by Jen Colly
“No!” Bette cried out. “I want Balinese.”
Delmor straightened, thoughtfully scratching his neatly trimmed and graying beard. “You’re leaving?”
“I didn’t get very far. I can’t—” Her voice broke on a sob, and she rubbed the falling tears from her cheek with the back of her wrist.
“What is this? What are you carrying?”
Bette looked at her hand, the one that hadn’t opened to dry her tears. She’d forgotten about the bottle, the neck gripped tight in her fist.
“I’m sorry, Delmor,” she said, suddenly feeling like a poorly behaved child. She handed it over, the liquid sloshing inside. “I needed courage to walk out the door, but now that I have, I don’t know how to leave.”
His eyes widened as he read the label, then met her eyes. “It’s Russian vodka. Your father brought it back with him from… I’ll handle this.”
Delmor brushed by her to leave his home, but she grabbed his arm, halting his exit with the bottle. “You can’t go. If you’re caught, Genevie will have no one. She’ll be alone. I know what that’s like. Believe me, you don’t want that for your daughter.”
“My baby girl hasn’t been here with me for a long time,” he said with a sad smile, patting her hand gently. “She’s safe. One day I hope to see her again when our world has become a better place. But while I live and breathe, I will do all I can to help you.”
Delmor sent her a short nod and darted out the door, quietly latching it behind him. With no bottle to cling to, she clasped her hands together, longing to pace, but fear prevented her from turning her back to the door.
Time drew on, the minutes bleeding together until she wasn’t sure if she’d stood here for only several, or an hour.
His home was quiet and still, the same as hers. Where was Delmor’s daughter? Hidden away here in Valenna? Smuggled to another city? Perhaps, as he was so confident he’d saved Genevie, she’d placed her faith in the right man to save her life.
The door opened, and Bette jumped, stumbling back. Relief flooded through her as Delmor ducked inside his home. He lived.
“Hurry,” he whispered, motioning her to follow him.
Delmor took her hand, dragging her out the door behind him. He didn’t waste any time, his steps much faster than she’d expected, and she had to lift her skirts to give her legs the freedom to run, to keep up.
They moved quickly up the stairs to the next level, the effort of their ascent taking a toll on her, and when she’d reached the top of the stairs, her breathing had become noticeably labored.
This first level of the city was vastly different than the rest. Her father had noted the oddity multiple times over the years. He would tell her how the first levels of other cities around the world were a wondrous combination of architecture and design, beauty meant to impress and awe.
Valenna had it backward, her father often said. Here, the sights greeting visitors were dismal. Unfinished corridors of tan and brown stones embedded into the floor and walls combined with low curved ceilings perpetuated the assumption that the entire city was darkness and filth. Bette had always loathed these dank tunnels of the upper lever, and rarely went near them. She’d always felt as if the tunnel was trying to bury her alive. She stopped, frozen by the gravity of knowing which level she was on and what she must do next.
Delmor was having none of her second thoughts and tugged her into motion. “We can’t stop. Not now.”
They moved again, cautiously tiptoeing down a narrow corridor. Just ahead was a split, an intersection of corridors. One led to the arena, the central structure surrounded by beautiful, expansive gardens. Another corridor led to some of the darker spots of the city that, even prior to Lady Cecilia’s rule, she’d avoided.
Delmor stopped at the split and threw his arm out to keep her back. Not many would be awake and walking the city this early in the night, but the Guardians were still extremely active under the heavy-handed rule of Captain Basteen.
The corridors were clear, and Delmor kept her in motion, leading her up the only corridor with access to the world above. Though thankfully still now, this section of the city tended to be the most heavily occupied by Guardians.
They neared the captain’s office, and Bette could see his door was closed, but the thought of the captain emerging and finding her outside of her home…
“He’s gone. I don’t know how soon he’ll be back, so hurry.” Delmor once again pulled her along, more determined to see this through than she was at the moment.
