The Black Fortress

by E. G. Foley

  “You’re not going to leave?”

  “No, lad.” Derek laid a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “You’ve had enough adults disappear on you. I’m not going anywhere. Especially not now.”

  Jake was more relieved to hear this than he would’ve expected. It seemed that Derek Stone was the rock he had come to depend on.

  They all did.

  “But eventually,” Derek added, “when the time is right, perhaps, after we’ve weathered this storm and maybe once your parents are back, if they’re alive, Helena and I will be able to have a home of our own… But close to yours and the Bradfords’, of course. Which reminds me. Don’t tell your cousins yet, or you know they’ll ruin the surprise.”

  Jake chuckled. “Especially Archie.”

  The boy genius couldn’t keep a secret to save his life, let alone tell a lie.

  As for Izzy, well, hiding such major news from the empath was going to be a challenge, but somehow, he’d just have to try.

  Jake clapped his mentor on the arm. “I’m really happy for you, Derek,” he said warmly. “You deserve this.”

  “Ah, she’s too good for me. But thanks.” Derek beamed, his chocolate-brown eyes full of gratitude. “I’m glad you don’t mind.”

  “Why would I mind?”

  “Things have been difficult for you, and I know change can be hard for a kid. I just…don’t want to make it any worse on you. But I… Well, after what happened, I just want to be happy while I can.”

  “Of course you do. And you deserve it.” Jake gave the big warrior a quick embrace, startling Derek, who chuckled and hugged him back in surprise.

  Jake thumped him on the back, then quickly retreated. “You’re good people, Derek Stone.”

  Derek looked so happy that, for a moment, Jake felt a little choked up. A rush of memories swept through his mind of all the things that Derek and he had been through together. Like that time they’d both been sent to Newgate Prison…

  Shoving away his nostalgia, Jake cleared his throat and got back to the business at hand. He had to admit, he was excited for his mentor. “So when are you going to ask her?”

  Derek snorted. “Soon as I work up my bloody nerve.”

  Jake laughed. The man wasn’t afraid of anything. Except for little, no-nonsense Queen Victoria.

  “Of course, I have to ask her brother’s blessing first,” Derek added.

  “Why? Miss Helena’s a grown woman.”

  Derek shrugged. “It’s traditional to ask the man of the family first. Besides, he’s her twin. I don’t want to overstep my bounds and have to deal with Henry’s wolf side.”

  Jake grinned. “That I can understand. Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll approve.”

  “What about your cousins? Do you think they’re going to mind me stealing their governess away from them?”

  “Ah, they’ve had her long enough.” Jake waved a hand. “Archie’s still got Henry, and when Isabelle moves to London, Aunt Claire can find some other lady to be her chaperone.”

  “I hope you’re right. I hope they’re not against it.”

  Jake smiled knowingly. “Ah, c’mon, mate. It’s hardly going to come as a huge surprise.”

  Derek crooked a lopsided grin. “Probably not. Now I just have to find the right moment. And not lose my nerve. If she says no, I’ll—”

  “Don’t be daft! She’s not going to say no.” Jake gave Derek a jovial slap on his massive biceps, and the master Guardian arched a brow. “Courage, man!”

  Derek laughed quietly and rumpled Jake’s hair.

  “Don’t do that!” Jake ducked back with a playful scowl and took pains to fix his hair again as Derek started walking back toward the ballroom.

  Jake followed, still fixing his hair and shaking his head over the strangeness of adults.

  When they reached the doorway to the ballroom, Derek paused and stared wistfully at his sweetheart amid the crowd.

  Miss Helena was chatting with some of her shapeshifter relatives visiting from France.

  A little sigh escaped the mighty warrior. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

  “I’ve always said so,” Jake agreed.

  They both admired the elegant, black-haired Frenchwoman from across the room.

  As always, Miss Helena was dressed in the first stare of fashion. Her gown of burgundy-colored satin had ruffled three-quarter sleeves and a bustle in the back. With her slim figure and delicate face, the shapeshifter governess was as striking as she was brave.

  She had ivory skin, greenish-gold eyes, and silky midnight hair to match her appearance when she shifted into her black leopard form.

