by Kira Brady
“Your kind put us into this situation,” Jameson accused.
“Not my kind. Not the Drekar.” Sven might have set up the fall of the Gate, but a Kivati man pulled the trigger. “Please stop lumping all supernatural races into the same group—”
“You are all killers!” Jameson shouted.
“Please.” Emory Corbette, the leader of the Kivati, was elegant in a coal-black three-piece suit, silver rings in his ears. His ebony hair brushed his straight shoulders. A thin circle of violet—the tell of all Kivati shape-shifters—ringed his jet-black eyes. A vein ticked in his temple. His people were an ancient race who could shift into a totem animal: Thunderbird, Crow, Wolf, Bear, Fox, and the like. Corbette’s totem was the Raven, and his sharp beak of a nose gave him away. He raised his hand, and a silent wave of Aether licked through the room, quieting tempers, easing the rabid murmurs of the crowd. “This is unproductive. We are all here to help rebuild civilization. We have the same goal. The new Regent is not his brother.”
Thank Tiamat for that, Leif thought. But what if he were? He’d felt the darkness swirling in his breast in the empty space where his soul should have been. He could easily follow it down and get lost somewhere between despair and madness. It happened to all Drekar eventually. But Sven had always seemed so sane.
Corbette rapped his silver-tipped cane on the banister. Since the Crash, everything about the Kivati leader was sharper, crueler. “As a scientist, Leif Asgard was building steam- and coal-powered technology in its heyday. He is an invaluable resource for reviving our technological capabilities and building a new world. Even if the Drekar deserve to be exterminated”—and his tone said they did—“we can’t afford to lose his skills.”
Leif granted Corbette a tight smile. After more than a century of bloodshed between their two races, he was hesitant to trust Corbette. Leif didn’t want to be the Regent, and he had good reason. His people still needed a wartime leader, and it would never be him. Dragons might have survived the apocalypse better than most, given their thick hides and imperviousness to fire, but how many would want to live on in this barren new world? Their treasure hoards lay beneath miles of collapsed rubble and dirt. Their once-clear skies were constantly gray with thick volcanic ash. They needed someone to rally behind. A Machiavellian leader who could wield fear to keep them in line.
Not Leif.
Astrid finally decided to intervene. About damned time. She rose. With her black hair undyed, she didn’t look a day over twenty-five, though she’d seen the fall of Genghis Khan. Act charming and a little clueless, the elder Dreki had coached him. Humans don’t trust anyone smarter than them. She should be the one standing behind the defendant’s gate answering questions, not Leif. “Admiral, Lord Raven, gracious members of the council.” Her smile caught their attention. Gorgeous like all dragon-kind, she had the cat eyes of her Mongol father and the fair skin of her Norse mother. Few could resist her charm, even before she opened her mouth. “The Drekar bring many invaluable resources to the council. The Regent, in particular, is almost finished restoring the Seattle Gas Works so that we may have functioning gas to light our city.”
Out of the spotlight for a moment, Leif spared a glance for the blood slave. Hidden in the back of the mob, the slight figure blended with the shadows in a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled forward over his or her face. A few blue bangs stuck out from beneath the hood. Leif could pinpoint the kid with his eyes closed. The invisible tether burned across the room like a live wire.
“Regent?” Astrid called his attention back to the damned meeting. “Why don’t you share your progress on this project with the council. I’m sure they will understand how generously we put our resources toward the good of the whole.”
“Right.” He shuffled his notes. This is why Astrid insisted he come. She wanted him to be the face of the Drekar. She needed him to explain the technical details of his project, not that Jameson would care. He could smell a ruse as good as the next fellow. But she wore him down until he agreed. She could be as bad as Sven. “The Gas Works is an old coal gasification plant built in 1906 to create luminous gas for houses and streetlights. Though decommissioned in the 1950s, I’ve spent the last six months restoring it. Corbette has reopened his coal mine at Ravensdale.” He nodded to Corbette, who acknowledged the fragile partnership with an answering nod. This was where the project got sticky. The city needed light. The Kivati had the coal; Leif had the factory. Both sides expected a knife in the back at any moment.
