Hearts of Darkness

by Kira Brady

  “It’s a gift from our Lady. Thank you.” He stroked the shell of her ear, making her shiver. He wanted to nip it, to taste the delicate edge beneath his tongue, but he knew where that would lead, and he simply didn’t have enough energy to do it again.

  “I couldn’t do it before. It’s almost like something inside me got unlocked with the trauma of losing Desi.”

  “You sure you’re all human?”

  “What else would I be?” She rubbed her cheek against his chest as if trying to rub his scent into her. An unconscious gesture, more animal than human. Her smile turned a little rueful. “I don’t even know your last name.”

  “Don’t have one. All kids take Kivati as their last name, until puberty when they Change for the first time. Once they get their totem animal, they take their pack’s last name. Like the Raven Lord. Corbette means Raven. Each time he does something impressive he gets a new name. Emory Corbette, the Raven Lord, Defender of Innocents, Upholder of Rigid Outdated Rules, General Dickhead—”

  She laughed. “What would you have been called?”

  “Hart Lupus of the Kivati.”

  “Were your parents wolves? Is it genetic?”

  “No. Animal totems are a gift from the Lady. Mom was Eagle. She knew a little about being Wolf, because my father was one. I never met the guy. He disappeared after I was born. Followed the last Wolf packs to Canada.”

  “But your mom raised you.”

  “Yeah, she defied Corbette’s order and ran away with me.”

  “You miss her.” It wasn’t a question. She ran her fingertips lightly down his arms, soothing, comforting, leaving a trail of energy that tingled his skin.

  He nodded and tightened his hold on the woman in his arms.

  She twisted up to look him in the eye. “When I first met Rudrick, he said you killed your own mother.”

  He was silent for a moment. “If she had stayed in the protection of the Kivati, she would still be alive. But she didn’t. She ran. Worked odd jobs and moved from town to town, always keeping her real identity a secret. There are worse things out there preying on shape-shifters than the Drekar. Demons, water spirits, minor devils, harpies, and wraiths. Even demigods. I got home from school one day to find the apartment bathed in blood. It squished in the carpet and dripped off the countertops. She was still alive when I found her.” He cleared a catch in his throat. “She gave me the blessing of the Lady and died. I never trusted the Lady again, not after She let that happen.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Kayla said.

  Hart let the edge of a smile creep out. Of course she would say that. “You forgive yourself for not saving your sister yet?”

  Kayla smiled weakly and looked away. “Logically, I know it wasn’t my fault, but I can’t help wishing I could have done something. Like gone with her to Seattle to watch out for her. Or made her stay in Philly.”

  “My mom believed the Lady chooses our path. We can rage against fate all we like, but everything happens as She wills it.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  He shrugged. He’d never been good with words. If only there was a dragon to slay or a magic potion to steal—that he could do. But he could hardly battle the thin ghosts of memory, and it made him feel helpless. “Doesn’t seem fair that She would will my mom to die like that. Or your sister. Who knows why the gods play the games they do?”

  She seemed to take comfort from him. Burrowing into his arms, her body relaxed. She trusted him.

  Lady be damned. How could he possibly live up to that much responsibility? He didn’t have any experience.

  They were both silent for a moment, listening to the splash of rain in the puddles outside. Every once in a while a car drove past.

  “What do you think Rudrick will do when he finds us still here, whole and hearty?” Kayla asked.

  “I don’t know. The Kivati code of honor would demand that he let us go. We passed the test and survived. But . . .”

  “Would throwing me to the wolves—literally—follow the code of honor to begin with?”

  “Maybe. Corbette would be the one to rule on that. Depends on his mood. He can be a mean son of a bitch. On one hand, you bargained the necklace for our lives and failed. On the other, you’re human. Kivati are pledged to protect humans.”

  She swallowed and shifted her weight in his lap. “It’s kind of late to talk about now, but we didn’t use protection.”

  “I’m clean. I’m immune to human diseases.”

  “What about animal diseases?”

  “I’m not an animal,” he growled.

  “Sorry, I’m a nurse. I have to ask.” She sat back, her shoulders tense. He waited for the other shoe to drop. “I’m not on the pill,” she said softly, “and Norgard gave me drugs to make me ovulate.”

