by J. K. Coi
Rhys had hurried to the back door of the tavern’s kitchen, knowing he would be able to smooth-talk the cook’s daughter, Mary, into passing him a haunch of lamb. But Mary was nowhere to be found, and her father had shooed him away, complaining that they were too busy to be handing food out the back door.
Curious to see what was keeping Mary so busy on a usually slow night, Rhys had walked around to the front and into the common rooms of the public house. There he’d come face to face with about fifteen fierce-looking soldiers, all deep into their cups and devouring everything in sight. He spotted Mary perched in the lap of one burly, uniformed man, her face shining with adoration, her feminine giggles resounding throughout the room as the man patted her on the behind.
Rhys had wedged himself into a small corner and watched in fascination as the maids rushed around the room and Mary’s father returned from the kitchens, trying to keep the soldiers satisfied with their meals.
“It’s a common enough story,” he said to Amy. “I was young. It didn’t take much for me to be dazzled by the soldiers. To me they were everything that was worldly and exciting.
“Honestly, even if I’d known the truth then—that they were just boys themselves, trying to ward off loneliness and fear—I still don’t think it would have made a difference. To me, theirs was a more glamorous life than my own simple one, and that made it attractive.
“The outside world had just knocked on my door, shown me that I could be more, could do more, than sit in a fishing boat for the rest of my life. It was an awesome prospect for a young man. An invitation to a life of excitement and adventure. How could I refuse?” Rhys gave Amy a small smile, knowing she was able to feel what he felt.
“Little did I know just how much ‘excitement’ I was headed for. Perhaps I might have relished those quiet days with my family a little bit more.” Amy said nothing as Rhys continued, but her fingers gently twined with his.
“My mother cried when I told her. My father just looked at me as if it would be the last time he’d have the chance to. In fact, I didn’t see them for over a year. When I returned home that first time, I had grown out of my boyhood gullibility. A part of me regretted my rash decision, but truthfully it was a very small part. I was good at what I did and quickly moved up through the ranks, such as they were for a small company of men.
“It was during my first leave from duty that I…” Rhys stopped. He hadn’t said her name out loud in so long that he didn’t think he could do it.
Amy put her hand on his arm but didn’t push. He met her eyes, full of understanding and sympathy. Of course, she wouldn’t have to be psychic to know what was coming next.
“Rhys, never mind.” She shook her head. “It’s okay, you don’t have to—”
“Her name was Mia. She was sweet, innocent, pretty,” he continued finally. “I spent every moment chasing her. When it was time to return to my regiment, I made her promise to save herself for me, and as soon as I could return, which was about a year later, I begged her to marry me.”
“I’ll bet she had no problem letting you talk her into it,” Amy said softly.
Rhys looked at her with a rueful smile. “Her parents weren’t very happy about it. They had all but promised her to someone else.”
The evening a very young Rhys had talked an innocent, even younger girl into defying her family and marrying him had been a cold and wet one on the windswept moors. They had spent the night embracing under a moldy old horse blanket in front of a low fire, among the ruins of an old, abandoned abbey where they met clandestinely at every opportunity.
They’d fumbled and touched and kissed each other with the passion and eagerness of the young and idealistic, but had not made love. Both of them had agreed that such ultimate intimacy was something to keep for a moment that wouldn’t be rushed, furtive or forbidden—a moment when they would be husband and wife.
So instead they’d simply laid in each other’s arms gazing into the night sky, and spent countless hours talking about their wishes and dreams for the future.
After Rhys had convinced Mia to go away with him and get married, he wasted no time in making her his wife. They made their home in a small cottage by the sea because Mia had always wanted to be near the water. Rhys had spoiled her because he felt guilty for leaving her so often. As a soldier he had to be away for months at a time, and although he constantly sent supplies and money so she would never be left without anything she needed, the times when he was able to return home and be with her were far between and short in duration.
Those first few years Mia had cried every time Rhys had to leave, and he’d called in every favor that he was owed to get back to her as often as he could. But if he was going to fulfill the requirements of his commission on time to be granted the promised allowance, he had to go. The money would help them buy livestock and supplies to start working their small tract of land.
Rhys had returned home after a particularly long posting to find Mia already several months pregnant. Neither of them had known before he left the last time, but Mia had been a few weeks along then. She’d spent most of her pregnancy alone.
Rhys bargained for a special leave so he could stay with her until after the baby was born. Never had he beheld a more beautiful little girl than his new daughter. When he had to return to complete the last months of his commission, it was the hardest thing he’d ever done.
Sara had only been a year old when he started having the visions. The next night a band of Immortals had come. They took him from his family to begin his training. In those days, new Immortals had been removed completely from their human lives when the transition began. It was believed that reminders of their human existence would hinder the Immortal’s acceptance of his new responsibilities. Trent, the Immortal in charge of Rhys’ training, had been brutal, unfeeling and utterly uncompromising in his lessons.
After the transition and several weeks of training, Rhys had escaped. He’d made his way back home to his wife and child, only to find that the enchanting little cottage they’d built together had been ransacked and then razed to the ground in his absence.
