by Jen Colly
There was something in Cormac’s voice that said he didn’t completely believe his own words. Navarre pressed again. “They targeted my line of succession.”
“No’ surprising. The demon army has awoken.”
“There’s an army?”
Cormac shrugged, seeming unconcerned. “There’s always a demon army, but the army is no’ the problem. The demon king shares his power with another. A vampire.”
“How do you know all this when you live apart from the very people you safeguard? You hide in the shadows.”
“I’m an observer. I doona miss much, and there is much more to see in the shadows than in the light. Guard your city, Navarre. It’s no’ over. Something is brewin’,” the Stalker Lord said as he stood, seeming altogether too large for the room. Then just as eerily as he’d appeared, Cormac slowly faded into thin air before Navarre’s eyes. The Stalker Lord had gone.
Mikael would be dead within the hour. According to rumors, a death might be ordered by the Stalker Lord, but he was never seen. None but the lord or lady of a city ever knew he truly existed. He was the fairy tale that scared you straight. The only tale with even more mystery surrounding it than that of the Stalker Lord was of his assassin wraith. None who saw the wraith lived through the night. Or so the story went.
Navarre had known the demons banded together in both small and large groups, but he’d never thought they would have a king, let alone any form of leadership. If demons had become organized enough to have a king, then why bring a vampire into their midst?
This revelation brought more questions, and without any answers forthcoming, Navarre didn’t expect to find sleep anytime in the near future.
Chapter 15
Cat pulled the tea bag from her mug and plopped it into the little flowerlike dish by the sink. The kids had school tomorrow. Three of them were clean, and all were in bed. That counted as a win.
A normal person would have jumped into bed and called it a day, but she’d seen that look in Navarre’s eyes when she left him at his door. She knew that look. He was restless, possibly enough to leave his home. So here she waited, sipping tea and armed to the teeth, her sword on the table.
The door down the hall closed, and she waited in silence to see which way Navarre would go. Several seconds later the old boards beneath the carpeted corridor creaked outside her door, and she set her mug down. That was her cue.
She walked into the boys’ room and gave Rollin’s shoulder a sharp shake. He sat quickly, trying to sort out what was going on. She dropped her sword over his legs and gave his shoulder a smack.
“You’re on,” she said. Rollin groaned, dropped his elbows to his knees, and held his head in his hands.
Cat slipped from her home in time to see Navarre walking away from her. This corridor ended at a T intersection with the city’s outermost corridor, and he went left, rounding the corner out of sight.
She should have caught his attention and sent him home, but she immediately discarded the thought. He hadn’t had much freedom since he’d awoken. Cat could just as easily follow him in silence, only showing herself if needed. These perimeter corridors were always dim, which meant she didn’t have to travel in Spirit to maintain invisibility.
Peering around the corner, Cat waited to gauge his destination. He seemed to just be taking a walk, until he disappeared down an offshoot corridor. If she hadn’t been paying close attention, she would have missed the location where he seemed to walk into a wall and disappear, but she’d been here before. This was where she and Dyre had been sent to move a birdcage. Judging by the determination in Navarre’s steps, he knew exactly where he was headed.
Though the archway entrance was small, the ascending spiral stairs beyond were wide, the flat stone steps short and easy to climb. She hung back, just behind the curve of the wall and out of sight.
The stairs didn’t branch off, and there were no connecting hallways. A single door to a storage room was the only option, and inside? The attic room also had only a single door.
Navarre unlocked the bolt, pulled the wooden slide back, and walked inside. She followed, tucked herself against the frame, and watched him. He went farther into the room, near the back, his focus drawn to something she couldn’t see from where she stood.
Only twice did Navarre look around the room. His focus always returned to the back of the room and the row of uneven cabinets. Minutes sailed by, and still he was lost in thought.
Cat glanced behind her to the stairs. Quiet. The longer he stayed, the greater the chance of something going wrong in this tucked away little room. She needed to get him out of here.
