Shadowflame

by Dianne Sylvan

  David, restless, got up from the chair and came over to straighten out the blanket around the Prime as he had earlier with Miranda. “To be honest, Deven, I don’t know if we can. I thought I was past all of this, but I think I was just far away from it. From you. Maybe that’s the best thing, for us to keep our distance.”

  Deven grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop looking for something else to think about. “Is that really what you want?”

  Again their eyes held. David found he could barely breathe. “No.”

  “I should never have let you go,” Deven said softly, lifting one hand and brushing a stray hair from David’s eyes.

  It felt like his spine was melting under the heat of that one light touch. David knelt in front of the couch, putting his head about level with Deven’s. “What about Jonathan?”

  “Jonathan would have understood. He’s said so many times.”

  “He would have shared you with me?”

  “Of course. He’s always had his lovers. So could I, within the terms of our relationship.”

  David smiled wryly. “You’re basing your regrets on the assumption that I would have been willing to share.”

  The smile was returned, this time ruefully. “We do a lot of insane things for love. I thought I was doing the right thing by breaking it off with you . . . but what kind of life could we have now if you had stayed?”

  David’s smile faded. “You would have all of your soul mate’s heart and all of mine, and I would have, perhaps, half of yours. So things would be wonderful for you, which is what matters, isn’t it?”

  “Are you suggesting that I’m selfish, David?”

  “No, Deven, I’m saying it. You’re selfish. You would rather I were warming your bed with only half a soul than finding fulfillment in my own life—and I’m sure you were much happier before I met Miranda. And now you think, what, that you can walk back into my life and claim some piece of me for yourself after you left me in the gutter with a broken heart?”

  “You’re wrong,” Deven snapped, anger sparking in his eyes as they went silver around the edges. “You have no idea how wrong you are. How can you think that of me after everything we’ve been through together? How can you think I don’t want to see you happy?”

  The Prime sat up, pulling away from David, then shoved the blanket aside and forced himself to his feet. “You should go,” Deven said, voice going cold. “I need to pack.”

  But Deven wavered where he stood, dizziness catching up to him, and David caught him as his knees buckled, his heart pounding at the sudden feeling of Deven’s slender body against his. Dev tried to push him away, but the effort was halfhearted at best and he was still weak. David held on to him, some desperate wild thing in his chest refusing to withdraw, and after a moment Deven gave up and leaned into his arms.

  “I don’t want to feel this way,” Deven murmured into David’s chest. “I want to forget we were ever in love and be content with friendship. But I don’t think I can, David. I can keep my distance and I can honor your commitment, but I can’t ever stop loving you.”

  David drew back to look at him. There was such anguish in his face, and David felt it just as keenly himself even if it didn’t show. “I know,” he said. “Neither can I.”

  Deven shook his head. “You should go. Go, now, before we do something that . . .”

  He didn’t have a chance to finish the sentence. David’s mouth had already covered his.

  Ten

  Kat woke to a world that had changed, and changed profoundly, without her permission.

  She didn’t want to open her eyes. There were nightmares in the dark, but she had no idea what being awake would prove or disprove about the night gone by, and better the devil she knew than the one she didn’t . . . although . . . what was that beeping?

  Curiosity got the better of her and she slit one eye open to get at least some idea of where she was. Could it be . . . just maybe . . . she was in her own bed, beneath the handmade quilt her grandmother had left unfinished when she died, the blue and purple one Kat had clumsily handstitched the last square onto? Was she in her cozy bedroom in the townhouse she had bought in a bid to feel grounded someplace, finally at home for the first time in her life, the furniture and DVDs testimony to the fact that she had chosen to call Austin her town after years of wandering around the planet?

  The beep came again just as her eye opened enough to admit light, and her heart sank as confusion set in. No, this wasn’t home. Home wasn’t stark white and cold, and it certainly didn’t have a bank of machines up by the headboard.

  “Kat?”