The charred and lifeless bodies of a young woman and child still lay in the ashes. The woman had obviously tried to shelter the small child within the insulating protection of her arms—arms still bound loosely with the remnants of a coarse, thick rope.
Rhys could still feel the echo of the overwhelming anguish that had torn through him at the sight of Mia and Sara dead in the ruins of their home, the torturous irony that he had left his family countless times voluntarily, but the one time he’d been taken away against his will had been the time they had needed his protection the most.
For months afterward, Rhys had found it impossible to even think about his new responsibilities as a demon hunter and protector of humanity, especially since he’d failed the only two humans who really mattered.
“What happened to Mia?” Amy asked, softly interrupting his inner agonies.
“She was murdered,” he answered flatly. “When the change came upon me, I was taken from her. I wasn’t there to protect her…or my daughter.”
“Oh, Rhys,” Amy said sadly, reaching for his hand.
He felt the warm contact of Amy’s grip. He seized it like a lifeline and slowly came back from the dark place where his memories lived.
He touched his finger to the crystal tears rolling down her face. “It was a long time ago, sweetheart. Don’t cry for me.”
“Somebody should,” she said, gazing softly into his eyes.
Amy couldn’t shake the chills that were running through her body, and she had a Godzilla-sized headache that was tearing her brain to shreds. She also had a bad feeling that Gideon needed her and didn’t like that he was alone. At her insistence, Rhys reluctantly agreed to leave her and go check on him.
When he returned, he carried Gideon in his arms.
“Oh, Rhys. I can feel his struggle,” she cried. “He’s locked deep inside of himself. The pain has him in a dar
k nightmare. I don’t think he can escape from it. Give him to me please.” She reached out her arms to Rhys, and he carefully put Gideon on the bed beside her so that she could wrap him with warmth and provide him with her loving comfort.
Rhys watched in amazement as Gideon visibly calmed as soon as his sister was close to him, even though he was still deeply asleep. He knew they’d taken care of each other since the unfortunate death of their parents, that they’d been forced to tackle the harsh realities of a cruel world at an early age with only each other for support.
Amy’s lips moved as she whispered something into Gideon’s ear. He felt a strange tightness in his chest as he watched them together, brother and sister. He wanted a similar kind of closeness with her, the kind that gave strength and purpose to a man’s life.
All of this was killing him. If only things had stayed simple. Simple. Ha, nothing between him and Amy had ever been simple, would ever be simple.
If he only wanted her supple body and could dismiss all the things that made her shine, he could let her go without hesitation. But Amy had been so much more than just a great lay right from the very beginning. At first, her purity and strength had formed subtle cracks in his shell, but caring for her these last two days, seeing firsthand just how strong and brave she was, had split open the walls he’d built around himself so long ago.
With an explosion of color and light she had brought life back to his world. Now all he wanted was to be surrounded by that glow until the end of time. He’d been so long in the dark. Guilt and loneliness had become casual and constant. He’d known what to expect of them. But now all that had changed. His soul ached. For her warmth—for her love.
He got up, thinking to grab a quick shower while Amy rested here with Gideon. She murmured his name. He turned back and leaned down to her, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead.
“It was another Immortal,” she whispered. “Doyle was killed by someone named Gray.”
His fingers stilled. Rhys was floored. He hadn’t heard the name Gray in hundreds of years. Gray was dead. He’d killed himself a long time ago, and Rhys knew this because Gray was the Immortal whose death had triggered his transition.
Rhys had received not only Gray’s immortal power, but his memories as well. He was all too aware of the hate Gray bore for the Guardian, the anger he had over the loss of his human life and the desperation that had finally driven him to try to end his existence. Rhys had also felt Gray’s pain and horror as he entered the Abyss, just before the connection was severed. Gray hadn’t realized until it was too late what the penalty would be for his selfish actions.
“I know you’re going to try to find him. Just…be careful, Rhys. Please,” Amy said. “He’s very dangerous.”
“Don’t worry,” he told her. “Just rest. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”
Amy tried to tell him something more, but she coughed. She tried to stifle a low moan, then shuddered deeply as a fresh wave of pain surged through her. Rhys was instantly by her side.
“Don’t talk,” he ordered.
She actually tried to laugh. “Don’t you start telling me what to do,” she groaned. “Just because I’ve been passed out in your bed for the last couple hours doesn’t mean we’re dating.”
“Amy,” he warned.
“Rhys,” she quipped back. He frowned. There was still no color in her face, the transition had a long way to go. She wasn’t out of the woods.
“Really,” she reassured him. “I’m okay, and you need to know… Gray…there was something wrong with him…with his hand.” She grimaced and tried to lift her hand. “It glowed like a pulsing, living thing. He used it against Doyle somehow, as a kind of weapon.” Amy shuddered and took another deep, labored breath.
Rhys took her hand and squeezed. “You don’t have to tell me this now.”
“Yes I do.” Her voice was determined. “It’s important for you to find him, because he’s going to be back. It didn’t work.”