Another human on the council, the charismatic, but slightly fanatical prophet-minister Raphael Marks, raised his hand. “And where do you expect to put this gas? Who gets it first?”
“The old Victorian mansions on Capitol Hill and Queen Anne make the most sense. Many of them were wired for both gas and electric, as the victor in the gas/electric battle had yet to emerge at the time they were built. I’ve placed those houses at the top of the list for renovation.”
“And how many humans live in those mansions?” Marks asked.
“Ah,” Leif hesitated. He’d walked right into that trap. “Retrofitting regular houses for gas will take time.”
The mob, who was mostly made up of Marks’s rabid followers, hissed.
“Resources for mankind first!” someone yelled.
“Send Satin’s minions back to hell!” another shouted.
Leif did his best not to roll his eyes. He sent Astrid a pleading glare. She raised her eyebrows a fraction. She wasn’t going to take over and save this thing. Damn the woman. “First we need to get the Gas Works back into commission, then we can identify the most suitable buildings.” He raised his voice to be heard over the crowd. “I need resources and manpower to finish the job.”
“What about wraiths?” a woman called.
“I don’t think a few ghosts should be an insurmountable obstacle to retrofitting the—”
“Bullshit!” the woman shouted. The mob started throwing things. More anger. More anti-supernatural hate mongering. The tide had definitely turned. After six months of working together, the survivors needed someone to blame. Leif made a convenient scapegoat.
“Please,” Leif said. “Please hear me out. Light will help. Secure shelter out of the darkness—”
“Resources should be used for training human civilians,” the woman called.
“We don’t need more armed civilians,” Jameson growled. He banged his gavel, but no one minded.
Leif slowly turned in his seat to locate the woman. It was the blood slave. She was still half hidden in the crowd, still hiding behind her black hood and hunched posture. He wouldn’t let a coward derail his project. “Show yourself,” he ordered. The bond between them cracked like a whip.
She jerked forward and threw back her hood. He was startled to find such a delicate face. Long, blue-black hair framed a heart-shaped chin. Coral lips were a slash of anger across her smooth skin. Thick, sooty lashes framed almond eyes. Those eyes sparked with defiance.
Interesting. “What do you want?” he demanded.
“Safety,” she said, and seemed startled.
Admiral Jameson rose. “That’s what we’re working on. Thank you. Please save your comments for the citizen petition session.”
But she kept talking. “We must train citizen soldiers to recognize the aptrgangr and take them out. Establish a tougher curfew—”
“The what?” Marks asked.
“Quiet, please!” Jameson commanded.
“—Gas lighting is a waste of time until we address the direct threat. Wraith attacks have tripled. Hungry, weakened humans are easy prey for possession,” she continued, seemingly unable to stop. Her hunched shoulders were defensive. In those black jeans and baggy sweatshirt, she looked like a skinny punk kid. Leif would never have given her a second glance on the street. Perhaps that was her intent.
On his finger, Sven’s ring hummed. Leif wondered what his brother had used her for. She looked too small to be trained as a fighter. Perhaps an assassin or thief? H
e tried to keep his mind from exploring other possibilities. The words “pleasure slave” rose unbidden to his brain.
Her face had grown red. Each word seemed pried from her lips. “And also to prevent weakened humans, the soul-suckers should be ki—”
“Stop,” Leif ordered before she could rally the mob in a direction he most firmly did not want to return to. “Stop. Thank you. You’re correct. Safety is more important than power, but wraiths fear the light. The two tasks go hand in hand.”