  She pried her eye open the rest of the way, then its partner, and turned her sight on the origin of the voice, a dark-haired young man whose brow was creased with worry.

  “Hey,” she croaked.

  Drew let out a breath of relief and squeezed her hand almost too hard; she was aware, then, of something poking her, and a second later realized it was an IV.

  “Am I in the hospital?” she asked, surprised at how weak her voice was. She sounded like she’d had the flu.

  He made an indefinite gesture with his head. “Sort of. It’s the Anna Hausmann Memorial Clinic down on Fifteenth.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “Yeah, me neither. I got a call last night that you . . . that you were here. I think . . .” Drew looked around as if worried someone would overhear, then said quietly, “I think Miranda’s people run it.”

  Kat blinked. Vampires had doctors? Why? She looked around the small, private room, which could have been in any hospital in Austin. It even had a window whose blinds were open, so at least the nurses had to be human.

  On the wall, there was a dry-erase board that read, Welcome to the Hausmann Clinic! Your nurse today is ... The space had been filled in by a different hand, with Jackie. At the top corner where the hospital logo would have been was a symbol like a family crest, with an S in the center. Solomon.

  Kat shut her eyes tightly as flashes of memory began to intrude . . . not visual, but visceral, the memory of pain, of terror . . .

  She choked back tears. “What happened to me?” she whispered.

  Drew stood and leaned over her, putting his arms around her. He smelled like he always did: patchouli, books, and the faint musty scent of the music department classrooms at UT. He’d started a program there for underprivileged kids, teaching piano lessons for free after school. That, his regular class schedule, and all his other volunteer work took up so much time, combined with her crazy hours, that they hardly got to see each other these days. Most guys would have bailed on her by now, but he wanted to sign up for the long haul. He might just be as crazy as she was.

  She sobbed, and he held her close, while the collective horror of the night sank in.

  “I lost it,” she gasped. “I lost the baby. But then I found her again. They saved me. I was so scared . . .”

  Just like before when she’d been walking to her car. But this time, it wasn’t her imagination or a random stranger. This time it was someone who wanted her dead.

  She’d barely had a second to hit the panic button on her phone before someone slammed into her from behind, knocking her to the ground, wrestling her to her back. She had looked up into an inhuman face, and all she had seen were teeth . . . the flash of a knife . . . and then there was so much pain, her memory simply stopped. Her brain couldn’t cope with reality and everything went gray and silent until . . .

  She had heard a calm male voice beside her and looked up to see an angelic face—maybe it really was an angel; hell, if vampires were real, what else might be?—just before she heard Miranda, panicked, calling her name. Then there was . . .

  “Shall I bring her back, Katerina?”

  Then she woke up here.

  She tried to tell Drew what had happened, or as much of it as she could make sense of. He looked like he wasn’t sure whether to hold her or set something on fire. Drew wasn’t an angry person; in fact he was one of the kindest, most co
mpassionate people she had ever met. Knowing that she was the source of his anger made her heart shudder with guilt.

  Not too long after she got herself back together, there was a knock, and the door swung open to reveal a tiny round woman with a clipboard and a digital thermometer. “Hi there,” she said, her Texas accent pronounced and comforting. “I’m Jackie.”

  “Kat.”

  “Nice to meet you, sweetie. And you must be Drew.” Jackie reached over and shook his hand, somehow without putting down her things, an impressive feat. “I’m just here to take Kat’s vitals. Do you have any questions?”

  “Yeah,” Drew said, more forceful than Kat had ever heard him. “What the hell happened to her last night?”

  Jackie got to work checking Kat’s various monitors and making adjustments in things, saying, “The official word is that you were attacked by a vampire—I understand you’re under Signet protection? Good, then I can be a little more candid. The woman who attacked you is suspected of several murders and an attack on the Queen.”

  “Several murders?” Drew demanded. “I thought she had just gone after Kat and Miranda. You mean she’s been killing other people and they haven’t caught her yet?”