“What do you mean? What didn’t work? Doyle’s dead.”
“Yes, but he killed Doyle for a reason. He was using Doyle’s death to get to someone. Who’s the Guardian?” She started shuddering as a spasm worked its way through her.
“Don’t worry about it right now. I’ll take care of it.” He eased her into his arms, hoping that if he held her close enough, tight enough, maybe her pain would bleed into him instead.
When he sensed that she could relax a little bit, he said, “I want you to rest as much as you can while I go talk to the guys about this. Are you going to be okay? Do you need anything?”
Amy shook her head, “No, I’ll be fine.”
“All right then. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He got up from the bed but hesitated, concern keeping him by her side when he knew he should go.
“Rhys, go. It’s all right.”
Finally he turned and walked to the door. With a last look, Rhys closed the door softly behind him and left brother and sister to their own battle.
The Guardian. Gray was somehow back after all these years, and he was trying to get to the Guardian?
How? Why? What the hell was he hoping to accomplish?
Rhys found Baron with Kane and Roland in the garage, all of them having just come back in from the streets. Alric should be back soon too. He’d just moved his new wife out of town for her safety. She would be staying with family until all this had passed, and in the meantime Alric would be bunking with Baron. Kane and Roland had also appeared overnight, deciding to take up temporary residence in one of the rooms down the hall.
To Rhys’ exasperation, his once private refuge had suddenly turned into command central for every Immortal inhabiting the west coast.
“What’ve you got?” Rhys asked, joining the three who were presently discussing the night’s patrol.
“Hey, Rhys,” Baron said as he approached. “What’s going on with the girl and her brother?”
“They’re getting through it,” he answered. “Both of them are strong. They’re handling it as well as can be expected.”
“The woman’s going to make it?” asked Roland, who was standing next to his twin.
Rhys didn’t like the hot flare of awareness coming from those two.
Kane had obviously told his brother they would have a female Immortal among their ranks. Even now he could see the hot gleam of speculation in Roland’s eyes.
Rhys wanted everyone focused on finding Doyle’s killer. He didn’t have the energy to crack heads together over Amy and her potential qualities as an immortal brood mare for the race.
“She’ll make it.” His voice was brittle and hard, forbidding further discussion. “Amy was able to give me some details about Doyle’s death, and from what she’s put together from her visions, Doyle was killed by Graydon,” Rhys told them.
“Graydon. Why do I know that name?” Kane’s head tilted to the side as his massive brain started working.
“Probably because he’s one of the most infamous Immortals in our history,” Rhys replied.
“That’s right. I remember now,” Kane said. “He killed himself, didn’t he? And got his sorry soul condemned to hell because of it.”
“I recall being told that story by another Immortal just after Kane and I were changed,” Roland piped up. “As a kind of warning to be grateful for our Immortality and accept our destiny. Now that I think about it, wasn’t it Gray’s death that gave you your own powers, Rhys?”
“Yes, that’s him.”
Baron kicked in his two cents. “So I guess it’s pretty obvious this guy found some way to come back from the dead, right? How? And what the hell did Doyle ever do to him?”
“Apparently, Gray’s after the Guardian and he thought Doyle was the way to get to him,” Rhys replied.
“That’s impossible,” Kane said. “Nobody can get to the Guardian, Immortals included.”
“Yeah, besides the odd vision, we don’t even get a Christmas card.” Roland paused, the science geek in him visib
ly working on the problem. “We know the Guardian doesn’t exist on earth. But it could be that he exists on another plane as a form of energy that could technically have a physical presence. I mean, no Immortal has ever actually seen in the Guardian other than in visions or dreams. The only sure way to make contact is to leave this world and enter his.”
“So how do you do that?” Baron asked, clearly intrigued by the spiritual workings that made up the Immortal enigma.
“You die. It’s the only way,” Rhys said. “At the moment of an Immortal’s death, his soul returns to the Guardian. The Guardian has to effect the transfer of the Immortal’s energy to the next person and then release the soul to the afterlife.”
“Do you think Gray somehow found a way to piggy-back over with the dying Immortal’s soul?”
“He might have tried with Doyle, but Amy said that whatever Gray did didn’t work. It means we have to stay on guard, because he’ll be back to try again. If Gray really is after the Guardian, then he can only get to him by killing another one of us.”
* * * * *
Gray came before Mastema once again, surrounded by the demon’s slobbering lackeys. His first inclination had been to ignore the slithery Nina when she came with Mastema’s summons. Better yet, maybe he should have cut out that slimy spiked tongue of hers and sent it back to Mastema as a personal fuck-you-o-gram, but he’d discarded both impulses almost at once.
As much as he took exception to being beckoned like a lap dog, especially by a fucking demon, he needed Mastema to hold up his end of their bargain. It wouldn’t do to cut off his nose to spite his face at this stage of the game.
So he was here. Stopping at the foot of the raised dais, he refrained from kneeling. The demon seemed to be in a good mood, and that toothy snarl of his might even be considered a grin.
It didn’t bode well for Gray.