She glared at him with both parts hate and fear. Ye gods, it cut him. This hatred born of prejudice he had little control over, but he never wanted to inspire fear. He would never be a leader like his father or brother. Fear was not something he would seek out. She made him want to jump out of his chair and apologize, but he didn’t know what for. For not being able to solve all the world’s problems? For “sucking souls” as she so unflatteringly put it? For existing?
Her dark eyes flashed silver.
Leif caught his breath. It might have been a trick of the light.
But the mob swallowed her up in the next instant, and Admiral Jameson reclaimed his attention. “The girl has a point. What we really need is protection against your kind.”
Leif ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “And if I designed something like that, then could we stop this damned waste of time?” He heard Astrid suck in a breath, but he was too tired to care. He’d botched this meeting, and he might as well continue.
Corbette, who’d been quiet all this time, gave a slippery smile. “It would be a show of goodwill.”
“Fine.” Forget wraiths, aptrgangr, and demon men, Leif was the monster here. The world might have turned upside down, but some things never changed. “Are we done?”
“Go.” Admiral Jameson dismissed him. “But the council will be watching you.”
Leif stood. “Good day, gentlemen, ladies.” He strode to the council doors, and the crowd parted to get out of his way. The hall was empty. He concentrated on the malachite ring and reached out along the invisible tether that connected him to the blood slave. It pointed toward the stairwell. “Mademoiselle?” he called out. His unnatural hearing caught the slight sound of a door closing, and he ran to the stairwell, following the faint scent of rose petals. The need to find her drove him. He told himself it was because her eyes had flashed silver, and he had questions. A purely scientific inquiry. But his pursuit of science burned with a cold flame.
This need burned hotter.
Leif opened the door onto a wide circular staircase that was open in the middle. He peered over the banister and caught a glimpse of a dark-hooded figure five floors below. Nothing else moved in the stairwell, so he threw his legs over and jumped.
Air swooshed past him. One flight passed. Two. Three more in close succession.
Bone and sinew shot out of his back, sending the sound of ripping fabric echoing in the tower. His wings unfurled and caught the air, halting his free fall. He beat them once, twice, before dropping to his feet on the stairs below the woman.
Who scrambled backward like her feet were on fire. She pressed her back against the wall as if she could tumble through it to escape. The whites of her eyes showed, reminding him of a little black mouse in the paws of a cat.
She was terrified.
“Excuse me.” He pulled his wings back into himself. He couldn’t do much to repair the ripped suit. “I was under the impression you were familiar with my kind.”
She said nothing, but he caught the glint of light off the knife in her hand.
“I need to ask you some questions. Tell me—” He stopped himself. “Please. Please tell me what you know about aptrgangr. About wraiths. Did you know your eyes flash silver?”
“Pah-lease,” she mocked. Spinning, she would have run back up the stairs if he hadn’t caught her by the hood of her jacket. She tried to knife him. He was faster. Defending himself, he grabbed her and pinned her arms so she couldn’t move. So small compared to him, but surprisingly strong. Her loose black clothes hid muscle. The top of her head barely hit his sternum. He remembered the spark he had seen in her eyes in the council chamber. Her spirit called to him, heady and filling. He barely felt her struggle in his arms.
Leif hardly knew where he was, or what his body was doing, before he felt her lips beneath his. Ye gods, they were soft and so very sweet. She tasted of cardamom, like glögg at Yuletide, reminding him of warm fires and happier times.
He couldn’t help himself. He dipped his tongue between those lips, seeking more, seeking deeper penetration and a fuller taste of her spirit.
Pain lanced through his tongue.
“Bloody hell!” He pulled back. The metallic taste of blood spread through his mouth. The minx had bit him.
She scuttled back out of his reach. “Stay the fuck away from me.” The knife shook as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, hard. She spit on the stairs. The bit of blood and saliva sizzled when it hit the worn wood.
With effort, he reined in the baser part of his being. What was wrong with him? He’d practically raped her soul in a stairwell. If he wanted to prove her fears correct, there was no better way to go about it. “Forgive me. I don’t know what came over me—”
She laughed. It was a grim sound. “I know your kind. You’re all the same.”
