by J. K. Beck
“But to be able to call him off. If I’d only known or been faster, then maybe he wouldn’t have destroyed all those people. Maybe Gunnolf would still have his leg.”
“In time, perhaps, you could learn to control it. But that won’t be necessary.”
“What? Why not?”
But the answer didn’t come. Instead, a black van slammed into the front passenger door, sending Ferrante’s car into a spin.
And when it stopped, Nick saw Tariq and two other agents piling out of the van and racing toward the car with their weapons drawn.
“Stay in the car!” Ferrante shouted. “Stay in the car! The glass is bulletproof. We’re safe if we stay in the car!”
As if to prove the point, a bullet slammed into the window, creating an impact mark, but not shattering the glass.
“Move away from the door,” Nick said. “The bullets may penetrate metal. And get this damn thing started again,” he added, not inclined to sit in the street like a Christmas present for Tariq any longer than they had to.
Ferrante turned the key, and they were greeted with the sound of metal grinding against metal. He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. “Damn this blasted machine!”
“We need to get out of here,” Nick said. “For a lot of reasons, not the least of which is that the sun will be up soon.”
“It’s simply not starting,” Ferrante said, trying the key once again.
“The van?” Petra asked. “Do you think we could get to it?”
“No way. They’ll put a bullet through your head the second you open that door.”
“We have to do something,” she said.
“I’ll go,” Nick said.
“The hell you will!”
“Bullets won’t harm me. I have a solid chance.”
He saw the fear in her face, but knew he didn’t have a choice. He was about to tell her so when the car started to shake as the wind outside picked up.
Beside him, Petra sat up straighter. “Wind,” she said. But what she meant, Nick knew, was Kiril.
He couldn’t see the sorcerer, but the storm raged faster, making their car shake and jump.
Tariq and his team tried to race back to the van, but the wind caught them, lifting them up like puppets. It twirled and twisted, spinning them so fast that Nick couldn’t keep focused on them. He found them again only when they burst from the wind tunnel.
Tariq flew through the air, a scream ripping from his throat as he landed—impaled—on an iron fence post. The other two slammed against the stone walls of nearby buildings and lay on the ground, not moving.
“Come on,” Petra said as the storm died. She opened her door before Nick could stop her, calling out for Kiril, who appeared from a copse of trees on the far side of the van. She ran to him, stopping only inches from him by the door to the van, and Nick heard her squeal of delight and his relieved response. “Thank God I’ve found you safe.”
In front of Nick, Marco crossed out of his way to go to one of the Alliance agents whose fingers had begun twitching slightly. “Die!” Ferrante said, and then stabbed him through the heart with a knife Nick hadn’t even realized the older man had.
Then Ferrante looked at Tariq and the third agent. “Dead,” he said to Nick, then spat on the ground. “And good riddance.”
“I didn’t realize you had such disdain for the Alliance.”
“Ha!” Marco said. “They are all of them vile. I have nothing but disdain for the entire shadow world.”
Nick tilted his head and looked at his former mentor. “And for me.”
He saw Marco’s chin lift, then heard his soft, “Ah.” He shook his head. “Ah, Nicholas. I should have said the moment you entered my car that there is no animosity left between us.”
“You turned me away when I reached out to you before.”
“That was almost three centuries ago, and a man can change much in three hundred years.” He smiled. “I’ve had a lot of time to think and study, Nicholas. How can I judge you for taking the path you took? A dark one, for sure, but you were young, and I understand more about the shadow world now than I did then. It wasn’t the Nicholas I knew that killed our friend. It was the daemon. And the daemon has no friends.”
“Yes,” Nick said, humbled by Ferrante’s understanding. “You speak the truth.”
“I would be a hypocrite otherwise. After all, in the end, my way to immortality was also dark.” He nodded toward Petra, still with Kiril by the van. “You didn’t intend to bring out the daemon any more than I intended to curse that girl.”
Nick moved toward her and heard Kiril’s insistent tone. “We’re leaving now, Petra. I’m taking you away.”
“You’re not,” Nick said.
Petra shot Nicholas an irritated glance. This was her brother, and she had it perfectly under control.
She turned back to Kiril. “He’s right. I’m not leaving Nicholas.”
Ferrante hurried over. “This is an argument best left for later. Come, both of you. We are safe now, but soon the Alliance will send more. We must hurry if we want to keep the Alliance off your back forever.”
Petra blinked, trying to figure out what he meant. “Forever? How?”
“Why, the reason I sought you out, my dear. I’ve discovered the way to lift your curse.”
“What?” Had she heard wrong? Had he really just said what she thought he said? “A cure? Really?”
She glanced automatically at Nicholas, whose smile was both triumphant and loving. Then she turned to Kiril, who wasn’t smiling, but was instead looking at Nicholas, his expression harsh.
“I cannot be sure until we try it,” Marco said. “You are the last of your kind, my dear. But I am cautiously optimistic.”
She’d worry about her brother later. This was too important. “Will it cure Serge, too?”
“It will.”
“Is it dangerous?” Nicholas asked.
