by Amy Miles
“Very observant.”
“I’m not finished,” she retorts, silencing him. “You have an unnerving knowledge into my life, which I think goes beyond a simple job. This both bothers and intrigues me. You know I am bound to Gabriel, hence the reason you used him to lure me to your home. What I can’t figure out is what’s in it for you.”
Laughter rumbles deep in his chest. “What if I were to tell you that I’m just being a nice guy?”
“Then I would add liar to your list of attributes.”
“Indeed.” His eyes sparkle with amusement.
She turns in her chair, facing him full on. “Why did you offer me your blood?”
For the first time, Malachi looks worried. “Was that the wrong thing to do?”
“No,” she shakes her head, “but if you knew so much about me, you should have known my aversion to such a form of healing. I only do that when there is no other option.”
Malachi breathes a sigh of relief. “Oh well, I figured you would want to be in top form to begin your hunt for Gabriel.”
She latches onto his words. “So you do know where he is?”
“No,” he says, turning to fix his gaze on her, “but I think I can help you find him.”
Roseline falls silent, sinking back into her chair. Disappointment seeps like a poisonous mist through her body, attacking her broken heart.
“I am sorry if I mislead you to believe that I have all of the answers you seek,” he whispers. “That was never my intention, but I do know where to begin looking.”
She sucks in her lower lip, hating how much hope she had foolishly placed in a complete stranger. “It’s not your fault. I set myself up for disappointment.”
Malachi reaches out to pat her arm but thinks better of it. “I promise I will do what I can to help you.”
“Is this because it’s your job or because you’re a nice guy?” she asks, smiling weakly.
“Both.”
She sinks low into her seat, wishing more than anything that she could be back on her lumpy mattress in Chicago. Gabriel would be waiting for her in the parking lot at school, lounging against his Range Rover. Sadie and William would no doubt pull up late to pick her up, bickering over some random event from the morning. Life was simpler then.
Malachi’s gaze flits over at her as the miles flash by. The main road has given way to a winding country lane. They must not be too far now. “No more questions for me?”
Roseline inhales deeply. Countless questions still plague her mind, but only one grips her now. “What are you?”
“Ah.” He thumbs the radio, flipping rapidly through stations. Malachi finally settles on Radio 3 before gripping the steering wheel tightly. “I am complicated.”
Chapter 18
Gabriel’s eyes hurt. He blinks, raising a hand to block the chandelier of candles glowing on his face. Where is he? Those candles were not there before. Neither was that scent. He inhales deeply, wrinkling his nose at the acrid aroma: alcohol.
Something cold lies against his arm, vining its way up across his bare chest and ending at his neck. Gabriel lowers his hand, squinting, as he runs his fingertips along a plastic rope.
No. Not a rope.
His eyes fly open wide. Gabriel jerks upright, shocked at how effortless the motion is. Healing warmth pumps into his jugular, directly from the arm of the man sleeping next to his bedside - Sias.
A tourniquet clings to Sias’ pale arm. Crimson blood, rich with replenishing cells, snakes its way north to meld with Gabriel’s lifeblood. A growl rises deep in his throat. He has been betrayed.
Gabriel reaches out to rip the needle from his flesh. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice calls from the shadows.
The tranquilizer gun emerges first, followed quickly by a whiskered man with steely eyes. The finger hovering over the trigger does not flinch. No scent of fear leaks from the man’s pores.
Gabriel sinks back onto his elbows, eyeing his adversary. “Why have you done this to me?”
The man spits to the side, his gaze never wavering from Gabriel. “I didn’t. I tried to talk them into letting you suffer a few more days, but Sias wouldn’t hear of it.”
Gabriel bristles at the man’s hostile words. He eyes the gun in the man’s hand. There is little doubt in Gabriel’s mind that his captor would pump him full of the tranquilizer venom and laugh while he writhes on the floor before paralysis takes him. Sias is different, compassionate. “Why did he do it, then?”
The battle-hardened man leans back in his chair, his bushy eyebrows raise with his indifferent shrug. “He’s a darn fool, that’s why.”
At least they can agree on something. Gabriel glances down at Sias. His shoulders rise and fall with sleep’s steady rhythm. “He could have died trying to save me.”
A leer stretches across his captors face. “Trust me, I would have made sure you died first.” Of that, Gabriel has no doubt.
The gruff man sinks back into the shadows. Only the gleam of his eye and the occasional click of the releasing safety betrays his presence. Gabriel allows his gaze to shift around the room.
He is surprised to see it in complete disarray. Metal tables have been overturned, their equipment shattered against the wall. Splashes of blood coat the wooden walls, seeping deep into the grain. Plastic tubing, ripped into several pieces, drape a twisted metal pole. Shards of glass, remnants of alcohol bottles, litter the floor.
Well, that at least explains that intense odor. “What happened in here?” he asks.