  “Drew,” Kat said quietly, “calm down.”

  Jackie didn’t look upset by Drew’s outburst. She jotted Kat’s temperature on her clipboard before replying, “I’m afraid she’s still at large, but Prime Deven wounded her, and there was evidence at the scene that’s being analyzed right now. Someone will be in shortly to ask you a few questions, Kat, about the attacker.”

  “Police?” Kat asked.

  “Elite,” Jackie answered. “Police aren’t much good in this sort of situation.”

  “What kind of place is this?”

  Jackie smiled. “The Hausmann was established by Prime Solomon to look after human victims of vampire feeding—even with the laws they have in place, sometimes unfortunate things happen. Our staff are trained to recognize and deal with specific conditions resulting from vampire-related injuries, including abortive transformations and various forms of anemia. We’re not very big or very busy, but normal medical facilities often don’t know how to treat this sort of thing or its emotional toll. We have . . . counselors for that.”

  The nurse spoke so matter-of-factly about her job that Kat felt a creeping sense of surreality all around her. “Is . . . can you tell if the baby’s okay?”

  Jackie paused and looked at her. “It’s tough to say, as early as it is. She’s still got a good strong heartbeat and there’s been no damage we could see in the scans. You’ll want to follow up with your OB/GYN as soon as possible, but I would say, cautiously, it looks like she’ll be fine.”

  “How do you know it’s a she?” Drew asked.

  Jackie looked thoughtful. “I don’t, really,” she replied. “It just came out. Would you prefer I not use a gender pronoun? It is, as I said, really early in the pregnancy.”

  “No, that’s all right,” Kat said. “I know it’s a girl, too . . . and . . . I’m going to keep her. So it’s okay.”

  She saw the shock on Drew’s face but didn’t say anything to him just yet. She was still getting used to the idea herself. Just saying it out loud was jarring enough.

  “All right, then, I’ll get out of your hair,” Jackie said with a grin. “All your vitals are stable, and I’m pretty sure you’ll be able to go home in the morning. I’ll have dinner sent up to you within the hour.”

  “Thanks.”

  Kat saw quite plainly the question Drew was about to ask. “Let’s . . . not talk about it right now, okay?” She reached up with her non-IV-laden hand and touched his face. “As soon as I get out of here and there’s not somebody trying to kill me, we can start making plans.”

  Drew smiled, nodded, and said, “Whatever you want, babe, but you do realize that I’m moving in now even if I have to sleep on the front porch.”

  Kat couldn’t help but smile back. “Fine by me,” she said. “Saves me the trouble of housebreaking a Rottweiler.”

  They both laughed a little, though Kat still felt more like crying.

  Jackie stuck her head back in the door. “You have another visitor,” she said. “Do you feel up to a few questions now?”

  Kat shrugged. Why not?

  Drew started to say something—and Kat had her theories as to what—but the words died on his lips as a woman walked into the room.

  She was petite, but muscular, and looked Japanese; her hair was a shining fall of ebony braided back from her face. She wore one of the black uniforms that Kat had seen on the Elite, including the silver wristband that they used to communicate.

  She also had a sword.

  “My name is Faith,” she said, her smooth voice all business. “I am Second in Command of the Southern Elite. You must be Kat.”

  If Jackie’s warmth had been reassuring, Faith’s coolness was, too; clearly this was not a person to mess with. Where had she been, Kat wondered, when Kat was on her back with a knife in her gut?

  “I have a few questions about your attacker,” Faith said. “I won’t keep you long; I know you need your rest.”

  “Fire away,” Kat said, trying to sound hearty but mostly coming off as a bit pathetic. “Have a seat.”

  Faith declined, preferring to stand by the bed with her arms crossed, looking incredibly fucking scary. “What can you tell me about her appearance?”

