Slade charged the cloud, only to be pulled back by Hiram.
“Don’t,” Hiram snapped, clutching Slade’s arm. “It’s too late for her.”
Slade checked Hiram’s grip on his arm, eyed him skeptically, then set his gaze upon the girl surrounded in hell’s mist. He made another move toward her. Hiram pulled back harder.
From Dylan’s position against the filing cabinet, it almost looked like . . . no, it couldn’t be . . . it looked like Hiram knew what the otherworldly thing was. Like he’d seen it before and knew they’d crossed a threshold from which there would be no turning back. And no saving the blonde now completely covered in the dense fog.
Slade was only inches away from touching it. So close to dipping his fingers into its dark, shadowed veil. His red eyes seethed pure hatred. Yet the fog didn’t reach for Slade or Hiram . . . or for Dylan.
It wanted the girls. Only the two girls walking toward the theatre. Why them? That question bothered Dylan most of all. They were dealing with a cloud of black smoke with a thought process. And a purpose. That was a whole different level of demon to slay. She didn’t know where they’d begin.
Slade was wrong. This shadow wasn’t moving through the haven, killing scouts and leaving others behind at random. Its motives were driven. It killed the scouts to save itself. It didn’t touch the others in the haven because it didn’t need them . . . or didn’t believe they were the ones it was looking for.
Damn, what had that book said about spirits of elders? Could this really be what she was seeing? Dylan gasped as the fog writhed in agony. Its thick black layers peeled away, fading to dull gray, then near transparent.
The blonde wavered in the middle of the cloud. As it collapsed upon itself with an ear-rattling snapping noise, like a black hole vanishing from the cosmos, the girl fell to the floor. Dylan couldn’t explain how she knew it, but the girl was dead. Her body was vacant. Her soul had been swept up into the fog and taken away to the Ever After.
Dylan turned her attention to the petite redhead slouched against the wall. She was wild-eyed and shaking, her arms still outstretched like she was holding onto her friend. Dylan knelt beside her as Slade checked on the blonde.
“Honey,” Dylan said, running a hand along the girl’s shoulder. “Are you all right? What’s your name?”
The girl shook. Tried to take a breath. Choked on remnants of the shadow clinging to her throat. She bowled over to get the thick tar out of her lungs and coughed plumes of heavy, black smoke into the air.
Dylan put a hand on her back and rubbed in small circles. “Hiram, grab me a bottle of water from the mini-fridge over there. She’s inhaled some of . . . whatever it was.”
The girl put up a hand as if she wanted to speak. Then she opened her mouth. Two words floated off her lips, seemingly beyond her control, like it was the smoke talking through her, using her as a tool to further its message.
On a ragged, ghostly breath that wasn’t her own, the girl whispered, “Eve . . . Monroe.”
Dylan and Slade exchanged knowing glances.
“Damn it, this thing wasn’t after them,” Slade growled, his long fangs dropping into fighting position. “It was after Eve. I’ll check the rest of the haven for more.” He whipped around to Hiram, who had brought over the bottle of water for the girl. “Call Erock. Have him meet me with his top team. And I make a motion for the Crimson Council to be called.”
Dylan’s thoughts shot to Ruan and Eve and where they’d be at this hour. They needed to be warned there was something coming for them.
It was damn stifling in the hallway all of a sudden. Dylan’s chest constricted. Her breathing became labored. The air was too thin. Much too thin. God, she had to breathe. She needed room to think, to clear her head. The room spun in muzzy circles around her, making her feel faint.
This was too much . . .
Shadows that moved and breathed? Vicious, black fog capable of penetrating the mawares protecting their haven? Deadly clouds of smoke that searched for souls to drag to the Ever After? If they really were up against the dark part of an elder’s spirit, who was behind it? And why was this thing after Eve?
As Dylan backed away to get some breathing room, the redhead collapsed into Hiram’s arms. She was dead two minutes later, suffocated by the black tar blocking her airway.