“You.” The man shifts in his chair, rocking back onto two legs, never losing Gabriel in his sight. “Enael and Sias thought you were unconscious. I guess, technically, you were, but there must be something buried in that subconscious of yours that enables you to fight, even when incapacitated.”
“Sias got you strapped to the table easily enough, but when he tried to insert the needle, you went crazy. You threw Enael so hard it knocked him clean out. I came running as soon as I heard the shouts.”
He runs his fingertips lovingly over his weapon. “Only took one shot to take you down. Pretty pathetic. Your girl held out longer than you did,” he grins.
At the mention of Roseline, Gabriel grinds his teeth. “You shot her?” Anger simmers in his stomach, churning up an acid whirlpool.
“Easy boy.” He appears back into the light, his expression a frozen mask of expectation, hoping Gabriel will give him a reason to shoot. His gaze lingers on the link between him and Sias and he shakes his head. “I can’t have those teenage hormones hurting my boss.”
Gabriel glances down. It would be effortless to rip out his IV and wrap it around Sias’ neck before the old man could get off his first shot, but something holds him back. Perhaps his hesitation stems from Sias’ earlier compassion, the genuine sorrow that shone through his eyes when he witnessed Gabriel’s near-death state.
Or, maybe it is because these people might have answers. Where he is exactly and why they took him, for starters.
He is still trying to decide which action to take when Sias stirs. His mane of dark hair rises, sleep fogged eyes meet his. “You look much better,” he says groggily.
Gabriel stiffens. His human instincts war with his immortal ones. To ask questions, flee, escape, or rip off as many heads as he can on the way out, but that look, that smile, holds him in place.
Refusing to give into the foreign desires, Gabriel locks down on his muscles. “Where am I?” he asks, wincing at the way his throat croaks.
Sias rises to his full height, stretching the kinks from his neck. “You are in our monastery, burrowed deep in the Himalayas. Few know of its existence. None would find it without a guide.”
Well that explains why the two men are draped in such thick umber robes. The robes are obviously the source of the goat smell that rises just under the alcohol fumes. They are monks. “Why am I here?”
Sias smiles, easing the needle from his arm. Small drips of blood pearl on the tip. He tosses it into a white p
lastic container before searching for gauze and bandage. Gabriel rips the needle from his flesh and tosses it aside.
“I’m afraid that I am not the right person to explain that to you. For now, you are here because it is safe.”
Gabriel frowns on that last part. Safe? Safe from what? Didn’t these guys just kidnap him? Aren’t they supposed to be the bad guys? “So who is the right person, then?”
“Your mentor. He will be arriving in a few days. Only he can reveal your true destiny.”
Gabriel snorts. “My destiny? What are you, some kind of cult?”
The old man scoffs loudly. Sias turns, his face pinching with minor annoyance. “I am perfectly fine now, Ordin. You may leave us.”
Ordin. Yes, this name Gabriel remembers. The reluctant figure from his cage doorway.
“My duties can wait a bit longer,” he responds, gruffly.
“Don’t be silly,” Sias replies, pressing a blotting cloth onto his arm. The wound begins to coagulate. “Asrim needs help preparing the meal.”
Gabriel snickers. “You’re the lunch lady?”
“Don’t push me, boy.” Ordin’s growl is fierce.
Sias places a hand on his puffed up chest. “Peace, brother. You must learn to control your anger. It always gets the better of you.”
His jaw stiffens, nostrils flare in defiance. With one final threatening glare at Gabriel, Ordin stomps from the room.
“Well, I guess you had the pleasure of meeting Ordin, then?” Sias smiles, offering his hand to help Gabriel dismount from his makeshift hospital bed.
Gabriel has no intention of touching any part of this stranger again. He bunches his muscles and backflips off the table. Sias’ grin broadens. “Excellent form. How do you feel?”
“Violated,” he snaps. He coils and releases his muscles, testing their unfamiliar strength, and yet his body seems to have naturally adapted, moving in sync with his new form.
“Ah yes, well I do apologize for that, but you gave me no choice,” Sias mutters, stooping to pick up the mutilated IV pole. “Suicide is, I’m afraid, out of the question.”
Fuzzy memories, thoughts of longing for death, filter into his mind. Had he been trying to let himself waste away, to embrace the painless void of death? Yes, he supposed he had. Although, in this moment, with human blood pumping through his veins, Gabriel cannot seem to remember why it was so urgent to resist.
He feels good. No, better than good, he feels invincible. “I could kill you,” he says.
“Oh yes,” Sias nods, righting a small medical table. He scoops up medicine bottles and places then on top. “I am well aware of what you are capable of, Gabriel. But are you?”
This makes Gabriel pause.
“You feel strong, and you most certainly are, but it takes more than physical strength to overcome an adversary. This, I can teach you.”
He continues, without making eye contact with Gabriel. “Patience. Perseverance. Temperance. Intelligence. All of these qualities are needed in a warrior. We have a very tight schedule, so I can’t expect you to master them all, but we will try.”
