I stiffened, suddenly wide awake. “What are you talking about?” I’d managed to sound off-handed, even as my stomach was doing flip-flops.
“Not what. Who.” He tipped his chin to catch my eye. “You know I speak of Ronan. Even without the bond, I feel it. I feel your doubts. I know your feelings. I know you care for the boy. Your heart holds no secrets from me. But bond or no, we belong together.” He gripped me tightly, almost too tightly. “You’re mine.”
He growled that last bit, and it sent all my girl parts aflutter.
I gazed up at him. I did care for Ronan. But accidental kisses and a turbulent crush didn’t make a relationship real.
Carden, though, was here. Now. With me.
That was real.
“Of course I care for Ronan,” I said. “He’s my friend.”
There was a pause, and then a smile slid onto Carden’s face. “As long as that’s all he is,” he said with a pinch to my bottom.
I didn’t want to think about how I’d maybe just lied, just the tiniest bit.
I decided it was a great time for me to turn the spotlight around to Carden. “Speaking of Ronan, what did he mean when he said how much you love your cause?”
I’d always wondered what kept my vampire on the island. We’d been bonded, yes, but it had to be more than that, especially now that I knew how relatively easily that bond could be altered.
He was silent, so I pressed, “Why do you put up with Alcántara? You clearly don’t like the guy. You don’t really like any of them. So why not just leave for good?”
He’d always managed to evade my questions about his past, and I expected the same now. And so he shocked me when he said, “It was vampires who saved me long ago.”
I sat up at this. “Wait, I thought it was vampires who’d killed you.”
He tsked and shook his head. “You know Culloden, aye?”
“A battle in Scotland, right?”
“The last battle in Scotland. It took less than an hour for a couple thousand men, the clan system, and the heart of Gaelic culture to be demolished. But a wee healer roamed the moor after battle. She found the men who survived and promised them revenge.”
My mind spun with possibilities. “This healer was…Sonja?”
“Och, no,” he spat. “Sonja had already taken over Eyja næturinnar by then, done her own bit of ruination. The one who came to me was her sister. Freya. She was building an army. She offered to turn me. I welcomed it.”
I deflated beneath the sudden weight of it all. So much slaughter and conflict—it all seemed so pointless. “Great. You went from fighting in one army to fighting for another.”
“You listen,” Carden snapped, “but you don’t hear.” The scold in his voice took me aback. “Freya turned me, yes, but then she released me. I was able to return to my home. To my mother and sisters, who were alone. I was the last man, see. The last of my family. But Freya let me go to them, to protect them.”
My eyes widened. “You have vampire sisters?”
A sharp crack of a laugh escaped him. “Bloody hell, no. That would’ve…my sisters…” He was lost a moment in memories, a faint mingling of humor and sadness playing across his features. “They’d have torn me limb-from-limb.” He gave a sharp sniff, seeming to snap back into the conversation. “No, my mother and sisters died as old women. All of them. As it should’ve been.”
He turned his gaze back on me. “And so I owed Freya a debt. She gave me the gift of my family’s safety. I watched nieces and nephews born, then grandnieces and grandnephews. I watched a generation grow old and die until the day came when I had to leave.” A sad smile crooked his cheek. “Such a young uncle was too suspicious, see. And so I returned to Freya.” With a finger on my cheek, he guided my eyes back to his. “I see your suspicion, and I assure you, lass, it’s not just my honor that has me siding with Freya. I believe in her cause—it’s my cause, as well. To this day, I am hers to use as she will.”
The bolt of jealousy was sudden. I peered at him. “To use…how?”
He chucked my chin. “Not like that, love. I’m useful, well, for the cause Ronan was talking about. We’ve vowed to restore Vampiracy to the old ways. To restore the pure Celtic lines. How it was before people like Dagursson and Fournier and Jacob came sniffing around, seeking wealth and domination. They want to rule the world—”
I stopped him with a hand to his arm. “Wait. Like, the world world? As in away from the Isle of Night?”