Stepping inside the room, she cleared her throat. Navarre spun around to face her, shocked to discover he wasn’t alone.
“You followed me?” he asked.
“Amateur. Dulcina puts in more of an effort into sneaking out than you did,” she said, a small smile playing on her lips. “You’re not supposed to leave home without an armed guard.”
“I didn’t want to wake you,” he said. Navarre glanced at the weaponry strapped to her, then her worn leather corset. “You changed.”
She tapped the blade hilt with her nails. “I had a feeling you weren’t resigned to sleep.”
Navarre raised his brows. “Do you intend to escort me home at the point of your knife?”
“The thought crossed my mind.” Cat glanced around at the cluttered furniture, the low beam ceiling. “Why did you come here?”
“I wanted to see where I was…stored.”
“This is where Savard had you hidden? Wow. Seven years is a long time to sleep in an attic.”
“I’ve lost so much time. I thought maybe by coming here…” Navarre looked around, then sighed, his head bowed. “I don’t know.”
“You can’t regain anything by visiting a room you have no memory of, so why come?”
“I’m looking for answers, though I’m not even sure of the question anymore.” Navarre sat on a chaise, his forearms resting on his knees. He seemed to carry the problems of the world on his shoulders.
Silence hung between them for a moment, and not knowing what else to say, Cat just went for the obvious. “I came to this attic the day before you woke. Never knew you were in here.”
Navarre bolted to his feet. “It was you. You woke me from the healing sleep. Cat, you brought me back long before you fed me.”
“I came in here to remove a ridiculously oversized birdcage. I didn’t know you were here and I certainly didn’t wake you,” she insisted.
“You wouldn’t have to know I was here, or even see me. My soul knows yours.”
“What does that mean?”
“You don’t know?” For one brief moment he seemed taken aback, but when she shook her head, he nodded, seeming somehow more determined. “Two things call to a vampire’s soul, create a longing so deep that it’s nearly impossible to ignore. One is the sun. When fate decides our life has run its course, the sun calls, offering peace in death. The other is our fated mate, the man or woman who holds the other half of our soul. My connection to you would have kept me alive while I healed in sleep, and when you walked into this room, your presence woke me.”
Cat reeled, his explanation somehow making sense. Was this why she’d wanted to come back to this room to regain a sense of being grounded? Why the feeling of missing something vital in her life had emerged so recently? Whatever it was, she could sense it was just out of reach, and she’d already recognized she was drawn to Navarre, wanting something from him she’d never had before. Physical contact.
The pull was there, but to believe this was preplanned by some greater power reuniting two halves of a soul? Ridiculous.
“Not possible,” she whispered.
“Very possible. Many vampires find their fated mate.”
“I’m only half vampire,” she said evenly, her mind scrambling to process this revelation. “What am I supposed to feel? Would it feel the same to me as it do
es to you?”
“I couldn’t say for certain.”
Cat stepped back, putting distance between them. “What if it’s not there for me? What if I don’t feel a pull to you?”
“Don’t you?”
Cat squared her shoulders, suddenly feeling the need to take a defensive stance. “It wouldn’t matter if I did. I don’t trust feelings.”
Navarre smiled. “Yes, you do. You’re a warrior, and warriors rely on instincts. Without them you would be long dead.”
“This isn’t the same thing. What do you want from me, Navarre? I can’t change my entire life because of a feeling.”
Navarre straightened before her, hope lighting his eyes. He’d taken her statement as admission to having feelings for him, and maybe she did.
“I don’t expect you to change anything, but you have a right to know the truth, to know how strong this is for me. Cat, I will be proud to walk through life at your side, when you’re ready.”
“You haven’t thought this through.”
“I have. I’ve seen nothing in you that I would not want in my mate, in the lady of my city.”
“What would your people say? A half-breed as lady of the city?” she asked, her words suddenly angry.