“A schedule?” Gabriel does not like the sound of that.
Sias turns, clasping his hands behind his back. “I know you have questions, doubts and a darn good reason to hate me, but I promise you that within these walls, you will find a way to not only save your life, but Roseline’s as well.”
Chapter 19
Fane squints, shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight filtering through a wide bay window. The lofty ceilings overhead are trimmed with thick ornate molding. A large chandelier drapes from the center with crystal teardrops dangling from the outer rim. Obnoxious golden wallpaper leads back down to a plush white carpet. Nothing is familiar. The scent is…off.
His head rolls to the side. Roseline hovers nearby, chewing on her lower lip. Her face is a mass of healing bruises. Her fingers twirl anxiously through her hair.
Pain, like a swift kick to the groin, smacks into him. Why is she here? Did she come for him? No, his mind screams. Despair threatens to drown him as he remembers Roseline made her choice. She chose the kid.
Is he still alive? Did she bite him? Did he survive the transformation?
At the sound of his groan, Roseline leaps to his side. “Hey,” she smiles, resting her hand against his chest. Her touch feels amazing, but his pleasure quickly turns bitter in his stomach. He no longer has any claim on her. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m alive. I guess I have you to thank for that.” His arms tremble as he rises. She helps swing his legs over the side of the couch before reaching for a small shot glass of blood that stands on a glass coffee table nearby. “Drink this. It’s a bit rough since it’s been sitting out for a while but it should speed up the healing.”
He tips the glass back, wincing as the coagulated blood oozes in one lump down his throat. Fire slips down his gullet and spreads into his veins like a soothing salve to his beaten body. “I wasn’t the one that saved you. That was Nicolae, actually.” Her chin juts toward the boy sitting in an armchair near the unlit fireplace.
Fane’s lips peel back as he growls. “You brought the hunter here?”
“Yes,” she replies firmly, pressing him back into the seat. He glares up at her, annoyed at how easily she overpowers him. “He is helping me.”
“Oh, sure,” he scoffs, tossing his hands in the air, “let’s bring a hunter along to the party. Brilliant plan, Roseline.”
“Hey, I saved your bloody life!” Nicolae leaps to his feet.
“What’s with the accent change?” Fane asks.
Nicolae crosses his arms over his chest. Roseline looks at him expectantly. “I trained with Sorin in London for a year. Happy?”
“Well that explains a lot,” Roseline smiles. She stands to place the empty glass on a writing desk.
“I don’t care how the kid speaks,” Fane growls, shoving his finger in Nicolae’s direction, “he shouldn’t be here.”
“You’re the one that entrusted Gabriel and Roseline to me, back in the dungeon, remember?” Nicolae retorts, glaring back.
Fane rolls his eyes. “You think I did that for the kid? Roseline was dying. I had to save her.” He turns his head and spits a glob of blood and splintered teeth onto the carpet. “I thought you would kill the kid yourself, but it looks like you didn’t have the guts after all.”
Nicolae’s eyes darken as his fingers clench into fists. He closes the gap between them. Fane leaps forward, wavering slight as he challenges him.
“Enough!” Roseline shouts shoving her way between them, “this isn’t helping anyone. Nicolae is here to help me, Fane. Deal with it.”
Neither one make a move.
“Fine,” she growls. “You forced me.” Her hands shoot out, slamming each in the chest. Nicolae flies across the room, crashing into the plaster wall. A wide-framed mirror rattles precariously on the wall above his head. Fane sails back, tumbling over the couch. The carpet cushions his fall, but his back slams into the walnut reading table. The small shot glass falls on its side, trailing blood along the wood.
The wound in Fane’s side throbs in protest. “What the heck, Roseline?”
“Let’s get one thing straight, right now.” Roseline pauses to glare at each of them in turn. Fane rises slowly from the floor. Nicolae doubles over against the wall, wheezing. “We are not enemies anymore. Nicolae and I have a truce and you will respect it, Fane.”
His jaw clenches. Since when did she start giving him orders? “He is a hunter. You can’t trust him.”
Her glare cuts him to the quick. “I am in charge of this mission. If you don’t like that,” she pauses for dramatic effect, “there’s the door.”
“What mission?” he asks.
Nicolae clutches his chest as he straightens. Roseline sighs, moving to his side to ease him into a chair. “Sorry about that.” Fane hears her whisper in his ear. Nicolae nods tightly.
“What is going on?” Fane erupts, storming across the ro
om to yank Roseline to her feet. “Why have you made a truce with this…filth?” His lip curls with disgust.
“He is not filth,” she snaps back, tossing her hair from her face, “he’s my friend.”
Nicolae sucks in a breath. Roseline glances over her shoulder, rolling her eyes. “Oh, don’t make a big deal out of it.” He raises his hands in defense, but does a poor job of hiding his grin.
When Roseline swivels to look at her friend, Fane’s throat constricts. Her pain lies just under the surface, barely held in check. Her quivering lower lip betrays her.