Vamp coroners determined her blonde friend died of “unknown” natural causes . . . even though she was a newborn vamp at a young and healthy thirty-six years old.
Chapter Eight
“Therians retreat into the shadows of Crimson Bay after their attack on San Francisco’s haven ends in defeat. But remember: just because the winds have calmed, doesn’t mean the storm is over . . .”
Crimson Bay Channel 8 News
SAVAGE STIFFENED HIS muscles from his calves to his back, balled all the energy he could summon into his core, then sent it flying out into the air around him. He felt that energy stretch and search the night. Felt it fly and soar in the crisp night air, swerving around sky-scraping buildings, dipping over and down San Francisco’s rolling roadways.
It snagged on something as solid as a rock. In his mind, he pulled. Something on the other end of his mental connection pulled back, caught on a dark energy just as powerful. He drew the energy on the other end closer.
He closed his eyes and focused hard on the death shade, pulling it back to him like a magnet lures metal. Just as suddenly as his energy tapped into the death shade, pulling and tugging as their energies intertwined, the line snapped. He felt the disconnect so strongly that he jerked backward, slamming his body against the concrete wall behind him.
What the hell just happened? He felt empty. Hollow. Achingly alone.
Savage’s skin crawled with realization. Meridian’s death shade was gone. He knew it as certain as the sun was going to rise in a few short hours. He’d lost it. Lost his grip. How did that happen? Weren’t both light and dark death shades always within elders? Why then, when he took possession of Meridian’s, did it leave him—he checked his watch—exactly twenty-four hours later?
Maybe there was a time limit—no, that’d be ridiculous, wouldn’t it? Otherworldly things didn’t run on man-made restrictions like time.
Maybe he pushed the death shade too hard, not knowing its strengths and weaknesses. Did he move too quickly, sending it out to San Francisco’s haven in a rush? Was there a limit of how many souls it could take to the Ever After? Did he cap that limit already?
Unanswered questions bogging down his normally clear thought process, Savage gathered his things together, shoving his gun and blade into the duffel in the corner. He stormed out of the chamber and down the cold hall, slamming the cell door behind him.
As he wound in and out of the narrow corridors leading out of Fort Point, his mind raced. Did he do something wrong to release the death shade? Was losing control of it a fluke? Would another elder’s death shade be as fickle or was it just batty because it matched Meridian? Would each one’s strength be based on the age and strength of the elder?
So many things to consider. So many things he didn’t know for certain. Too many.
More than the questions surrounding the death shade, Savage had to wonder how strong the vamps’ defense would be when he attacked. He wanted to bring the whole goddamn place to its knees after his former khissmates had cast him to the street like yesterday’s garbage. He didn’t want to kill only the main players in his banishment. No, he wanted every single one of them to pay with their souls.
And he was no closer to finding out why Meridian would go to such lengths to protect Eve . . .
As he climbed the winding concrete staircase leading to the ground level of Fort Point, Savage watched the impending sunrise taint the horizon beyond the Golden Gate Bridge a pale orange. Good thing being a vampire-therian hybrid granted him reprieve from the sun, he mused with a twisted smirk. Walking along the n
arrow path on the bay side of the fort to the front parking lot, Savage thanked his lucky stars the place was closed to tourists on weekdays, and slid into his raven-black Porsche.
There was simply too much he didn’t know to move forward with his plan now, especially since he lost Meridian’s death shade a day after he’d acquired it . He still had so many questions about the death shades and what they could do.
His skin crawled in anticipation. He’d need another death shade to measure this experience against. That was the only way he’d get his questions answered.
He brought the boxer engine of his Porsche roaring to life, and peeled out of the parking lot, flying through gears with renewed purpose. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he shoved the car into sixth and headed out of town.
Chapter Nine
“Evil is in the eye of the beholder: from deadly therian to friendly half-breed. How Slade plans to use his therian intel for the vampire good.”