Carden sneered. “Naturally. The fools. They amassed their armies with no respect for the bloodlines. Why do you think so many Trainees and Acari die? They were not born to this. But such like Fournier have an infinite desire for more beneath them, serving them. They aren’t choosy. They demand more children for more vampires, for more power, and so the blood has gotten diluted.” He sat tall, and with a clap to his chest, declared, “We are creatures of power and beauty, not little Napoleons. But these men have corrupted what it means to be Vampire. Fournier, Jacob and his Synod, they are petty tyrants who don’t understand our old ways. We were creatures of the land. We were truly powerful, living in balance, the men and the women. We were magnificent predators. Pure of heart.”
“Alcántara mentioned something about purity,” I said, then paused. “But wait—he’s Spanish, not Celtic at all.”
“True enough. He believes the bloodlines are even older than that. All those books of his,” Carden said dismissively. “Some humans question the meaning of life. Well, some vampires are no different. In his books, his mathematics, Alcántara is seeking the meaning of it all. He believes there’s one pure and essential truth to be found.”
I wanted to ask if it was honestly possible for a blood-thirsty predator to be pure of heart, but I thought better of interrupting this speech. All this time, Carden had been protecting me from vampire politics, and now I was hanging on every word.
“You ask what my cause is,” he went on. “I’m a man of honor, and men of honor pay their debts. I owe Freya, but for me it goes still deeper than that. It’s the principle of the thing, aye? It’s time to right the wrongs and put things back into their proper order. It’s time to overthrow those who’ve installed themselves by brute force—those who turn children not ready for our world into counterfeit warriors so that they might climb up a ladder of bodies in their quest for more and more power. They are whom I fight. And I report to Freya, as a soldier would to his general. It is to her I’ve sworn my fealty. And I’m a man of my word. I would sacrifice it all for Freya to use as she will.”
“So you’d sacrifice…anything?”
“Aye,” he said with a firm nod. “Anything.”
I thought back to the ceremony I witnessed in the vampires’ keep. The chilling discovery of Sonja using the bodies of girls to strengthen her own army. And memories of a conversation overheard between Alcántara and Sonja. Sonja had wanted me. My blood. But the Spanish vampire had—inexplicably—protected me.
Did I have a powerful lineage like Carden or Ronan? Maybe even more powerful? Is that why my mother was being held prisoner?
“What if Freya said she needed me?” I asked quietly. “Wanted me dead?”
He planted a hard kiss on my forehead. “Foolish question from a foolish girl. Freya doesn’t want you dead.”
I pulled back, unable to shake the feeling that there was a bounty on my head or something. “Do you mean she wants me to live, or she wants me alive? Because there’s a difference.”
Did Freya want to absorb me into her vampire army? Did Carden want that? Because, though he loved me, it sure didn’t sound like he had plans to leave her any time soon.
He peered down at me as though trying to read into my soul. “Stop your fretting. It’s Charlotte and the Synod I’m worried about. And I’d give my own life before seeing them take you.”
He kissed me then. Hard.
He thoroughly kissed the concerns from my mind.
Or at least he tried.
Because a seed had been p
lanted.
CHAPTER TWELVE
We’d taken a boat to a floatplane to a cargo ship before we finally arrived at our destination: Hammerfest, Norway, one of the northernmost cities in the world. It was still early evening, but polar night had begun, which meant the sky was the color of a bruise and getting darker by the minute. The sun had set and it wouldn’t be popping back up over the horizon for a good, oh, fifteen hundred hours.
“This is for us?” I asked, looking at the ancient motorcycle parked off the docks. “You sure?”
Carden nodded but didn’t elaborate. I didn’t know who’d left it, but presumably it was the same people who tended the safe house we were headed to. The plan was to head to a secure place to get our bearings, I’d get some rest, then we’d find our way to the island of Melkøya—hopefully using something other than a freaking boat to take us. The ground still felt as though it swayed under my feet.
He lashed our duffels to the back of the motorcycle, slid his sword neatly along the side, and patted the seat. “Up you get.”