Together they ran to the end of the corridor. They ducked through the door and swiftly climbed the tightly spiraled stairs. The dim glow casting down the wall from the widely spaced sconces didn’t help them see the stairs, only the curve of the wall on their right. When they reached the top, Delmor paused, checking to make certain their path was clear.
For many years Bette had been underground, sheltered away from the world above, even before this seclusion. She’d almost forgotten the little abbey above the earth marking the gates to Valenna. Even now, as she peered into the sanctuary, the memory of this place was distant.
The pews faced the altar and cross on their left, and on the right were double arched doors. One shut, and the other open and inviting. Keeping to the side aisle, they moved toward the door, but as they neared the end of the pews, Bette paused. Surely her eyes were playing tricks on her.
Moonlight lit the pale stone floor of the abbey, a strange shadowed pattern stretching toward them, and when Bette comprehended the source, she gaped. A wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling, iron work of art curled into a lovely symmetrical design had been placed midway between the last pew and the door. Panic swelled at the sight of the cage, but then she spotted an open door in the center. A second gate? When had that been put in?
“The Gatekeepers,” she whispered to Delmor.
“Taken care of.”
“Truly?”
Delmor nodded. “When you’re through those doors, head left over the largest hill, then keep straight through the open countryside. Watch yourself when you come to a road. You should come to a forest. Go through it, and on the other side, you’ll find Balinese.”
“I can do this,” she said to Delmor, to herself, as she stepped away from him. Her fingers brushed the cold iron barrier as she went through the opening that felt more like an elaborate archway and less like a door. Beautiful prison bars.
“Bette,” Delmor said. She turned back to him, fondly memorizing his kind eyes and graying beard. “If there is no place to hide and you find yourself caught in the sun, let it take you. You can’t come back.”
There was nothing to come back for. “I understand.”
“Good girl,” he said, then took off his robe and threw it around her shoulders, bundling her up as he might his own child. He motioned for her to be on her way, then slipped back inside before he was caught.
Cautiously, she ventured through the abbey doors. Sidestepping the overgrown vines on the abbey stairs, she hurried away, her heels clicking on the stones as she descended. The slight breeze had a life of its own as it skimmed over her skin, ruffled her skirts and hair.
She turned toward the largest hill and set off, passing the unkempt shrubbery at the bottom of the wide stairway. Something alongside the bushes caught her attention. Feet?
Bette turned back and cocked her head to get a better look. Sure enough, the soles of two large shoes were barely visible, toes pointed heavenward. Unmoving. She stepped around the bush to find a Guardian lying on the ground in a drunken stupor, her father’s bottle of vodka loosely gripped in his hand.
That was one, so where then was the other? A quick glance around produced no answers. The other Guardian was nowhere to be found. Delmor had truly taken care of them.
“Thank you,” Bette whispered. To Delmor, to her father, and to fate.
Like many vampires, she was s
uperstitious. That she had been fortunate enough to walk away without being stopped, or worse, meant fate was on her side. She was destined to leave, to thrive in Balinese or die in the sun, and either option was better than rotting away in a sealed room, losing her mind.
She turned to leave, but as the wind gusted up around her briefly, she glanced back at the Guardian on the ground. He would be cold when he woke, the damp night air chilling him through to his bones. Tugging Delmor’s robe off her shoulders, she spread it over the man, up to his chin.
“Couldn’t you have toppled over indoors?” she scolded the unconscious Guardian.
Awkwardly, she patted the man on the shoulder, then turned and ran toward the hill, shoulders bare and chilled, and didn’t stop until the abbey blinked out of sight behind her.
Walking across the countryside was a strange experience. The grass-covered ground was a struggle to traverse in heels, and though she was fairly certain she was headed in the correct direction, doubt crept in. Uncertainty. Bette thought she’d crossed the backside of someone’s farmland at one point, but the animals and homestead had been hidden in the night.
