Naoko looked up.
He found the vampire watching him.
That flat, empty look had returned to his dark-red eyes.
Dorian tilted his head as Naoko watched, as if studying an animal he’d put in a cage. His expression never moved.
“I would not suggest trying to tear yourself free of it,” the vampire added, his voice as flat as his face. “The thickest part of the blade is notching part of your heart, so it is unlikely you could move it sufficiently to free yourself… not without killing yourself.”
Naoko blinked, staring up at him, then turned his eyes and head to peer at the hilt sticking out of his back. He focused his attention on his heart, on the parts of his own chest where he felt the sword’s blade, verifying what the vampire just told him.
“It’s a Scottish claymore,” Dorian added. “Brick was none too pleased I destroyed it, as it was an original, but it was the only blade we had that was long enough… and strong enough. And since it belonged originally to a man I killed, I supposed I had the right.”
Dorian pursed his lips, inexplicably glancing up the wall and towards the ceiling.
“…luckily, unlike his predecessor, Brick does not generally grow very attached to ‘things,’” the vampire added, his scarlet eyes still trained up the walls. “Even so, I shall have to find and gift him something comparable, since he was fond of that sword––”
“What the fuck is this supposed to do?” Naoko spat. “Scare me?”
Dorian paused, looking down.
He surveyed Naoko’s face. His lip lifted in a faint smile.
The smile never reached those scarlet eyes.
“Humble you?” he suggested.
Seeing the scowl that twisted Naoko’s mouth at his words, the vampire grunted, his smile growing visibly.
“Perhaps not,” he said.
He rose gracefully to his feet.
Naoko watched him, still scowling, now hissing at him audibly, reaching for him with an outstretched arm as Dorian clearly made ready to leave.
The blond vampire strode casually past his prone form, past the burning fireplace to Naoko’s right, past Naoko’s arm and clasping hand, past the rug that had been rolled up and placed against the wall adjacent to the stone hearth, past the antique chairs that matched the Victorian couch.
Dorian didn’t give the vampire pinned to the floor by an authentic Scottish claymore, made sometime in the 1400s, so much as a glance.
“Perhaps I thought you needed time to think, friend,” he said.
Even in saying that, he didn’t look back.
Rage blinded the vampire on the floor.
“Fuck you, you albino piece of shit sociopath––”
Naoko’s words were deadened upon the firm closing of the door.
Realizing at once the vampire wasn’t coming back, at least not anytime soon, Naoko let out a furious howl, writhing against the hard edges of the blade locking him to the floor.
No one came to the door.
No one seemed to hear him at all.
* * *
DORIAN WENT FOR a leisurely hunt.
He took all night.
He called back to the apartment a few times, mostly to hear from the guard he’d posted at his new pupil’s door. Nairobi assured him that apart from angry hisses and growls, it had mostly been silent on the other side of that door.
The next day, Dorian didn’t go inside the room.
He passed by the outside a few times.
He remained in the house, and in the process relieved Nairobi of guard duty, but did not stand there, outside the door all day, as she had for him the night before. He worked with Brick instead, monitoring events in the United States, helping his king to organize the clans across Europe and South America, most of which were already in some state of preparation for war.
Moving on North America was inevitable now.
When Brick released him at nightfall, Dorian left the apartment building.
He hunted that night as well, just as he had the first.
He left Nairobi at the door again.
That time, each time he called in, she said the room was utterly silent.
She said it was so quiet, she grew concerned the newborn may have escaped. She climbed around to the outside window a few times, to make sure he was still inside.
He was there, she told him, impaled to the floor, just as Dorian left him.
Dorian thanked her for checking on him.
Even so, he checked through the window himself, breaking into his hunting routine to reassure himself that Naoko was, indeed, exactly where he’d left him. He checked the sword as well, both that night and several times throughout the next day, and the day previous.
It remained undisturbed where he’d driven it through the vampire’s chest and through the floor and ceiling below. The concrete he’d used to encase the bent blade was completely unbroken. No cracks showed on the gray-white surface. The apartment was intact, both from the outside and from the walls to either side. The building was old, but the crawlspaces were narrow.
Dorian knew this. He had checked.
There was nowhere for his charge to go.
There was certainly nowhere for him to go without detection.
Even so, checking all of these things reassured Dorian that he had missed nothing.
At the end of the second full day, he went on a shorter hunt.
By then, he was curious to see how his pupil fared.
He doubted Naoko would be sincerely repentant after only a few days.
He doubted he’d cowed him much at all.
Still, progress might be visible by now.
Perhaps Naoko’s predicament over the past few days had calmed him down enough that he might listen more rationally, with more of a respectful ear.
He would be hungry.
He would be weaker, and hungry, and likely more malleable as a result. Young vampires didn’t have the discipline or stamina to go without blood for long. Moreover, they couldn’t handle the mental stress.
They had no idea how long they could survive without blood.
To them, being hungry was as if literally watching themselves die.