Crimson Bay Chronicle article featuring Slade and the Crimson Council
“DID YOU MAKE the call?” Slade guided Dylan through the spacious meeting room to her seat along the back wall. In the center of the room, four rounded tables faced one another to form a circle, with enough space between each to form an aisle to the open center. Slade pulled out her chair, but she didn’t sit. Instead, her gaze scanned the chairs circled around the edges of the room for Ruan and Eve. They should’ve been here by now. “Is Ruan coming?” Slade asked, his voice rough.
She wished she knew. “I called three times. No answer.”
“Want me to ask around, see where he’s been hiding out? I might be able to make it there and back before the Crimson Council’s called to order.”
The slamming of one of two side doors had Dylan and Slade’s attention snapping to center.
Twenty or so vampires from Dylan and Slade’s khiss entered the room, followed by half a dozen Primuses from local khisses. Dressed in long, flowing robes that pooled at their feet, they appeared to be floating over the stone floor. Stoic guards, required to follow the royals everywhere, flanked each Primus.
Behind the khiss members, Primuses, and royal guards, a dozen blood-dolls—decked out in skimpy red skirts and boots up to their knees—entered on their heels. Being that the emergency meeting was called during broad daylight, it was crucial to have a blood-doll for each Primus in order to transport them from Point A to Point B. Blood-dolls, humans with no vampire blood who envied and lived the vamp lifestyle, could drive from place to place with their precious cargo hidden inside the bellies of big SUVs, behind blacked-out windows. Underground garages at each haven provided perfect cover for times as desperate as these.
They took their seats, talking amongst each other, waiting for the Crimson Council meeting—reminiscent of old-fashioned town hall sessions—to begin. The gathering of Primuses in the area didn’t happen often, and when it did, it didn’t take two honed fangs to know something terrible was lurking on the horizon. Especially when meetings were called during daylight hours. Whispers of therian attacks and questions about how to proceed spread from one khiss representative to another.
They finally quieted when Hiram entered behind two guards. Their Primus was covered head to toe in a glossy black gown that made him look an elegant ten feet tall. His eyes were a lighter shade of pale than usual. Was that anger lacing his hard gaze? Disgust? Stacks of scrolls were tucked beneath his arms. He looked like a revenge-thirsty executioner on judgment day.
“I don’t think you have time to do much of anything,” Dylan said to Slade above the muffled hush of the packed room. “Look.”
She nudged her chin at Hiram as he took his seat at the center of one long black table and spread the scrolls out, securing the curled edges with two silver blades. Candles on wall-hanging sconces behind him wavered, flittering shadows on the pale faces of the expectant vamps and their respective Primuses. “It’s too late,” she whispered. “They’re getting started.”
Dark swags of fabric hanging from the twelve-foot ceiling breathed and rolled against the charcoal-gray walls as a rogue draft swept through the circular room. A hush fell over the crowd as the Primuses stood from their prospective khisses on the outside ring and took their places at tables in the inner circle.
It was the rightful claiming of title. One seat on the inner circle for each Primus in the area. General khiss members, guards, and blood-dolls stood back, watching as the Primuses sat together, becoming one unit.
Loud stomps sounded from the foyer behind Dylan and Slade. Someone was coming, about to enter the council’s chamber . . .
Just when Dylan thought she’d lost her chance to warn Ruan about what was coming for Eve, the back doors swung open, banging against the walls, announcing an entrance with two resounding thuds.
All eyes turned to the menacing-looking figure in black. Guards clutched knives on their belts. Primuses went rigid. Slade rolled his eyes. The room only relaxed when everyone saw the familiar face of a former royal guard.
Ruan looked mean. Angrier than Dylan had ever seen him. His blonde hair was slick and pulled back from his face, revealing the tightness in his jaw and the hatred burning in his eyes.
Had he really grown to hate them so fast? Had this conflict with Eve’s blood driven such a huge wedge between them that he’d never return to their haven and ReVamp? No, she had to believe this would blow over. He’d come back to their khiss, his home, the only home he’d ever known, and get back to work. It’s what he did . . .