She’d never lived above, never been forced to hunt, let alone hunt in darkness. Accustomed to overhead lights and lamps within her home, the night was a hindrance.
Forests were scattered here and there, some thin and sparse, others dense, stretching beyond her line of vision, but none seemed to land directly in her path. Delmor had made it sound as if the correct forest would be impossible to miss, and so she pushed on.
She’d seen sketches of the chateau marking the entrance to Balinese in her father’s journals, the structure appearing more like a fortress than a country home, but that knowledge was little help when the night cloaked it well. She could very well be on the wrong path.
It had taken her so long to work up the courage to leave her home, and subsequently for Delmor to dispatch the Guardians, that now dawn was nearing. Already she felt that strange trembling urge crawling through her muscles.
Bette suddenly stumbled, unable to see the sharp drop before her, and when she righted herself, her shoes were on ground more solid than the grass-covered dirt. Gravel? The road! Picking up her skirts, she raced across the quiet road.
Across the road, a towering and uneven black patch blotted out the night sky. A forest. Bette slipped between the trees, and ducked inside the forest, away from the exposure of the road.
Shivering in the cool spring night, Bette brushed a tear from her cheek with a shaking hand, and when a second tear forged a new path over her cheek, she scrubbed it away as well. Dawn approached. She felt it under her skin, begging her to turn back, to face the east with arms open wide. For the first time since she’d felt the pull of the sun, death was accessible, and tempting.
There was no grace in her shuddering muscles, her choppy, gasping breaths, and these tears that kept slipping out on their own. Clenching her fists, she fought the pull. The entrance to Balinese was beyond the dense forest surrounding her and she refused to give in.
Her distress was apparent, but that wasn’t the problem. When she entered Balinese, she couldn’t claim this was her fearful reaction to nearly being caught in the sun, not when the next dawn would bring the same reactions when safely inside the city and away from the deadly light.
Apart from not knowing whether or not she could control her reactions to the next sunrise, she was unsure how she would fare mentally once inside. Bette knew no other existence than barricading her door, huddled in a chair with some crude weapon in her hand, terrified of every sound coming from the corridor outside.
But if she were to say she’d encountered a demon on her journey here, her distraught state wouldn’t come into question, nor would her behavior should someone later find her wakeful during the daylight hours, staring at a door with a butter knife in her hand.
Early in her life she’d never needed protection, and once she did, there was none to be found. What she needed, and wanted, was a Balinese Guardian. Their entire lives were dedicated to the protection and well-being of every citizen, and she craved that kind of security for herself. Perhaps then she could regain her sanity.
In most cities two Guardians would watch over the gate. With time slipping away quickly, she couldn’t casually make acquaintances and begin a normal relationship. She needed a quick connection. All she had to do was run to the gate in fear for her life, which would not be an act, and cling to whichever Guardian seemed most willing to protect a poor female who’d been chased over the countryside by demons. So…it was time for a chase.
Bette removed her shoes. One she wedged under a tree root. The other… She looked around the dense forest, the narrow path, then with a small shrug, tossed the other shoe over her shoulder. Ruffling her hair, she pulled several loose and messy tendrils down to frame her face. Then for good measure, she reached into her gown and lifted her breasts a little higher in the snug bodice. Her generous cleavage displayed nicely in the strapless gown would attract the stare of any healthy man. This was life or death. Any tool at hand was fair game.
Standing there, her bare feet in the cold mud, she looked down at her chilled toes. No shoes. Why had she… Ah, yes. Demons chased her.
Bette took a deep breath and took off, running as fast as her legs could carry her. Stones cut her feet, branches scraped her hands and forearms as she pushed them away, but she never slowed. Leaves tangled her hair and mud caked her feet, splattered her gown. The dirt and debris were irrelevant, and the pain mattered even less. She wanted to live.
Her lungs burned and the muscles in her thighs trembled. Her body was unused to physical exertion, but she pushed herself, not knowing what would be her limit. The knowledge that this was her one and only chance brought tears back to her eyes and they rolled down her cheeks, the salty tracks streaking through her carefully applied makeup.