  Surprise shook him first, followed briefly by fear. He didn’t have anything to offer a pup, but the thought of her holding a little girl with his violet-tinged eyes and Kayla’s wide cheekbones and sparkling smile made his chest tighten with an unfamiliar heat. Hope? Pride? Longing?

  His sensitive hearing picked up the sound of a car pulling to a stop outside. Doors slammed. He was torn between standing ready and appearing nonchalant. There wasn’t anything he could do if they came barreling in with guns. Iron bars locked him in. It would be like shooting ducks in a pond. The best he could do was block Kayla with his body until nothing was left, or they ran out of bullets. Whichever came first.

  Fucking worthless options, if you asked him.

  “Company,” he said, reaching over to grab their shirts and pants from across the cell. “Cover up.”

  Tension sprang through Kayla’s body like a bow pulled taut. Her fear roused the Wolf. “What do you hear?” she whispered. “Has Rudrick returned? What will he do when he sees—”

  “It’ll be okay.” He took over buttoning her shirt from her shaking hands. “We’ve made it this far, right? After last night I’m ready to take on the world.” For you.

  They dressed quickly and quietly. Booted footsteps passed overhead and spread out across the floor. He caught the timbre of raised voices. Kayla huddled close to his back, as if he could protect her from whatever was coming. The thick basement door opened. Three sets of black combat boots descended the stairs and came into view.

  “We’ll get through this,” he told her in a low voice.

  The Aether buzzed. He felt it roll over him, like a caress. Two Thunderbirds came into view, and Hart wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or worried. Lords Kai and Jace Raiden were two of the most powerful Kivati, second only to Corbette. The brothers wore long gray dusters—Kai’s trimmed in black, Jace’s in red—over fitted charcoal three-piece suits, and high black boots. Both had black hair, long faces, and chiseled expressions. Kai was less formal. His long untamed curls brushed the top of a gun belt strapped desperado-style across his chest. Jace was a poster boy for an elegant Kivati Lord— not a hair out of place, not a crease in his stiff and proper suit. His hand clenched in a fist, and the air molecules tightened and bumped together. A thunderbolt shimmered at the tips of his fingers, waiting only for a reason to strike.

  Still, it was the third man to come down those stairs that caused the hair at the back of Hart’s neck to rise: Emory Corbette, the Raven Lord. His striking violet eyes stripped away secrets and demanded obeisance. His handsome features were sharp like his animal counterpart, razor nose, fine-boned jaw, stern mouth drawn down at the corners. His ebony hair hung straight to brush his high collar. His dress was severe, yet elegant. A jet-black jacquard tie matched his jet-black, three-piece suit. A tall, black top hat perched on his head. Silver accented the black: cuff links at his wrists; a watch chain hanging from his vest pocket; shiny, silver-toed boots on his slim feet; a cane with a heavy silver handle shaped like a raven in flight. The studs in his ears were nuggets of polished coal.

  His hands were graceful and unmarked by scars, but Hart could easily imagine them wrapped around his throat. Here was a man with absolu
te authority and absolute self-confidence in his right to rule.

  Hart fought the instinct to tuck his tail between his legs and bow his head. Alpha, the Wolf whined. But Corbette had kicked him out; he didn’t owe Corbette fealty. Braver men had fallen before the Lord’s terrible power.

  Corbette cocked his head to the side. He took in Hart’s imprisoned state and Kayla’s obvious survival. Locked in with a werewolf on the full moon. She should be a pile of bloody bones. It didn’t take a Kivati’s heightened senses to smell what had happened recently. Sex hung heavy in the air.

  Hart tried to shut out the scent of arousal and carnality. He’d prefer not to fight with a raging hard-on.

  The two Thunderbirds moved into a protective position on either side of Corbette, not that Hart could do anything with those iron bars caging him in. If he could have escaped, he would have long before now.

  “How unexpected,” Corbette said. His voice was dry as autumn leaves. “I had dreamed that one day you would return to us, but on your own steam.”

  Hart started to say over his dead body, but bit his tongue. Another first.

  The edge of Corbette’s mouth twitched.

  Jace gripped one of the bars and tested it for strength. “She can’t have been in there all night. She’s only a human.”

  “Perhaps.” Corbette stepped closer to get a better look at the ground. His eyes paused at the small streak of blood on the concrete. “Perhaps not.”