Without scanning the large room, he sat down a few empty seats to Dylan’s right. He didn’t spare her a single look. But she knew he saw her there. He clasped his hands in his lap and stared straight forward, the black of his sweatshirt starkly contrasting the pallor of his skin.
“Here we go,” Slade grumbled, planting a kiss square on Dylan’s lips. “I gotta take my place, too.” He slid out of the aisle, past Ruan, without giving him the dignity of a glance. Slade took his post alongside Hiram’s guards on the back wall, one of them being his cousin Erock, who was dressed in full kick-ass gear—leather pants, boots, and a trench coat hiding more silver than Dylan cared to speculate about.
Slade winked at Dylan and planted his hands on his hips. He was cool and calm compared to Erock, who acted like he had a stake up his ass. It might’ve been because Slade knew he didn’t need weapons and a mean mug to be a deadly predator. He had something none of the vampires in this room did: therian blood.
Dylan knew it wasn’t easy for Slade to conform to their khiss’s rules and responsibilities. Despite his upbringing that taught him vampires were nothing more than greedy leeches, Slade had agreed to use his shape-shifting ability to protect their khiss . . . which meant he was Hiram’s intel. His right-hand man, next to his own son, Erock. Dylan was damn proud.
Before Hiram could address the other Primuses, Dylan leaned across the seats. “Glad you came, Ruan,” she whispered. “We have to talk.”
He nodded so subtly she might’ve missed it. He rolled his shoulders back and kinked his neck to the side. He’d never been this tense before, being amongst his kind. She wondered what triggered it now.
“Fellow Primuses,” Hiram began, choosing to stand and lean across the table rather than sit idly. His eyes scanned the Primuses to his left, and to his right. Each royal sat rigid and straight, waiting for the news that had them dragged out of their havens after daybreak. “I appreciate you coming together so quickly. Under the circumstances, this has to be a quick meeting. And after today the Crimson Council must convene at a secondary meeting point in Petaluma. There can be no communication about this over the airways.”
A thick Primus wearing a burgundy gown with raven black hair and charcoal skin stood from the table across from Hiram. “I am Justus, the East Bay representative. I know not why you called us here or under what circumstances, but why must we choose a new point to meet? This has been
the Crimson Council’s rightful meeting place since it was started nearly a century ago.”
“Things have changed,” Hiram boomed, standing upright. “Someone murdered an elder.”
Desperate voices cried out at once. Justus sat slowly and whispered to the lanky female attendant sitting closely behind him. She nodded, her mahogany hair bobbing up and down, and slid out of the room in a hurry.
“Where did you get your information?”
“We would have heard!”
“Lies!”
Ruan slid to the edge of his chair and leaned forward, his hands clasped in front of him. He looked larger than life. Like the anger taking root in him had filled him up. His gaze slid over Dylan, stopping short of her eyes. “You knew about this?” His deep, calloused voice skipped over the dissention of the crowd.
She scooted beside him, her gaze wandering over the other members of their khiss. For the first time in her life, she saw fear in their eyes. Elders weren’t killed . . . ever. “Something’s happening. Last night some sort of dark shadow moved through our haven. It was looking for Eve.”
She couldn’t bear to tell Ruan about her suspicions. If an elder had turned on their own kind, using their shadow for evil—if that’s even what they called it—Ruan would be facing something much more powerful than anyone had ever encountered. She wondered if the elder who was murdered had something to do with what they saw in their haven.
“Bullshit.” Ruan hissed something she couldn’t make out and turned away. “Nothing is looking for her. Not anymore. The second I took her away from the hungry eyes in this room, she added fifty years to her life . . . or more. As long as she stays the hell away from here, she’ll live until she’s old and gray.”
“Ruan, didn’t you get my messages? No vampire within a hundred-mile radius is going to touch a hair on her head. I’ve duplicated Eve’s blood. You can come back now. It’s safe.”
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