The sun and death were her personal demons, and she feared being caught.
Chapter 5
Balinese
His shift was nearly over. Rollin drew in a deep breath, savoring the fresh night air. Of all the posts he’d rotated through, picking up the slack for other Guardians, filling in where needed, the gate was by far his favorite. Though standing beside Ivan for the entire night had challenged his patience.
“Not much longer,” Ivan warned quietly, his connection with the rising of the sun much stronger than Rollin’s.
A muffled cry suddenly floated through the night from the forest before them. Both men froze. Rollin scanned the tree line. “That was no animal.”
“I’ll check it out,” Ivan said.
“There.” Before Ivan could take a single step, Rollin pointed to the trees. “You won’t have to.”
A dark-haired woman raced toward them. Her hand grasped her polka dot dress, lifting it above her knees as she ran, the loose fabric whipping wildly behind her. She was moving fast.
Ivan crossed his arms over his chest, studying her approach. “You don’t see that every day.”
“No.” Rollin’s eyes widened in disbelief. “She looks…”
“She looks like a 1950s American pinup,” Ivan said, sounding intrigued.
Rollin couldn’t disagree with Ivan, but he’d meant that the woman looked terrified, racing toward them as if the devil himself was on her heels. When her feet touched the wide stone walkway leading to the gate, she didn’t slow. Her strapless dress wasn’t made for this kind of activity, and every time she took a step, her breasts nearly broke free.
“Oh, hell.” Rollin’s words came out on a breath.
Ivan laughed, an oddly dark sound. “Close your eyes, boy. You’re not old enough to see those. She’s too much woman for you.”
Rollin brushed off the insults and ignored Ivan. This frightened woman needed help, and though he was always ready and willing, there was no reason to leave his post. She was coming to them, with no visible dang
er surrounding her, and the sun had not yet brightened the sky. There was time. He trusted his training, allowing events to play out while he remained observant. Prepared.
She glanced at Ivan, then her wild-eyed gaze settled on Rollin. Rollin gave her a nod of encouragement and motioned for her to keep running, and when he opened his arms to receive her, she ran headlong toward him.
Suddenly Ivan stepped between them, preventing the woman from reaching Rollin. She looked up at Ivan and screamed, sheer panic in her movements as she twisted to break loose from her captor. She freed one hand from Ivan’s crushing hold and reached for Rollin, those beautiful doe eyes wide and pleading, her lashes wet from tears.
“Help me!” she gasped through heaving breaths. God, he could hear the desperation in her voice, felt it as she reached for him. Why was she afraid of Ivan?
She twisted again, turning away from Ivan, squeezing her eyes shut so she couldn’t see him. Rollin couldn’t take it anymore. He stepped forward and took her cold, shaking hand in his, her fingers biting into his flesh as if he were her very lifeline.
“Ivan, you’re scaring her. Let her go.” His sharp command drew Ivan’s attention. “She means no harm.”
“Famous last words,” Ivan muttered, but didn’t protest as Rollin pulled the woman away and into the circle of his arms.
Rollin didn’t stop to think, didn’t second-guess his actions. He pulled the woman against his chest and hugged her tight, never once thinking he shouldn’t, as she was infinitely more comfortable with him. Though her breathing remained ragged, she melted into him, seeming to calm by the second. At least until he covered her bare shoulder with his hand in an attempt to warm her. She gasped at the skin-to-skin contact, and at first he’d thought she’d only shivered, but her trembling didn’t stop.
He pulled away slightly and curled a finger beneath her chin, tipping up her face. Her watery eyes shimmered in the dim light. “Are you hurt?”
“I… I don’t…” She’d begun to answer him, but then turned her focus inward, seemingly speaking to herself. Though her words were mumbled, he heard her say, “I wasn’t supposed to cry, was I?”