  A governess with such abilities—not to mention sharp teeth and killer claws—had always made an excellent protector for the Bradford children growing up. Especially when paired with her twin brother, Henry. Archie’s mild-mannered tutor could turn into one very fearsome wolf.

  Jake had seen the ferocity the DuVal twins could unleash in their animal forms. But that was exactly why Helena’s match with Derek made sense. Only a lady who could also hold her own in battle would have made a suitable bride for the likes of Derek Stone.

  Jake looked askance at his mentor. “Humph, and you used to claim you didn’t fancy her. But I knew. I told you. I knew it all along. Told you so!”

  Derek smiled, then clapped him on the back. “Go get some food, lad. You’re too skinny these days.”

  Jake had forgotten all about food, but now the suggestion sounded appealing. “Good luck popping the question,” he whispered.

  Derek gave him a conspiratorial wink and a nod, and Jake walked off smiling.

  Finally, some cheerful news for once.

  CHAPTER 9

  Vampire Recruited

  As soon as Janos stepped over the threshold into his castle, he could feel the dark, sinister presence of Wyvern in his house.

  It was a cold, slimy sensation, like walking through a chill patch of air in a forest, unsettling.

  He did not like it so close to his children, above all. They might be nightmares, but they were his nightmares.

  Janos lifted his head to glance up the gloomy stone stairs toward the drawing room. He wanted the Nephilim gone, and this meeting over with quickly…one way or the other.

  When Creakwood eventually came hobbling back down to the entrance hall, Janos murmured to him to let the ladies know he might need reinforcements. Then he told his butler to bring breakfast up to the drawing room.

  With that, Janos sprang up the staircase, stalked down the corridor, silent as a ghost, and paused outside the closed double doors to the drawing room.

  There, he lowered his head, stilled his mind, and scanned the situation behind those doors using both his inborn Guardian instincts and his more ethereal vampire senses.

  Half-demon, eh?

  Janos had seen many things in his day, but the nearness of the Nephilim warlock made the hairs on his nape stand on end. Let’s get this over with.

  He touched the hilt of his darkling blade one last time, reassured himself that he was ready, then conjured up his most smarmy flavor of vampire charm.

  In the next moment, he threw the door open and went breezing into the candlelit drawing room with a wide smile, lifting his arms out at his sides.

  “Lord Wyvern! Welcome to Castle Gregorian.” Janos sauntered toward him. “To what do I owe this unprecedented honor?”

  He found the earl lurking in the shadows as he waited: a thick, rectangular-framed man some six and a half feet tall. Wyvern leaned with his elbow planted on Hexella’s harpsichord, which was as large as a grand piano, but older and more ornate.

  “Janos,” he greeted him, his tone wary. Then Wyvern stood up straight, and they both stared for a long moment, sizing each other up.

  His smile pasted in place, Janos attempted to use his telepathic powers to scan the earl’s mind, though it was risky, for he himself had much to hide.

  But, alas, he could not read him.

  Apparently, the Nephilim lord’s demon
ic bloodlines gave him a certain protection, even from other creatures of darkness.

  Wyvern arched a brow, as though he’d noticed the failed intrusion. “Careful, Your Highness.”

  “Pardon?” Janos asked with an innocent smile.

  Wyvern smirked. “Cheeky as ever, I see.”

  “Why, I’m simply curious as to why you’re here, my lord.” Janos gestured to an armchair. “Care to sit?”

  Wyvern shook his head. “I won’t be staying long.”

  “Aw. Pity.”

  “But when I do go, you’ll be coming with me.”

  Janos lifted his eyebrows. “Is that right?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “And why would I want to do that?” Janos asked, his smile locked in place, murderous intent just beneath it.

  It was Creakwood’s arrival that cut through the tension between them in that moment.

  The sepulchral butler wheeled in a squeaky serving cart with breakfast for two: normal food for the guest, and a nice pitcher of stag’s blood for the host.

  “Refreshments, my lord?” Janos offered pleasantly. “I took the liberty of telling my servant to conjure food for you, should you wish it. For my part, you must pardon me, I haven’t had my breakfast yet. Most important meal of the day, I hear.” Janos gave a knowing wink as Creakwood rolled the cart to a noisy halt in the middle of the room.

