His Signet lit up like Christmas. Five seconds later an assassin tried to take him down with a crossbow. I pushed Dev out of the way, took the hit, and woke up in his bed.”

  “You didn’t know each other at all?”

  “No. I didn’t even know his name. But I knew I belonged with him.” Jonathan smiled out over the roof at the woods surrounding the Haven. “Strange, really. I’d been with a hundred men over the years and they were all more like me—brawny and a bit on the brash side. Then here was this fragile-looking boy with his tattoos and scars, and I completely lost my mind.”

  “Scars?”

  The Consort nodded. “Many. Inside and out.”

  “How old is Deven?”

  “We don’t know exactly, because there’s no record of his birth, but it was sometime in the early 1300s, in Ireland.”

  “He’s seven hundred years old? Jesus!”

  “One of the oldest living vampires on earth.”

  “And is he a dick to everyone, or am I just special?”

  Another smile, another swig of his Shiner Bock. “Isn’t it obvious, my Lady? He’s jealous.”

  “Jealous? Why?”

  They had gone to one of Miranda’s favorite spots in the Haven, or rather, atop the Haven: a rooftop nook near the Signet suite that offered a sheltered place to watch the night go by. When she needed a minute alone she often sneaked off to the roof, and she was aware that David did the same thing, sometimes to this exact spot. It was quiet and the view was spectacular. From here she could see the pasture, where Isis and Osiris were currently grazing in slow circles, and the gardens she and David had walked through when she first came to live at the Haven.

  Jonathan, whose long legs were dangling from the eaves, said, “They never really got any closure on their relationship,” he said. “David ran away—rightly so—and Deven did his best to atone for being such a fool, but until a few months ago they hadn’t even been in the same room. They put aside their feelings in order to keep their friendship, but it was never truly finished between them. And as long as David was on his own, things could stay that way. Now, you’re here, and like it or not that chapter has closed for them. They’re going to have to work it out somehow.”

  “Does that mean they still love each other?”

  “Oh, undoubtedly.” He saw Miranda’s face and added quickly, “But you needn’t worry.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Listen to me, Miranda, and remember this, because it will save you a lot of heartache as the years go by.” Jonathan sat forward, holding her gaze, his usually cheerful expression gone grave. “You are his soul mate. You are bound unto death and possibly longer than that. No one, and I mean this literally, no one can usurp your position in his life or heart. He will love you until the sun burns to dust. But that doesn’t mean neither of you will ever love anyone else or want someone else. Forever is a long time, and even mortal relationships evolve—so must ours, if we are to survive.”

  Miranda sighed and picked at the label of her beer. “So you share Deven with other people?”

  “Dev? Oh, hell no. He’s not interested in extracurricular ass. He shares me.”

  “Seriously?” Miranda gave him an incredulous look. “I would think he’d be the one shagging every guy that moves.”

  Jonathan’s smile returned, but she could feel something lurking beneath it that was all too familiar. “I won’t go into the details of his past—that’s for him to reveal. But I will say that when he and David first coupled, it had been over a hundred years since his last lover.”

  “Whoa. Really?”

  “Yes. And our relationship isn’t what you’d call passionate. Every Pair comes together to complete each other, and in our case, what he needed wasn’t someone to have sex with, it was someone to love who would place no demands on him, just be a comfort and a companion who would never abandon him. We agreed early on that our sex life would be somewhat sporadic, and that if I felt the need for more, I was free to seek it out. It’s a perfect arrangement for us.” He laughed again at the look on her face. “As I said, forever is a long time. The ‘in love’ stage of a relationship is fleeting. What you need are partnership and companionship, a deeper and more abiding love that transcends the physical. Sometimes that’s romantic and sexy, sometimes not. But over time you and David will find what works for you.”

  “No offense, Jonathan, but I find that kind of depressing.”

  He grinned. “No offense taken. I realize it sounds strange, especially since you probably spent your whole human life within the bounds of traditional human relationships. But we’re
not human . . . and the way we love isn’t traditional. It can’t be, when eternity is a factor. Not to mention, Dev . . . well, as I said, he has scars. And really, if he had it to do over again, he probably would have stayed out of Signet politics entirely and joined one of the Orders.”

  “Orders of . . .”

  “Vampire monks,” Jonathan explained. “Religious orders of immortals. There are several scattered around the world. Deven has connections with one of them, the Order of Eleusis—they’re mystical metalworkers connected with the Eleusinian Mysteries of ancient Greece, and it’s rumored they first forged the Signets themselves. Get Deven to show you his sword sometime; it was made by the Order, and it has their symbol, a waning crescent moon above the Greek symbol of infinity, worked into the blade’s design.”

  Miranda had no idea what to think of that—it sounded so outlandish and unbelievable to think there were actual religions for vampires, although any race that had existed so long was bound to have its true believers. She wondered if David had looked into it, given how wildly curious he was about the origin of the Signet system. She’d have to mention it later.

  “So, about Deven . . . what do I do when he gives me attitude?”

  “Give it right back. Show him you’ve got balls and you’re not going to back down, and he’ll respect you. As soon as he feels like you’re a match for David, he’ll back off.”

  She raised an eyebrow at him. “Why are you so free with the advice? Why don’t you give me the same grief he does?”

  Jonathan snorted. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not the same person. I’m a Consort, which means I read people very well, so I knew you were fantastic from the get-go. Deven tends to reserve judgment. But the worst thing you can do is let him intimidate you.”

  “I hate to say this, and I hope it doesn’t upset you, but right now I don’t really care about his respect so much as I care about my foot planted on his ass.”

  The Consort broke into a loud and contagious laugh that had her laughing, too. “All right,” he said. “You kick his ass, Miranda. He’s earned it.”