  All three glanced behind Hart to where Kayla stood partially concealed.

  “What is your name, child?” Corbette asked.

  “Kayla Friday.”

  Hart was proud that her voice didn’t waver.

  Corbette tilted his head again. “Friday,” he murmured. “A descendant of Cheveyo Kivati?”

  “My grandfather’s name was Cheveyo, but he wasn’t Kivati.”

  “Wasn’t he?” Corbette asked lightly.

  Hart growled.

  Corbette raised an eyebrow and cocked his head in the other direction.

  “You’re wrong. I’m not Kivati,” Kayla said. “I can’t change into anything. I’m human.”

  “Are you?”

  “Of course!”

  “And yet you survived a night imprisoned with a werewolf,” Corbette pointed out. “There is more than one power of Change. Hart, chatterbox that he is, might have shared a few details of Kivati lore with you, but even he is not privy to all our secrets. He missed out on so much of his education.”

  “I didn’t miss nothin’.” Hart didn’t need this crap.

  “Didn’t you?” Corbette asked. He didn’t elaborate.

  “Whose fault is that?” Kayla stepped in front of Hart, much to his surprise. She bristled like a wolf defending her cubs. “You threw him out. How was he supposed to learn all this lore?”

  “I have admitted my mistake,” Corbette said, “and do not have to explain myself to you.”

  Kayla took a breath to argue, but Hart stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “You going to let us go, or what?”

  “Why,” Corbette asked, “are you here?” His voice crooned, and the Aether answered him like a loyal hound. It swirled around Hart, extracting the words, one by one, from his tight lips. Inside, the Wolf gnashed its teeth.

  All together, the story was a grim one. Lies. Violence. Betrayal. His freedom in exchange for another’s. Corbette’s face was impassive, but the air grew hot with his anger. Kingu’s necklace. The weakened Gate on Nisannu eve. Desiree Friday’s failed escape and last request. Hart tried to keep the words inside, holding on to each until it was ripped from his tongue. The Aether stole every secret from the depths of his tarnished soul.

  When he reached the end of the tale—moonrise the night before when Kayla was thrown into the cell with him—Corbette interrupted. “Thank you. That is enough.”

  Thank the Lady. The tips of Hart’s ears burned. He couldn’t look at Kayla.

  Corbette tapped the tip of his cane thoughtfully. “Rudrick has been keeping secrets.”

  Hart could think of a few reasons the sentinel might avoid telling his boss. If Rudrick told Corbette of his plans, but failed to deliver the necklace, it would be his life on the line.

  “Maybe he wanted to surprise you,” Kayla suggested.

  A heavy beat of silence.

  “And this necklace is now, once again, in Norgard’s possession.” Corbette turned to his right-hand man. “Lord Jace, alert the four Houses. Level five, if you please.”

  “Yes, sir.” Jace turned and retreated up the stairs. The Kivati princess passed him on the way down. She had transformed from the last time Hart had seen her into the perfect Kivati Lady. She could have walked off the canvas of some Belle Époque painting: a gown of pale blue, blond hair swept back in curls and covered by a beribboned straw bonnet, white lace gloves. A mouthful of bubble gum ruined the picture. Good for her.

  “I instructed you to stay upstairs,” Corbette said without turning.

  “I got bored.” She blew a pink bubble with her gum and popped it obnoxiously. She was painfully young. Her bravado was all for Corbette. Her eyes lit on Kayla. “You again! Hullo, there.”

  “Hi, Lucia.” Kayla held up a hand in greeting. A faint blush tinged her cheeks.

  Lucia grinned, strolled over to the cell, and leaned lazily against the bars. “Looks like you had fun last night.” She gave Hart an appraising once-over.

  “Um, yeah,” Kayla answered sheepishly. “You could say that.”

  Lucia laughed. “What’re you still doing in the cage? Corbette, let them out.”

  Corbette closed his eyes. Hart smirked. The girl had balls of steel. No one spoke to Corbette like that. They’d kill each other before the honeymoon was over. Hopefully not before the wedding. His bet with Oscar was still on.

  “How do you know Miss Friday?” Corbette asked.

  “Butterworth’s,” Kayla supplied. She turned to Lucia. “You get home okay?”

  “Of course,” Lucia said. “Hard not to with the X-Men trailing my every step. I can’t sneeze without three of them handing me a tissue.”