Most thought they would die, if they went without for more than a few days, a mental state that made most beings more amenable to negotiation.
At the very least, Naoko would pretend to cooperate, if only until he got more blood. He would try to convince Dorian to let him hunt. He would likely promise to do whatever he asked, if only Dorian would let him hunt and feed.
Young vampires also felt the need to hunt at a keener level than older vampires.
Dorian didn’t intend to give him either of those things, though––not yet. He didn’t intend to give him anything without a few real concessions in return. He fully expected that to take a few more days, at least.
Those days didn’t need to be spent in isolation, however.
Dorian could begin to teach him, while those days passed.
Some of it might even start to sink in.
He relieved Nairobi at roughly two o’clock in the morning.
Motioning for her that he would take over for now, he stopped her only long enough to murmur in her ear that he’d left several gifts in her room for the favor.
He didn’t tell her what they were, but he knew they would please her.
She knew they would please her, too, and smiled up at him in gratitude, squeezing his arm with one pale hand.
Dorian didn’t squander when it came to presents.
He also took favors seriously, and repaid them in an appropriately serious manner.
Therefore, he left her two gifts, one for each full night and day she’d spent guarding his charge. One was a male human he’d gone to a fair bit of trouble to acquire.
She had a weakness for aristocrats, so he’d made the effort.
With the young Earl, who he’d considerately dressed for her in full uniform, tied and kneeling on her floor, a gag in his mouth, Dorian le
ft her an emerald and diamond necklace that had belonged to the Earl’s now-late wife, displayed on the mantle over her fireplace.
Still smiling faintly as she imagined what Dorian might have brought her, Nairobi padded down the corridor towards her room.
Dorian watched her go.
Then he reached for the door handle to Naoko’s room.
Twisting it soundlessly, he opened it.
He’d ordered Nairobi not to enter the room for any reason.
He’s specifically told her to check on him by using the windows if she had any questions or concerns about his wellbeing, or whether he was still in the room. She could check on him in any manner and as many times as she saw fit, as long as Naoko never felt or heard her enter the room, as long as that door never opened.
The newborn was to feel himself totally alone in there.
The seclusion contained a message, as much as the sword.
Dorian knew Nairobi would follow his instructions to the letter.
He also knew she would have checked on Naoko through the windows more times than she’d specifically told him, out of fear of disappointing him, if nothing else, but mainly out of pride. She would never allow herself to lose a charge on a watch to which she’d been assigned. Never. Nairobi simply wasn’t wired that way.
For that reason, as well as his own precautions, Dorian knew Naoko would be inside the room, more or less exactly how he’d left him.
He’d known Naoko would be there.
He’d expected to see him lying there, shirtless, on his hardwood floor, a sword impaling him to the floor to the hilt. Even so, actually seeing him there, pale and vibrating with energy, his head half-raised in alertness as he heard Dorian walk in, gave him a soft thrill of pleasure. He allowed himself a small smile, crossing the threshold and closing the door behind him.
The young vampire looked positively magnificent, even now.
That smile was still on Dorian’s face as he took another step––
––and immediately knew something was wrong.
His stare darted sideways.
His vampire eyes took in the thin, metal pole as it bounced up in a whip-like arc, aiming for the top of the high ceiling. Dorian didn’t see the entire motion. A loop of wire cinched his ankle, yanking him up off his feet in a millisecond, pulling him sideways and up even as he twisted, midair, fighting to reach for his trapped foot.
He found himself swinging, midair, his ankle hanging from the wire.
Hissing, he struggled with the wire breaking the skin of his ankle, realizing only then that it had been sharpened on two sides, making it like a razor.
He stared up at the ceiling in disbelief, still swinging wildly back and forth, twisting from where he hung from the now straight pole.
Not once did he stop his attempts to free his foot.
Before he could finish digging his fingers under that razor-like wire, he felt the air move over his face and the bare skin of his arms, in a way different than that caused by the swinging wire. This motion felt directed, non-random.
It raised the hairs on his skin like an electric charge.
He turned, hissing, fangs extended, swinging in the air, his fingers still hooked on the wire around his ankle, bleeding down his leg as he tried to free himself.
The smiling face of Naoko appeared over him.
Blood covered his chest, his face, his arms.
Before Dorian could speak a single word, strong hands wrapped around his head…
And everything went dark.
7
A Different Approach
BRICK SURVEYED HIS second-in-command, his lips faintly pursed.
He wanted to be annoyed.
He felt strongly, on some level, he should be quite annoyed with him.
Moreover, he knew it would do absolutely no good for discipline if he gave in to his more instinctive reactions to the situation. It might also offend the other vampire, of course, but, under the circumstances, Brick was less concerned about that.
He should be angry.
Dorian had disappeared for days.
He’d allowed their youngest, a newborn, in fact, and a new newborn at that, to disappear for days. He’d allowed that same newborn to conduct a veritable rampage throughout the city of Paris, one noticeable enough to hit all of the major newspapers, and likely to attract the attention of Black’s seers still operating on this continent, if not Lucky Lucifer’s.