“There is some risk,” Marco said. “But—”
“I don’t care,” she said. “I’ll take it.”
“You will not,” Kiril said.
“Petra, you—”
“I can’t live like this,” she said, facing Nicholas square on. “I want to finally be free of this curse. And if this is a chance to do that, I have to take it.”
CHAPTER 28
Marco’s house was exactly what Petra would expect from a man who’d had centuries to gather wealth. A sprawling mansion with carved marble columns, topiaries dotting the manicured lawn, and a smattering of outbuildings, their silhouettes rising in the distance.
“This is incredible,” she said, as he pulled into a circular driveway, the massive staircase leading to the entrance rising before them.
The foyer was tiled with slate, a huge room with high ceilings that echoed as they walked, the sound only partially muffled by huge vases of colorful, fragrant flowers. Petra stopped walking, then looked at Nicholas beside her and grinned. “Wow. I like hanging in these new, more luxurious circles. I think I’m going to have to keep you.”
On her other side, Kiril was watching Nicholas, not her. She sighed at the disapproval on his face. With Ferrante waving her cure like a carrot, this really wasn’t the time to get into it with her brother. She had a feeling, though, that she didn’t have a choice.
“There is little time to waste,” Ferrante said. “But some things cannot be prepared in advance. The laboratory is right there,” he said, pointing to a door on the far side of the foyer. “Fifteen minutes, and then I will come for you. Okay?”
She nodded, nervous about the danger, but more excited about the possibility of being able to move freely through the world.
Of being able to touch Nicholas.
Ferrante looked at Nicholas. “Perhaps we could talk while I set up? I think there are things left between us that should be said.”
Nicholas caught her eye, and she nodded. Only then did he turn and follow Ferrante into the next room.
“You left,” Kiril said. “You cho
se that one over me.”
“Chose?” she repeated. She knew how overprotective Kiril could be, but this was beyond unfair. “Kiril, I want to be cured, and that’s what Nicholas wanted, too. And look where we are. Standing on the precipice of that very thing.”
“So they say. How do you know the two of them aren’t even now plotting your demise? Perhaps this was a ruse, designed to lure you in and make you trust. You’ll go through those doors, and they will kill you to free Sergius.”
She blinked at him. “Whoa. Do you need a tinfoil cap to go with all those conspiracy theories?”
“Don’t play games with me, Petra.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you’re genuinely worried for me. I do. I get that. But Nicholas isn’t going to kill me. He’s already had that chance. He knows, Kiril. He knew and he let me live.”
Kiril snorted.
“It’s true.” She licked her lips, not wanting to admit the next part to her brother, but knowing she had to. “And after I heard that Serge was free and killing, I wanted to. I wanted to end my life in Paris. Nicholas wouldn’t let me.”
“Nicholas,” he repeated, flinching slightly as he said the word. He drew in a breath, then closed his eyes. When he opened them, he was Kiril the protector, the twin who’d always acted as though he was older and wiser. “What have you done, Petra?”
“What are you talking about?”
He crossed his arms and started to circle her. “We just came off a blue moon,” he said as the air in the room seemed to swell and gust. “What exactly did you do?”
She bristled. “That is exactly none of your business.”
“The hell it’s not.”
“How?” she demanded. “How is my personal life your business?”
“You’re my—my sister,” he said in a voice that wasn’t yelling, but was so firm and precise he might as well be. The wind picked up, whipping through her hair. “You’re my responsibility. What you do, where you are, who you are with. All of those things matter to me.”
She wanted to yell right back at him. Hell, she wanted to pick up one of the vases of flowers and smash it on the ground at his feet.
She didn’t. Instead, with Herculean effort, she reined her temper in. “It isn’t your business anymore.”
He tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing at first, and then going wide. “Oh no,” he finally said. “You think you’re in love with the guy?”
“I don’t think,” she said. “I am.”
Something close to despair brushed over his face before his features hardened, anger firing in his eyes. “He’s a vampire, Petra, in case that little detail escaped your attention. A bloodsucker. And on top of that, he’s immortal. You’ll get older and he’ll continue to look like a poster boy for an action-adventure movie. You want that?”
“Yes,” she said. “I do.”
Kiril scoffed. “This is so fucked up.” He ran his fingers through hair that was dancing in the wind, a small gale moving now through the foyer and tottering the vases on their stands. “Massively and completely fucked up. That is no life for you,” he said, his voice rising. “You deserve better than ending up an old lady with a vampire.”
“Stop it,” she said.
“He’ll dump you when you turn wrinkled and gray.”
“Stop it.”
“You know it’s true.”
“It isn’t,” she said, but she had to admit, if only to herself, that she hadn’t thought about the immortality thing. Kiril was right. She’d grow older. And Nicholas would stay exactly the same.
No. That didn’t matter. Not right then. Right then, the only thing that mattered was the cure. Everything else would follow. They’d find a solution. Somehow, they would.
“Dammit, Petra. Haven’t you read all those stories I’ve written for you? Your life is special. We—you deserve a better happily ever after.”
“The stories shouldn’t even be about me. They should be about other people. Other friends. Kiril, don’t you see? You should have some experiences that don’t center around me.”