“My people know my acceptance of others runs deep.”
Cat walked to the door, pulled it open. He’d ended the discussion, and he hadn’t even realized it yet. “Your acceptance. Not theirs. If the lady of your city is hated by thousands of your people, you won’t have a city.”
“Cat…” Navarre followed her out to the top step.
She shook her head as she closed the door and slid the wood brace in place. “You’re struggling to find a way to make this work, when I don’t even know if I want to try this. You’ve just dropped everything you know and feel at my feet. I can’t just pick it all up and move forward the way you want me to. I need to sort out what makes sense, what works for me, and what I don’t understand.”
“I’ve waited so long to find you, and I have. For now, that’s enough for me. I am content with you in my city and in my life, but I won’t give up on you. When you’re ready, when my city is ready, I will commit my life to you.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Just how long do you think I’m staying in your city?”
“I figure I have at least until Oriana has grown. How much time does that give me?”
“Nine years, and that’s not enough time to—” Cat snapped her mouth shut and held up her hand to Navarre.
Footsteps. Not one person, or two. Three? Five? She whispered, “Who knows we’re here?”
“No one,” he said softly.
Leaving him wasn’t wise, but neither was heading into a group they couldn’t see. Cat motioned for him to stay put, then darted down several steps. He didn’t listen. Navarre paused a step above her.
Cat reached out, caught a fistful of his shirt to stop him from advancing. With Navarre behind her, and whoever approached only a dozen or so steps below, she balanced her weight, prepared to either run back up the stairs, or attack.
She was seconds away from knowing which was the best option. The first two men came into view. Cat couldn’t peg them as vampire or demon, but their species hardly mattered, not when their swords were drawn.
“Up the stairs!” she yelled. Navarre took her direction, pivoting quickly and racing back to the attic.
Cat chased him up the stairs, her shorter legs unable to cover the distance as efficiently as his. Navarre hit the top, and hesitated. He turned back.
“Get inside!” Cat yelled.
He reached for her. “I’m not leaving you.”
She grabbed his hand, and he yanked her up the last two steps and into his arms. Not how she’d anticipated securing his safety, but she’d make it work. Holding him tight, she reached for her Spirit. In an instant that swirling chill wrapped around her and Navarre, making them invisible. She stepped through the door with Navarre.
Once inside, they reappeared. Dazed and unused to traveling in Spirit, Navarre staggered under his own weight. Back against the door, Cat let it support her. Pulling an extra body with her had taken a toll, but she had no time to recover.
“Stay here.” She vanished into Spirit again, slipped back through the door to the other side.
Navarre pounded his fist against the thick door, locked from her side. “You can’t do this, Cat! Let me out.”
“Not a chance. Now let me do my job.” More men came into view, and she slid her sword free, the scrape of the sharp metal against the scabbard priming her senses.
“You did this on purpose,” he said, his voice near the crack in the door. “You trapped me inside!”
Five total made their way steadily up the stairs. Cat turned her face slightly toward the door. “You bet your ass I did. Now you’re safe.”
“You’re not.”
“I’m cornered,” Cat admitted, dropping into a half crouch, patiently waiting for the opportune moment to strike. “And so are they.”
Thankfully, Navarre shut his mouth, allowing her to focus. Halfway up the flight of stairs, the two in front charged, eyes flaring red. Demons. She didn’t take the bait. Years of taking these creatures down taught her how much they loved to use pawns.
She pivoted, lowering her sword, leaving her body exposed. It paid off. Several steps away, the first two lunged for her. She brought her blade up, the demon’s momentum driving her sword into its belly.
Cat didn’t have time to retrieve her sword. Deftly, she dodged the sweeping reach of the second demon, grabbed it by the back of the neck, and slammed its face into the wall. It slid to the floor, bloody and unconscious. Two down.