  “How thoughtful,” Wyvern said, amused to play along, it would seem.

  They both sauntered over to the cart, where Creakwood removed the domed silver lid from a handsome plate of pancakes and sausage. It smelled heavenly.

  Wyvern eyed it with interest, but then glanced at the pitcher full of Janos’s usual morning beverage. “And what’s that?”

  “Stag’s blood fresh from the forest, my lord, with a squeeze of orange juice and a stalk of celery,” Creakwood said. “His Highness enjoys it each morning.”

  “Very nutritious,” Janos said.

  “May I try it?” Wyvern asked.

  Janos looked askance at him, startled. “Of course. How delightful. Creakwood.”

  “Y-yes, master.” The butler poured goblets of the stag’s blood for them both. Creakwood’s hand shook a little in the Nephilim’s presence.

  “Cheers,” Janos said, lifting his glass.

  Wyvern picked up the other goblet and clinked it to Janos’s. But would he really drink it?

  That question was answered in the next heartbeat when he lifted the glass to his lips.

  Janos wasn’t sure what to think as he watched the Nephilim warlock gulp down his glass of fresh blood with the gusto of a vampire.

  Wyvern didn’t have fangs, but Janos had heard rumors that the Nephilim lord had been born with double rows of teeth, like a shark.

  He flicked a glance at the man’s oversized hand wrapped around the glass, and just like the rumors claimed, Janos counted six fingers on the Nephilim’s hand, thumb included.

  Janos hid his shudder and swirled the stag’s blood in his glass, offering up a silent thanks to the animal for its life before taking a sip.

  “Delicious,” Wyvern said, licking his lips. “I could develop a taste for that.”

  “So glad you like it.”

  They eyed each other, assessing.

  Then Janos dismissed Creakwood with a nod.

  The slow, rhythmic squeaking of the cart was ear-piercing in the tense silence while the two men waited for the butler to leave.

  When Creakwood had gone, pulling the door shut behind him, Janos looked at Wyvern and cast off the mask of cordiality. “So, why don’t you tell me why you are here?”

  The earl crunched into his celery stalk and chewed, keeping Janos in suspense a moment more.

  As a chap with fangs, you’d think it wouldn’t bother Janos watching Wyvern eat, but he could not stop staring as the Nephilim lord devoured the stalk of celery, gnashing it between his double rows of teeth.

  It was a little unnerving.

  “Tell me, Janos,” Wyvern finally said in a casual tone. “Do you ever wonder why you are still alive?”

  He forced an idle smile. “Technically, I’m not.”

  “Don’t be clever. I am in no mood.” Wyvern set his empty goblet down on the harpsichord.

  Janos followed suit, realizing he might well need his hands free.

  Staring at each other, the two of them began circling slowly over the Persian carpet like swordsmen, but neither attacked.

  Not yet.

  “I am well aware that you’ve been playing both sides against the middle for years out of pure self-interest, Your Highness. Feeding the Dark Druids information when it suits you. Helping the Order when you can.”

  “So? I’m a vampire. We’re free agents. Not all the world is black and white. Some of us are quite happy in the gray zone.”

  “But something’s changed with you of late. Hasn’t it?”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Janos countered, bristling, ready to defend if the earl attacked.

  They paced in slow, cagey rings.

  “I think it’s very clear you’ve finally chosen sides.”

  “Oh?”

  Wyvern nodded. “For the last time we met, it was in battle. And you were fighting for the Order. Do you think I didn’t recognize you despite the mask you wore over your face?”

  “Aha…” Janos did not bother denying his involvement in the raid. “You mean the battle where your manticore killed my best friend?”

  Submerged anger made his fists curl.

  Urso had been Janos’s last and only friend. The rugged German bear shapeshifter had even been the godfather to his hatchlings.

  Both of them had always enjoyed a good battle. It had been a fun night up until Urso was impaled by the manticore’s scorpion tail.

  Vengeance rose up inside him at the memory, but Janos managed to leash it.

