by Ella Frank
She knocked twice, waiting for him to grant her access. However, when nothing came from behind the locked door, she decided she’d had enough waiting.
She faded inside and scanned the large quarters for him. When she spotted him walking out of the bathroom, he had only a towel around his waist and his hair was sticking up in wet strands.
Ahh. It appears someone is trying to wash away his evening’s activities.
“Were you planning to let me in or ignore me all evening, cousin?”
“Does it matter?” he asked as he walked by her, dropping the towel to the floor.
“No. Not particularly. I have need for you in the Adjudication Room. I know I’ve been dealing with things for the most part, but I would like you to step in on this particular hearing.”
She watched unashamedly as he shrugged into a black shirt and pants. Then she thought about what a truly handsome male he was by any standards. It was almost distracting. When he raised a bored eyebrow, she shook herself out of her study of him and continued.
“Stratos has been brought to me. One of the guards patrolling the streets picked him up earlier this evening.”
“Picked him up for doing what?” Alasdair asked as he buttoned his shirt. “Stratos hardly strikes me as the sort to be causing trouble. He’s always towed the line.”
“Yes, I know, which is why it’s so odd. He appears different tonight. Almost possessed in a way.”
Alasdair frowned at her and then shrugged as if it weren’t his problem.
“Do you really think I would come to you if I didn’t need your help? He’s hiding something, and nothing I have done has worked.”
“What do you think he’s hiding?” he asked, this last piece of information obviously piquing his interest.
“I don’t know, but every time I think he’s about to say, he shuts down.”
Alasdair crossed his arms as he mulled her words over. “Did you contact the Ancients? What did they say?”
“They seem to be…away right now.”
“All three of them?”
“Yes, all three.”
When a flash of disbelief crossed Alasdair’s features, she knew what he was thinking. It was odd that all three would leave the main lair at the same time. However, if they had been taught anything over the years, it was to never doubt their Ancient’s judgment. If they needed to be somewhere, it was for a good reason.
“Well,” Alasdair finally said. “What are we waiting around for? I suppose we need to pay Stratos a visit and get to the bottom of this.”
“ALASDAIR, HAVE YOU heard a word I’ve said to you in the last five minutes?” Isadora asked, as she tapped her polished fingernail on the arm of her chair. They’d been sitting in tense silence while Alasdair assessed the situation hanging from the center of the Adjudication Room. “If we leave him up there much longer, having him present for a trial will prove difficult. Due to his being dead and all.”
The hard lines of Alasdair’s face were as set as stone as he stared at the male in front of them. “What do I care if he’s dead? He’s not telling me anything useful now, and all I’ve heard so far are lies. Stratos, we know you were consorting with a messenger. You haven’t yet denied it, but on the same hand, you haven’t told us why you would be so stupid. So Isa,” Alasdair said with an air of congeniality about him that was at odds with the situation, “I’m not sure why he would be given a trial, all things considered.”
Isadora let her eyes drift to the vampire who was currently attached to the large metallic hook in the center of the ceiling by ankle cuffs. “Because it’s the fair thing to do?” she ventured, knowing she somehow had to pull her cousin from his volatile mood.
He glanced over at her, looking skeptical. “Have you ever known me to be concerned by what is fair and what is not?”
“Well, no.”
“Then what makes you think I would start now?”
She leaned over until their shoulders touched and lowered her voice. “Because in situations like these, our job is to ask questions, not terminate.”
Alasdair looked back to the male squirming around from where he dangled helplessly. He then faced her again. “Is that supposed to mean something to me? Yes, my job is to ask questions. If answers are not given, I am afforded the power to make life-or-death decisions. It is a job both you and Thanos refused due to…weak stomachs, I presume. You came to me,” he stated, and Isadora was beginning to think that had been a mistake, given Alasdair’s current temper. “So, if you don’t mind, I will handle this as I have always handled such cases.”
“But cousin, we have known Stratos most of our lives. And he’s…”
“What, Isa? What is he, other than a traitor? Messengers are forbidden consorts. Stratos is well aware of this law. If you break it, you pay. It’s no different for an elder than for a newling.”
She sighed—she was not about to win this. Alasdair had not been his usual self for quite some time, and tonight, ever since he’d returned, he had been in a right foul mood.
“Really, Alasdair, you need to snap out of whatever this is. Thanos is having far too much fun trying to think of new ways to annoy you, and I don’t even want to imagine what Vasilios has in store after last time. It’s clear that dealing with that human is the cause of this odious mood, so why bother with him?”
As she peered into her cousin’s mind to understand what was going on, the irritated emotions in his head showed her how conflicted he was. He was remembering his evening and where he’d been with the male. In some sort of kitchen, where they were—
“You kissed him?” Isadora asked, interrupting his train of thought.
“Get the fuck out of my head, Isa.”
“I would if I thought for one second you were using it.”
“Get out, unless you want me to hurt you instead of him,” he barked at her, standing to make his way over to the vampire awaiting his punishment. Or death.