“I protect you.”
“If I’m cured, I won’t need protection anymore.” She took a step closer, then reached out and put a gloved hand on his clothed shoulder, something she never did. “And even if this cure doesn’t work, Nicholas can protect me now.”
“No.”
“Yes, dammit. You’re an incredibly strong sorcerer for Christ’s sake! Break the binding spell and live your life. I swear to you, Nicholas will protect mine.”
“I can’t leave you like that.”
“You can.”
Something hot flashed in his eyes. “No, you don’t understand. Dammit, Petra, you’re more than my sister. You’re—”
“What?” She stepped closer, worried by what she saw in his face. “What am I?”
He didn’t meet her eyes, and the wind stopped suddenly, as if in defeat. “You’re my obligation,” he said, and then stepped away.
She watched him go, certain that wasn’t what he had intended to say.
Nick glanced around the room, breathing in the scent of sulfur and acid, taking in the scrubbed work surfaces and Bunsen burners glowing softly in the corners. Fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling, and speakers mounted in the corner pumped in music, but in many ways the lab remained familiar. Welcoming. Home.
“I have missed our talks,” Ferrante said. “I deeply regret that I rejected your overture when you last tried to make contact with me.”
“I will admit that your refusal hurt, but I understood. After what I did—”
“We have already spoken of it. Let us consider that part of our lives closed and move on to the next.”
He stopped pouring chemicals and checking settings long enough to turn and face Nick, his face reflecting nothing but sincerity. “I want that more than you can know.”
Relief flowed through Nick, and he realized how much he’d missed Ferrante. And how intense—upon seeing him again—the need to make amends had grown.
“She is a lovely girl, isn’t she?” Ferrante asked.
“She is,” Nick agreed.
“I am so happy that I found you two in time. I was terrified I would be too late.” He shuddered. “Damned Alliance puppets. You must hate them, the way they slapped her with a death sentence. The way they chased after you as if you were bugs to exterminate.”
Nick tensed, unable to avoid the feeling that this was thorny ground. “They have been a nuisance,” he said.
Marco shook his head. “Such corruption. Have you not seen evidence of that yourself?”
He had, of course. Over the years, he’d seen more acts of corruption than he could count. “But is any government perfect?”
“Probably not. But the Alliance is diseased from the inside. The infighting among the vampires and the therians, for example. Can the time spent on such petty concerns truly be good for the whole?” He tossed a hand up into the air. “But I’m babbling like the old man I’ve become. I’m afraid that after so many years there is little for me to do but watch and listen.”
“Petra is beside herself about the possibility of a cure,” Nick said.
“I imagine she would be.”
“I’m optimistic as well. But we need to talk, Marco.”
Ferrante turned to him. “What is it?”
“I love this woman. I’m not going to let you poke her or prod her or inject her or do whatever you intend to do until you have first taken me through the process step by step. You don’t want to reveal the details of how you obtained immortality? Fine. I can live with that. But not this. This I need to see beforehand. This, I need to understand.”
For a moment, Ferrante only stared at him. Then the older man nodded. “Of course. Of course. Good Lord, I should have offered that myself. I spend so much time within my own mind that I forget the needs of others.”
“Now,” Nick said, nodding at the lab table.
“Do you not think Petra and her brother deserv
e to understand, too? Go get them. We will have wine to toast our impending triumph, and while we drink, I’ll explain. You will understand, and then we’ll begin.” He reached over and took Nick’s hand in his. “Soon, you will be able to touch your woman.”
Nick nodded, the prospect that her touch lay only moments away filling him with an almost unbearable feeling of longing.
He found Petra in the foyer, holding one of the flowers in her hands. She looked up as he walked in, then started to pluck the petals, murmuring, “he loves me, he loves me not, he—”
“Loves you,” Nick said, taking the flower and brushing the soft petals over her cheek.
“Hang on. I can’t trust you with these things.” She took the flower back, ending on, “he loves me,” then looked up at Nick with a mischievous grin. “I guess you know what you’re talking about after all.”
“Apparently,” he said, moving to sit beside her on the step. “You’re a dangerous woman, Petra Lang.”
“Oh, thanks a lot. Rub it in.”
“Not to the world. To me.”
“Am I? How?”
“You hold in your hands the power to break my heart.” He spoke without reservation, surprised not by the feeling, but by his own forthrightness. Was it because it was true? Or because what they were about to undertake was dangerous, and he feared he wouldn’t again have the opportunity to say it?
He didn’t know. All he knew was that he meant it.
“I would never,” she said, and he knew she meant it, too. Her mouth quirked into a sad smile. “That’s not fair, you know.”
“What?”
“To say something like that to me when I can’t kiss you.”
He glanced toward the closed laboratory door. “Soon.”
She licked her lips. “So how is Ferrante’s supersecret lab? Does it make you want to give up advocacy and go back to being a man of science?” She spoke casually, but he could hear the nervousness in her voice.
“It’s quite impressive, and yes, I suppose it does a bit. Actually, I thought I would use my astounding scientific skills and vet Marco’s process.”
“What do you mean?”