  “Something’s come up, Lady Lucia,” Corbette said. “I’m sorry, but I have to break our date.”

  A flash of disappointment crossed her face. She covered it quickly, indifferent as only a teenager could be. “As you wish.” She shrugged and blew another bubble. “I’m going anyway. It’s so rarely good weather for sailing.”

  “Take Johnny and Charlie with you,” the Raven Lord ordered.

  She rolled her eyes and turned back to Kayla. “Darling, may we meet again as the Lady wills it.”

  “Have a good sail,” Kayla said.

  The princess gave a parting wave and flounced up the stairs.

  Corbette turned to Kai. “Take our guests into custody.”

  “But we haven’t done anything wrong,” Kayla protested.

  Kai pulled the lever to unlock the cell. The gears ground against each other, whining. The lock slid open with a thunk. Hart and Kayla weren’t handcuffed—that would be too uncivilized—but Kai stalked behind them up the stairs with a heavy hand on the hilt of his scimitar. Hart’s body felt like it’d been chewed up and spit out by Mount St. Helens. Kayla, on the other hand, practically bounced up the steps. Kai noticed Hart’s strained gait and smirked. Bastard.

  In the main armory, the blacksmiths and weaponsmiths had disappeared. Two female Kivati warriors joined their little band: a Cougar named Elinor and a Bear named Nita. The female warriors wore battle dress: leather knickers, sturdy knee-high boots, and boned leather corsets that served to protect the internal organs rather than squeeze the waist. Their leather arm bracers were both black, because they belonged to Kai’s Western House. Leather boleros covered their shoulders and bone chokers protected their delicate necks from clavicle to chin. The Cougar was an archer, with Thunderbird arrows and a heavy yew crossbow. The Bear favored brute strength; the ax was her weapon of choice.

  If he h
adn’t been so on edge, Hart would have enjoyed his first trip in a Kivati steam car. The ride was smooth, yet the landscape blurred past as the engine easily topped a hundred miles per hour. The only noise was a quiet bubbling of water in the glass boilers beneath the hood.

  Kivati Hall lorded over the city from the top of Queen Anne. The Georgian monstrosity dated back to the early days of Seattle. Diamond-paned windows set off the yellow façade, and a wraparound porch with ionic columns gave the place a deceptively friendly feel. An imposing iron gate surrounded the grounds, each spike topped with little tinkling bells to keep out wandering spirits.

  “Nice view,” Kayla said when Kai helped her out of the steam car and she stood for the first time on sacred Kivati ground. Downtown Seattle rose in front of them, looking flimsy and fleeting beneath the looming gaze of Mount Rainier. To the west, storm clouds gathered, hiding the Olympics from view.

  Kayla didn’t seem afraid of the Kivati anymore. She had a new confidence, like a chick after its first flight. When she glanced at Hart, she blushed.

  He almost tumbled her to the grassy lawn, Kivati be damned. Down, boy. He turned to Corbette. “Now what, oh benevolent Lord? Shall we take tea and chat about old times?” Perhaps sarcasm wouldn’t get him what he wanted, but he couldn’t help himself. He wouldn’t bow to Corbette if his life depended on it.

  Kayla’s life, on the other hand . . .

  Hart shrugged off the queasy feeling in his stomach. The Raven Lord was sworn to protect humans. He might be a bastard, but he was honorable.

  “Patience.” Corbette led them around the side of the mansion to a long lawn. The colorful daffodils and crocuses in the flowerbeds contrasted sharply with the weapons and siege supplies piled high on the green grass. A small army of warriors sharpened knives and arrows. Most had steadfast rifles and revolvers too. One never knew when a burst of Aether would render more modern guns useless. It was best to be prepared for any situation.

  Hart’s fingers itched for his broadsword. He wondered what Rudrick had done with it, and if he’d ever get it back.

  The perimeter of the yard and upper balconies of the mansion were guarded by modified crossbows. A hand crank turned six barrels in rapid fire. A small steam-powered engine could propel the heavy arrows all the way to the skyscrapers downtown and through the thick scales of a flying lizard. The war preparations resembled those of an earlier age, but they represented the future. Nothing plastic. Nothing requiring electricity. Nothing vulnerable to a large surge of spirits.