  Kat closed her eyes and swallowed, trying to concentrate. “She was blond,” she said. “Short hair . . . really short, kind of severe. I didn’t really focus on her eye color because it was dark and I was being stabbed and all.”

  “Understandable,” Faith said. “Just give me whatever you can remember.”

  “She was wearing black like all of you. Her teeth were . . . out. I mean, they were all fangy and pointed. She was skinny . . . I don’t know how tall, but she seemed about average height.”

  “Did she speak to you?”

  Kat shook her head. “She just grunted. No, wait . . .” Kat thought hard, trying to fight her way through the fog around the memories. “There was one thing . . . something startled her, and she jumped up and ran. She made this noise like something hit her, and she said . . . I heard her say something, like the way you’d say ‘Holy shit!’ or ‘Goddamn it.’ ”

  “But it wasn’t in English,” Faith surmised. “What language was it?”

  “I have no idea. It sounded like a cross between German and something out of Tolkien.”

  Something flickered in Faith’s expression, but it was gone as quickly as it came. “One more thing, Kat . . . was she wearing any sort of technological gadget, like a Bluetooth earpiece or one of these?” Faith lifted her arm to show the metal band on her wrist.

  “No. Not that I saw.”

  Faith nodded. “Thank you.”

  She started to leave, but Kat called her back with, “What happens now?”

  Faith turned to her. “Meaning?”

  “Well, obviously having one guard on me wasn’t enough.”

  A raised eyebrow. “I was given to understand that you had refused additional guards.”

  “Something about having my hand chopped off made me rethink that.”

  Faith nodded. “I suppose it would. There’s a room for you at the Haven, where you’ll be under twenty-four-hour watch and safer than any other place on the planet. Your man would be welcome to join you. I would guess, however, that you don’t want to give up your job and life for the duration of the investigation, in which case you go home, but we assign you a full Elite detail of bodyguards and digital surveillance. It’s up to you, but either way you need to be watched much more closely until the situation has been dealt with.”

  Kat passed her hands over her face. The tube from her IV hit her lightly on the nose. “Can I think about it?”

  “Of course. The staff wants to keep you until morning; you can notify us of your decision then. There are two guards outside your room.”

  “Thank you.”


  Faith bowed, then departed.

  They sat without speaking for a minute, Kat fiddling with her IV, Drew pointedly not talking about the baby. Kat found that she was exhausted just from the two short exchanges, and though the last thing she wanted was to spend the night in a hospital bed, she got why they wanted her there. She felt like her entire body had been beaten with a bat.

  She’d nearly died. Her hand had been cut off and then reattached . . . with magic. She’d been jumped in the dark and stabbed in the abdomen. Whoever had stabbed her might try again . . . and it was all because her best friend was a vampire.

  She was pregnant. She hurt . . . God, she hurt . . .

  And she couldn’t even have any real painkillers. Somehow she didn’t think Tylenol would do much good after all this . . . What she really wanted was a bottle of vodka and a plane ticket to anywhere else in the world but here.

  Drew didn’t ask why she was weeping again. He just held her and let her cry herself to sleep.

  The spell went unbroken through long, soul-shaking kisses; through clothes and sheets thrown aside with reckless anticipation; through teeth piercing skin, nails clawing shoulders, the soft cry of joining together and the raggedly drawn breaths that rose and fell; through the worldshattering peak and subsequent tumble down, down . . .

  . . . until, shaking and bruised, David lowered himself onto the mattress, and his heart battered its way through his rib cage, screaming the question into his mind: My God, what have we done?

  Neither Prime could speak. For a long time the only sound was panting as David tried to slow his breath and still the cyclone of his thoughts, most of which were a single word: No.

  He looked up, meeting eyes that were as dazed as his own. He knew that whatever shame and shock he was feeling, for once Deven felt it just as strongly, if not more so, because he would never, ever have expected David to do . . . this. Deven’s hands were still twisted in the pillows, holding on, perhaps, to the last precious seconds before reality drowned them both.