All of this occurred under Dorian’s watch.
All of this occurred after Dorian specifically assured Brick he would handle Naoko’s preliminary training personally, that he would do so because no one else could be trusted to do it as well or as thoroughly as Dorian could do it.
This complete and abysmal failure of Dorian in this task of training Brick’s new charge––nay, the newest addition to his family––should have angered him.
Instead, Brick’s primary reaction kept wanting to edge into humor.
In fact, he found it quite uncomfortable to sit there, forcing his face into a serious pose to keep his amusement from the other vampire’s awareness. It grew increasingly uncomfortable the longer he looked at the vampire sitting across from him on the leather settee.
Some of it might have been the complete and utter incongruity of who and what had failed, and the sheer, unassailable totality of that failure.
Dorian didn’t fail.
Dorian never failed.
Brick was relatively certain he’d never seen him look quite this, well… disheveled, either.
Dorian’s face remained its normal, immovable mask of neutrality. His irises remained the dark scarlet they always were, his blood and mind in that perpetual state of arousal he appeared to always maintain, if on an invisible, internal level.
His clothes were impeccable, as always.
His blond hair had been cut recently, short on the sides and back, longer on top.
But none of that erased the half-healed cuts littering his face and other visible areas of his skin. Brick witnessed cuts on Dorian’s forehead, by one eye, on his lips, across one cheek, on his neck, at the top of his chest.
Bruises also marred the usual flawlessness of Dorian’s appearance. Dark-blue marks faded on his throat. A larger one darkened one side of his long jaw. Brick also glimpsed a long tear up the inside of Dorian’s wrist and inner arm through his clothes, as well as a deeper, healing cut on the knuckles of his other hand.
He hadn’t missed the deep bite mark on Dorian’s upper shoulder, either.
Brick had seen Dorian fight multiple vampires at once.
He’d seen him take out seers, humans bearing assault rifles, highly-trained assassins, even vampires that fit several of those categories.
If he didn’t know the truth of it, he would have assumed Dorian had been jumped by at least four or five military-trained seer infiltrators. He likely would have assumed at least a few of those infiltrators came bearing those green-metal, otherworldly weapons Charles’ people had been laboring to design and produce for the past dozen or so years.
Dorian watched Brick appraise him.
If he noted Brick’s amusement at the state he was in, he did not react.
The blond vampire’s expression never changed.
“Dare I ask… status?” Brick said finally, keeping the amusement out of his voice with an effort. “I have to say, it’s been a few days since you’ve graced me with a report, brother Dorian.”
Dorian’s face did not move.
Lifting one foot off the floor, he crossed his ankle elegantly over one knee.
“Yes,” he said simply. “I apologize for that, my king.”
Brick nodded, his lips still pursed.
Again, as much as he wanted to be annoyed, he struggled with it.
“And?” Brick said. “Is our beloved Naoko back at home? Safe and sound?”
“He is safe. He is entirely unharmed.”
Brick’s eyebrows rose. “Really? Unharmed? Entirely unharmed, you say?”
“Ah. I see.”
Again, Brick paused.
Again, Dorian offered no additional information.
“And… dare I ask…?” Brick ventured delicately. “Where is he exactly?”
“In my room.”
“Ah.” Brick nodded, keeping his expression thoughtful.
When Dorian didn’t elaborate, Brick made his voice politely inquisitive.
“Secured, I hope? Despite his current condition?” At Dorian’s silence, Brick prodded him again, his voice still light. “You must understand my concern, beloved brother, given the events of the past few days. Is he truly secure this time? Or is he likely to have left the building before our conversation here is finished?”
“He is in a cage,” Dorian said.
“A… cage?”
“Yes.” Dorian adjusted his long body in the settee, but didn’t blink, or change expression. “It is iron. I had it built by a blacksmith. From Pierrefonds. It was delivered in my absence, and is now located in my room.” Pausing, he added, “It is sufficiently strong. With a lock he cannot pick. I possess the only key. He is also cuffed to it. With iron bonds.”
Suppressing a smile, Brick fought not to laugh aloud.
He coughed to cover it, then cleared his throat until his expression was back under his control. Looking up at his second, he furrowed his brow and nodded seriously, leaning back in the leather swivel chair that stood behind the massive, aged-oak desk. Balancing backwards on the same chair, he folded his hands across the front of his chest, narrowing his gaze at his second in command, his most favored and loyal lieutenant.
Dorian still had not changed expression.
“And?” Brick prompted, when Dorian did not go on. “How long do you propose to keep our naughty Naoko in this iron cage you had built for him?”
One side of Dorian’s lips quirked.
It was the first ripple Brick noted in the other’s placid veneer.
“That is why I am here,” Dorian said. He rested his pale hands on the settee, stroking the dark red fabric with his long, if currently cut and bruised fingers. “I would like to discuss alternate approaches to Naoko’s training.”
TO BLACK WITH LOVE: Quentin Black Mystery #10 Page 10