I didn’t question. I was just thrilled to be traveling on something that didn’t require a life jacket.
From the docks, we drove through a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it fishing village lined with nondescript buildings that looked like they were built from a giant monochromatic Lego set. If it hadn’t been for the occasional other driver, I’d have thought it was a ghost town. I snuck a quick look at my watch, thinking I’d somehow lost track of time, but no, it was just after five o’clock and there were hardly any people to be seen.
He reached back, grabbed my hand, and brought my arm back around his waist. “Hold on.”
Already we were leaving the center of Hammerfest behind, and Carden accelerated as the road emptied and began to twist and turn. Here on the outskirts, it felt a little like the Isle of Night, with the churning sea on one edge and a wall of rock on the other. Patches of snow glowed eerily on the side of the road, flickering past us, caught in the motorcycle’s high beam.
“It’s actually kind of pretty,” I shouted to him.
He shouted back to me, “Be happy. The last summit was held in Norilsk.”
“Siberia?” I asked, and at his nod, I added, “That would’ve sucked. I’ve had only a few semesters of Norwegian, and it’s already ten million times stronger than my Russian.”
“Doesn’t matter…” He said something else, but it got lost in the wind.
“What?”
“I said they’ll mostly speak English at the summit, maybe some German.”
Conversation was too hard, so I just nodded and wrapped my arms more tightly around his waist, nestling close to his back.
The engine hummed and the seat vibrated beneath me. I felt alive, excitement thrumming through me. Carden didn’t speak, but he must’ve felt the same way, because he revved and leaned down, opening up that old bike as fast as it could go.
I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs with sea air. Frigid wind whipped me, but I didn’t care. I was free. Or almost.
My mother was close. I’d find her, save her. I’d begin a new life.
We…we would begin a new life. Though, as exciting as it was, I found it difficult to picture. Where would my mother and I go? Would Carden want to come? It was hard to imagine. It felt as though I’d been on the Isle of Night forever, studying, surviving.
With Ronan.
I turned my cheek into the wind, letting the cold wind slap my cheeks and clear my mind.
A new set of smells hit me. The briny air began to mingle with some other scent, an industrial smell, like burning chemicals. And, as we rounded the next curve, I saw it: Melkøya, an island whose sole purpose was the drilling and shipping of natural gas.
It was a tiny disc of land, and steel buildings were jammed to its very edges. There was no organic matter in sight, just an industrial forest of oddly shaped structures. Large spires reached high above everything, spewing blooms of red flame and black smoke. Even in the darkness I could tell everything was in a palette of gray—snow and ice blanketing concrete and steel—and yet an electric radiance limned the island, warming it. Every light was set ablaze, making the place glow like a fiery and faceted ruby floating atop the dark purple of the Barents Sea.
How on earth would we ever sneak onto that?
I must’ve made some sound because Carden slid a hand from the handlebar to give my arm a quick squeeze.
The bike wobbled as he turned onto what I assumed was a driveway hidden beneath layers of ice and snow gone gritty and crusty with tire tracks and vehicle exhaust. At the end was a small white building glowing gray in the darkness. Crosses studded the surrounding snow.
“Creepy.” I peered closer. It was a cemetery. “This is the safe house?”
“No,” he said with a laugh, “this is Hammerfest Chapel. But the clouds are clearing, and I thought you might like to stop and see the lights.” He got off the bike and nodded to the sky. “The view is good from here.”
“Oh wow.” The sky had taken on a strange cast, like I was looking through tinted glasses. A band of bright green flickered along the horizon. The northern lights.
I gave him an assessing look as he pulled a blanket from his pack. “Well aren’t you prepared?”
He winked and snatched my arm, tugging me into the shadow of the church. “A man must have his priorities.”
There’d been a day when such a statement and all it implied would’ve shot a bolt of heat through my very center. But I was here for a reason, and it wasn’t canoodling with Carden under the northern lights, no matter how pretty they were.