“He’s inside!” the demon in the center yelled. Cat slipped a throwing knife from her belt, whipped it at the demon. Her aim was off, but it was still a gut hit. The demon doubled over and lost its footing, and the two bringing up the rear tripped over it, giving Cat room to adjust her counterattack.
These two had lagged behind, waiting to see how she fought, plotting how to engage. It wasn’t up to them. Cat was controlling this fight. She slipped the short swords off her thighs and steadily descended.
One demon surged toward her. Cat didn’t watch the broadsword gripped in the demon’s hand, but her gaze fixed on the movement in its shoulders. Only a few feet apart, it swung, and she ducked under its sword. Cat drove one blade into its stomach. She struck low with her second blade, jabbing it into the demon’s leg and splitting open the femoral artery. The demon’s broadsword clattered on the stairs as she stepped away.
Two left. The demon she’d hit in the gut with her knife now stood, its hand pressed tight over its belly. Both charged, though the bleeder was slower.
The demon on her right would reach her first, but she focused on the slower one. Cat flipped the blade in her left hand downward, and launched her body toward her target. In midair she reached to the right, slashing that demon’s throat as she sailed past.
Her knees landed in the center of the demon’s chest and it pitched back. She rode it down several steps, then jammed a blade down hard into its chest. Her other blade followed suit. The demon shouted, lashed out, and Cat screamed in pain.
She hadn’t seen the weapon. Good God, it felt like the demon had jammed an ice pick into her thigh. Yanking her blades free from its chest, she stabbed through the side of its neck, popped a carotid for good measure. It went limp beneath her.
Cat braved a glance at her hip. Son of a bitch. The knife was serrated. She couldn’t move with that blade jammed into her upper thigh. Cat curled her fingers around the hilt, took a deep breath, and gave her scream a head start. She yanked it free, her leg further damaged as the jagged knife exited her flesh.
She gasped for air, breathing through the burning pain. Heavy footsteps came from high on the stairs, getting closer. She’d only killed one at the door. It must have woken. Cat lunged forward, rolled down two steps, and put just enough distance betw
een her and the approaching demon. Her leg had no interest in holding her weight, so she slid it out of the way, balancing on her left knee.
A throwing knife left her hand, quick as lighting, sinking into the demon’s neck. It bled, but kept coming at her. Another left her hand and caught the other side of its neck. It wasn’t dead, but its knees buckled.
Her hair fell over her eyes, the blood and sweat of the battle causing it to stick to her face. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, priming her senses, and she’d need it to keep these demons from coming back.
She took up a fallen sword, raised it high, and chopped off the head of the nearest demon. One by one, she would finish the job. Each strike was an effort, but the last had fallen at the top of the stairs, and she struggled with the climb. The heavy sword she carried scraped the stone steps as she drug it with her, echoing eerily around her.
“Cat?” Navarre called just as she reached the top.
“I’m busy,” she said with as much volume as she could muster. Cat fell back against the door as a wave of dizziness washed over her. Blood poured from her thigh, seeping past her knee. Damn it, the demon had hit an artery.
“Are you hurt?” His muffled voice penetrated the door. “Let me out.”
She ignored him, focusing instead on taking long, steady breaths. Raising the broadsword one last time, she took the head from the last demon. As soon as it separated, she released the sword and its hindering weight. Her arms shot out to catch her balance on the wall.
Fading fast, she had only one goal. Free Navarre. She leaned hard against the large slide bolt, her weight doing more work than her weakening muscles. The second the bolt gave, Navarre threw open the door, nearly toppling her. He caught her before she fell. Her body sagged against his, relying on his strength.
“I’ve got you. Are any…” Navarre glanced beyond her, and gaped at the bloody stairwell, his face saying it all. He was horrified. He should be.
Inky black blood dripped off the stairs beside them, oozed down to the next. More dark blood streaked the walls. The whole scene was disturbingly gory. The lifeless bodies of five demons lay scattered unnaturally where more blood had pooled.