“That is patently untrue.” Though his actions a moment ago hardly supported that statement. He knew perfectly well that his brethren weren’t in accord on the need for consent, but he had always held himself to a higher standard. This caveman routine was beneath him. “But I suddenly understand the need for chaperones. Instinct, in the face of a beautiful woman, turns a man into a flaming idiot.”
“Fuck off.”
“I only wanted to talk to you.”
She snorted. “I know what you wanted.”
“No, really. I—”
“Save your lies for the council.”
Wasn’t that a damning indictment of his honor and professional conduct? “Please. Let’s start over. I’ll introduce myself properly, will that do?”
“I don’t give a—”
“Leif,” he said over her. “Leif Asgard. Younger brother to your former—ah.” He scrambled to find something reassuring. Announcing he now held her slave bond wasn’t the correct way of going about it. “I’m a scientist. With your silver eyes, you could be a Shadow Walker. Am I right?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She tried to inch past him in the stairwell without touching him. Stubborn woman. He admired her spirit. She might be scared, but she wouldn’t be cowed.
Still, he needed her to cooperate. She’d sabotaged his session in the council, and he was still mad. Whether he liked it or not, they were tied together. He had stayed out of her way for the last six months—he’d avoided all the blood slaves since he’d inherited that blasted ring—and things had been going swimmingly. Now was not the time for her to muck things up.
The dragon in him disagreed. He growled at the thought of letting her go now that he had a taste of her. But that was his baser self talking, and Leif ruthlessly tamped it down. The girl seemed to want to bite any hand that reached for her, even one given in aid or kindness. Tiamat damn him, but he wanted to reach for her anyway. He could still feel the heat of her lips, still taste her sweetness on his tongue.
She caught sight of his face and took a hasty step back.
Bloody hell. He shut his eyes quickly and prayed for self-restraint. Why would this skinny, pugnacious girl have such an effect on him? It must have been too long since he had last fed. He would have to resolve that issue immediately. This poor woman seemed to have enough on her plate without being ravaged by his demonic hunger. “I’m really not a bad sort,” he said softly.
“Look, if you’re so good, why don’t you donate your blood to ward houses? Runes could keep those”—she swallowed—“things outside. People would be able to tell if their friends and loved ones had been taken. Possessed bodies wouldn’t be able t
o pass over the threshold.”
“You know runes?” he asked. “What kind of runes? Old Norse or Druidic? Who taught you? Which would you—”
She scowled. “Forget it.
“Would a human be able to conjure enough magic to use a rune? Perhaps a Shadow Walker could . . .” The puzzle hovered in front of him, so striking in his mind that he barely noticed his informant slipping away.
Until she tried to stab him in the balls on the way past.
He caught her arm a hairbreadth away from turning him into a eunuch. Her wrist twisted in his grip, and she dropped the knife. It clattered to the side. He overbalanced, and they fell, locked together, crashing down the oak stairs. He tried, despite the fact that this woman had attempted to castrate him, to protect her delicate skull from cracking on the hard ground. His large body curled around her so that he took the brunt of the impact.
Pain blossomed along his back and arms, shooting up his spine and along his limbs with red florets of blood beneath the skin. In a human those flowers would metamorphose into ugly purple bruises, but his Drekar blood sparked into action, healing the broken blood cells and reinforcing the torn skin.
The woman moaned when they hit the ground. Leif lay still, praying the world would stop spinning sometime soon. He didn’t let go of her. He couldn’t. His muscles refused to work. His brain was foggy from being hit, repeatedly, on each step on the way down.
Beneath the fog, his body knew, instinctively, that she belonged there in his embrace. She felt good in his arms. She felt right. Her lithe body was soft and warm. He buried his face in her blue-black hair and breathed in her fragrance hungrily. She must use a rose petal shampoo. He wanted to run his tongue over her skin.