I slowed down, pulling my arm back with the slightest resistance. “But…my mom. We’re here for her.”
He spread the blanket. “Aye, and so we’ll get her. But nothing will happen tonight.”
I crossed my arms at my chest. Nothing was going to happen—he didn’t know how right he was. There was no way I could clear my mind of the single thought that’d taken hold: my mother was on that island. “I think I just want to get to the safe house. They’re probably waiting for us, right?”
“We’ll get there.” He plopped down and patted the blanket by his side. “But now it’s evening, which means the day is only just getting started for the vampires.”
“What does it matter?” I looked up at the sky. “It’s dark. It’ll still be dark in the morning.”
“It matters to them. They have their habits.” He leaned his elbows on bent legs, looking up at me. “Do you imagine they switch their routine with every vagary of the natural world? They’re immortal—they’d go mad. No, if I know Jacob, they’re sitting for dinner and a party.” He reached up and tweaked my butt. “A party that would be greatly enhanced to discover a wee Acari bonbon like yourself. So sit beside me, love. Enjoy the lights. A spot of relaxation will help. I can feel your tension from here. Anyway, we’d be fools to attempt to broach the island before morning.”
His words struck me as condescending, and I stiffened. “We’d be fools to not go to the safe house and get prepared.”
He kicked back with a sigh. “You’re missing the lights. And this chapel is the one part of Hammerfest that was spared during the war. The Nazis burned the rest of the town. Why not take ten minutes to enjoy it?”
Instinctively, I followed his line of sight, and it was my turn to sigh. The green lights had risen, swirling along the horizon like a cresting wave. “Fine. I guess you’re right. I’m sorry…it’s been…” I contemplated the last twenty-four hours—I’d been waterboarded by Fournier, pawed by Trainees, tossed into the sea—and decided it was no wonder I was feeling a little bitchy. I dropped next to him, leaning my head against one very broad, very strong shoulder. “It’s been a really, really, really long day.”
“Come, love. That’s it.” His voice was a low hum that seemed to reverberate through me, relaxing me. He wrapped an arm around me. A vampire’s body was cool to the touch, but something about feeling so sheltered, so protected was enough to send a ripple of war
mth through me.
Surely it was just stress that had me imagining distance between me and my vampire. I’d gotten so used to the bond, and now that it was gone, well, it wasn’t bad, just different. Actually, it was probably good. Independence was, right? Of course I’d go through a period of feeling distant from him—the physical change alone would take time to adjust to.
We sat there for a while, and the tension slowly unspooled from between my shoulders; the looseness in my joints began to feel like something closer to my body’s natural state.
I gave a little shiver, another sigh, and leaned all the way into him. “Do you ever get tired of being right?”
The brief spurt of optimism disappeared the moment we pulled our motorcycle in front of the safe house.
On instant alert, Carden tore off his helmet and put his finger to his mouth. With a slight tilt to his chin, he inhaled deeply, and a grim expression fell over his features. “I smell blood.” In an instant, my stars were in my hand, but he shook his head. “No need. The only scent here is death. And yet”—he inhaled again—“go easy now.”
Didn’t have to tell me twice. It was pitch black now, and no lights were on in the house, either—it was merely a shadow standing in the darkness, the front door hanging open like a black, gaping maw. I pulled my flashlight from my duffel. Carden might’ve been able to see in the dark, but I wanted every crutch available.
I began a slow, silent approach to the door, sweeping the flashlight in front of me, my senses opened to the slightest movement or sound. I cast my light over the entryway path. Drifting snowflakes sparkled in the vivid circle of bright white. The ground glittered where the beam hit, bits of ice twinkling like so many tiny diamonds.
And then I saw the footprints. Red ones.
I squatted. “Someone,” I whispered to Carden, “some woman, walked out of here. Not very subtly either. She tracked a ton of blood.” I stood, adding, “That was stupid.”
“No, that was a message. For us.”
“Do you think it was Charlotte?”
Reckoning (The Watchers Book 5) Page 10