When Alasdair stopped, he was eye level with Stratos, whose pallid skin looked more so than the norm. His cobalt-colored eyes were dark and full of rebellion, save for the flicker of fear as the two wounds through his jugular veins seeped blood, draining him in a most painful way.
“Stratos, you know why you’re here, do you not?”
The vampire’s eyes creased at the sides as they narrowed, but he offered no response.
“It was reported that you were found with a messenger.”
Again, the vampire remained mute.
“I know you are aware that this is forbidden,” Alasdair said, staring at the strung-up male. “Why would you involve yourself with one of these creatures, Stratos?”
“I…” he sputtered. “She…”
Considering Alasdair’s current disposition and the events of recent weeks, she didn’t think Stratos stood much chance of survival if he didn’t start talking. He knew the consequences of what happened if one was discovered fraternizing with a messenger. They were tortured for the information they knew or had given up and then eliminated.
A messenger was nothing but a tool used between realms. A race of beings who could travel through all portals, all time divides, and come out unscathed and unaged. They held allegiance to no one, but they were quite happy to deliver information at a price.
A price that could be outbid by an enemy should they offer the messenger something more tempting.
Only three were permitted to ever approach such beings: Diomêdês, Eton, and Vasilios. They were the only ones who had any loyalty from those creatures, and even they rarely sought them out.
“Let’s get one thing straight, she is not a she,” Isadora stressed as she walked over to the two males. “It is a being of no gender. You know this.”
“But she… It looked like—”
“It doesn’t matter,” she snapped. “Involving yourself with one of their kind leads to nothing but questions and problems for everyone. Which is why it is strictly forbidden. You aren’t a newling, so again, we have to ask: Why?”
<
br /> Alasdair clasped his hands behind his back and turned away from the both of them. She wondered how this would end, but knew it would only be a matter of time until she’d find out.
“What did it tell you?” Isadora demanded, and as she’d expected, Stratos lied.
“Nothing.”
“Try. Again.” Her tone was icy enough to make the air in the room frigid. She grasped the vampire’s hair and hauled him up to place her lips by his temple. “If you tell me, I’ll make sure Alasdair ends this quickly. If you don’t, well, you know how it went with him and your cousin. The smell of burnt flesh takes weeks to dissipate, and I’m not in the mood for a spring clean. So let’s try this again. What did it tell you?”
As she waited for a response, she wondered what could’ve tempted the vampire to risk his immortality.
“She…she wasn’t like the others…”
Baring her teeth, she growled in his ear, “What do you mean?”
When he didn’t answer, Isadora twisted her fingers in his hair and arched his neck back, widening the gashes on his throat. The pained cry that ricocheted off the leather-padded walls pierced the air, but it wouldn’t be heard beyond the room they were in.
“Start talking. This will be much easier for you if you do.”
“She was sent from our creators…”
“The Ancients would never—” Isadora started.
“No—not the Ancients.”
With that new piece of information, Alasdair turned back and leaned down until his face hovered only inches from the other vampire’s. Stratos definitely had their attention now.
“Who else is there?” Alasdair asked.
“The ones who created them…” he hissed up at him.
Alasdair clamped his fingers into the jagged wounds on either side of Stratos’s windpipe, and when he flashed his fangs at him, he stated as calmly as if he were conversing over drinks and not torture, “Ambrogio created the Ancients. This we already know. Tell me something new, I’m growing bored.”
Stratos gurgled and blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. “I know nothing more…”
Alasdair looked across at her, the skepticism evident in his eyes. He didn’t believe that for a second. “Tell me why, Stratos.”
The male focused on Alasdair, and a crazed smile spread across his mouth, revealing blood-stained teeth. After a hysterical sound resembling a laugh bubbled up from his ravaged throat, he whispered, “You don’t even know.”
Fed up with the fucked-up mind games, Alasdair jerked him up, close to ripping his esophagus free, and the strangled scream that came to an abrupt halt told Isadora that Stratos was now beyond vocal communication.
“I will find out,” Alasdair vowed in a low, menacing tone.
Just before his windpipe was torn free of his body, taking his head with it, Stratos thought loud enough so they both heard, You don’t even know…
LEO SQUINTED INTO the still darkness of his bedroom. His blood rushed around his head, loud in his ears, as he ordered himself across the threshold and into the room that was once his safe haven. With a trembling hand, he checked the lock on his window. Not that it would stop Alasdair, but it made him feel better anyway. Then he walked back to his bed, where he pulled the covers down and crawled inside.
For the last two weeks, he’d been living a nightmare. One that had revolved around the alluring vampire who’d left him flat on his back on his kitchen table. Yet here he was now, staring up at the ceiling, unable to get him out of his head.
Three hours had passed since Alasdair had vanished without a word, and still, he couldn’t decide how he really felt about the events of the past couple of weeks.
The bedroom he’d once been so comfortable in suddenly felt vast and empty as he lay there wondering if… What? He’s going to come back? Christ, Chapel. Wake up. You’re lucky to be alive. He’s gone. You wanted him gone, so be happy.
Happy was the last thing he was, though. He was restless and confused. His body had responded to Alasdair’s as it would any human man that extraordinarily sexy. His cock hardened, his pulse raced, but whenever they’d kissed he was brought back to reality real fucking quick.