  Wyvern narrowed his eyes. “Things happen in battle, vampire. Urso knew the risks. Besides, what about you? You helped two of my most important prisoners escape.”

  He had: Derek Stone and the angel, Celestus.

  Janos snorted. “Well, we might’ve freed Stone and the angel that night, but you took other prisoners to replace them. You have the American Lightrider. And the Gryphon.” He paused. “Are they still alive?”

  “That is none of your concern.” Wyvern left their ominous circling to saunter toward the harpsichord. “Do you know why I took the Gryphon, Janos?”

  He shook his head, his senses on high alert.

  “I have no specific interest in the creature myself,” Wyvern said. “For me, the beast is but the means to an end. The bait to lure the prize I really want. Strangely, the trap hasn’t worked yet, and I find I grow tired of waiting.”

  “And what exactly is this prize you’re really after, dare I ask?”

  Wyvern played a sinister, low chord on the harpsichord with his unnatural, six-fingered reach. “Jacob Everton. The Griffon heir.”

  Janos went very still.

  “That is why I’m here, you see.” A mysterious gleam crept into Wyvern’s eyes as he glanced at Janos. Then he began playing a slow, eerie song to punctuate his words. “Everyone knows the boy is difficult, unruly… Moody, headstrong, undisciplined.”

  “He’s thirteen—what else do you expect?” Janos retorted, wondering if he should block his ears. For all he knew, that song could contain dark magic of some sort.

  “True,” Wyvern said. “But the lad has turned out to be even more unpredictable than I anticipated. We’ve had his beloved beast for months now, and he’s still made no effort to rescue the creature, though I’m sure it must be killing him. I am beginning to lose patience.”

  Janos folded his arms across his chest. “What could that possibly have to do with me?” Subtly, he eyed his daily glass of stag’s blood waiting for him on the harpsichord.

  He realized he’d need his strength if, or more likely when, this meeting turned ugly. He did not want to go any closer to the source of that unsettling music, but he mus
t gulp the blood down soon or he’d start growing weak, having only had a small sip.

  “You know Jake,” Wyvern said. “He trusts you.”

  Janos laughed in denial. “Nobody trusts a vampire, Wyvern.”

  “True,” Wyvern said as Janos crossed casually to the harpsichord and reached for his drink. “Except you gave the boy a darkling blade and helped him kill those Nightstalkers I sent after him, Janos. Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

  Janos downed the whole glass of stag’s blood in three swallows. It was reassuring, feeling his strength return, secured anew in every fiber and sinew as the gift of life coursed into his body.

  He set the glass down and gave no outward sign that he was now ready for whatever the freak thought to bring.

  “Oh, come, Wyvern,” he said, carefully maintaining his façade of amusement. “It was most unsporting of you. Three deadly phantom assassins against one thirteen-year-old boy? All I did was even the odds a bit. Make the game a bit more interesting.”

  The earl snorted. “But you also disposed of my archaeologist in Greece for the sake of those children. Dr. Giannopolous—does the name ring any bells? Don’t bother denying it, vampire. The two puncture wounds on his neck made it clear how the poor scholar died.”

  “Can I help it if I needed a midnight snack?”

  Wyvern scowled. “Don’t play games. You did it for Jake and his friends.”

  Janos smirked at him and uncrossed his arms. Careful. “What can I say, Wyvern? I have a father’s heart. You wouldn’t understand.”

  Wyvern gave him a dark look.

  “As for your Dr. Giannopolous, that sniveling coward sent the kids straight into a nasty magical trap that could’ve got them killed. Far as I’m concerned, your drunken archaeologist got what he deserved.”

  “Hmm.” Wyvern abandoned his disturbing tune and straightened to his full height. “It is a strange power we share, is it not? Deciding who lives and who dies.”

  “It is,” Janos agreed. “But why are you asking me about this? Are you planning on sending more assassins after the kid? Because if so…” He took a step toward the towering Nephilim. “Why don’t you try picking on someone closer to your own size for a change?”

  Wyvern narrowed his eyes. Janos held perfectly still, staring him down, never mind that the earl was a half a foot taller than him.