This was not a human he was attracted to, and every time things got heated between them, Leo got a flash of memory, or sight, or somefuckingthing. He’d seen Alasdair as he’d been… in the past.
But how can that be?
He was probably projecting. Wishing to see someone who wasn’t really there and imagining Alasdair as a human to eliminate the sense of danger.
But as he clutched the covers in his hands and his knuckles turned white, his eyes landed on a book on his nightstand. The same one he’d been reading the night Alasdair had taken him.
No matter how hard he tried, his mind kept imagining Alasdair in the white toga and leather sandals.
That has to be it. His work project.
It was spilling over into his sleep, so he willed himself to forget the vampire. Alasdair had destroyed all semblance of a normal reality for him. Maybe, if he could get some uninterrupted shut-eye, he’d wake in the morning and his life would return to the way it used to be.
As the security of alertness faded and he drifted off into wary slumber, though, Leo heard that familiar and hypnotic voice inside his mind, promising, You’re not rid of me yet, file mou. I’ll be seeing you tomorrow night, Leonidas Chapel.
LEO STOOD IN the center of Elias’s office and waited. The fact that he’d been waiting for over twenty minutes was a fairly good indication he was in deep shit.
He remembered a time when he’d been a student in one of Elias’s classes. He’d been caught mouthing off to a friend about how their “teacher” always showed up late on Wednesdays, so he didn’t see the need to show up on time.
Yeah, Elias had him wait in his office after that particular class for forty-five minutes. He’d missed a date he’d had later that night, and Leo would never forget the smug look on his teacher’s face when he’d walked in the office, told him not to have such a big mouth, then let him go.
Forty-five minutes for ten damn seconds. Asshole.
But that’s what made Elias Elias. He was a total hard-ass when need be, but Leo was also extremely lucky to have him in his life. He’d been a guiding hand to both him and Paris when they’d taken an extra interest in his courses. What had started as an academic relationship had eventually turned into a friendship that now spanned years.
Whoever said history was for geeks and old men hadn’t meant Elias Fontana. He was quite possibly the most intelligent person Leo knew, and he didn’t take shit from anyone.
Leo unbuttoned his navy-blue cardigan and took his bag off, placing it on one of the elaborate, wooden chairs in the room. Elias sure did like his collectables. The two chairs in his office were likely worth more than Leo could imagine, with the stunning silver engrained in the arms and legs. He always meant to ask him what year they were from but inevitably forgot.
It felt like years instead of weeks since he’d stepped foot inside the museum. Even then, he usually took the elevator down to where his office was located in the basement—or, as they called it, “his dungeon.” He rarely came up to the main offices.
He scratched the back of his head and thought about what he was going to say when his friend, and boss, finally did show up.
Maybe it would be best to go with the lie Alasdair had already told. At least then Elias will just be pissed, not reaching for the phone to have me admitted to the psych ward.
He sat down in the chair opposite the desk and tipped his head back, closing his eyes. As much as he wasn’t looking forward to this meeting, he was dreading the evening more. He still wasn’t sure whether or not he’d imagined Alasdair’s voice as he’d drifted off to sleep last night. If he had heard it, though, when and where the vampire would show up, he had no idea.
His eyes moved to the window on the left side of Elias’s office, and the sunrise got him thinki
ng.
Can Alasdair move about in the daylight? Or is the myth about burning in the sun just a myth?
It would explain why he wouldn’t be around until tonight. So Leo pulled out the notebook he’d stuffed in his pocket earlier and removed the pen attached to the side binding. He always worked better when he had his questions written down. As if, when they were out of his brain, he had more room for other important things.
Last night, he’d started a list of questions he wanted answered if Alasdair happened to reappear in his life. Questions like: Can they eat normal food? It was a valid one, especially considering his blood was likely the desired meal of choice. He jotted down his question about sunlight, and when he was putting the notebook away, the door behind him finally opened.
Leo stood as Elias walked through the door. He dumped his briefcase on the ground, unbuttoned his black, woolen coat, and then came across the room and around the end of his desk. His dark hair was windblown, and the stubble on his face looked a day or so old. He pulled his desk chair out, but before he sat down, he raised his head to pin Leo with eerie, silver eyes.
Suddenly, Leo’s palms began to sweat as if he were seventeen all over again. He remembered the first time he’d really looked at Elias back then, and like now, his eyes almost shined at him. They were unreal. Everyone always said so.
“Are you early? Or am I late?” he asked as he shrugged out of his coat.
“You’re late.”
Elias threw the heavy material across the corner of his desk and sat in his chair. “Good.”
Leo grimaced as he took his seat and crossed his leg so his ankle rested on his knee. He bounced his leg as he waited for Elias to say more, and when he didn’t, Leo thought it might be best to get a head start.
“Elias, look. I’m so sorry—”
“Sorry? You’re sorry?”
Leo winced at the disgruntled question. So much for a head start.
“Do you know how fucking worried we’ve been these past two weeks? Sorry isn’t going to cut it here. So I sure as shit hope you have a better explanation than that.”