And there, sitting atop a monument that put him above the others’ heads, was Specter. A tall man, wiry and well-built, raven’s-wing black hair tied back behind his head.
Sebastian paused on seeing him again. Something, he could not say what, felt as though it crashed into him when he laid eyes on Specter for the first time in decades. He shook it off, disturbed, and moved forward again. Specter remained exactly as Sebastian recalled him. Not simply a result of immortality, but also in his posture, his expression.
He has learned nothing in the time I have been away.
And yet, neither had Sebastian, beyond what his own heart held. The workings of his heart would not keep him alive tonight.
“Cain!” Specter greeted, loudly, jovially.
Sebastian glanced up at him, then around at the others who had started to form a loose circle around them. He stayed ten paces from the monument Specter perched on, watching.
“Sebastian,” he corrected, instead of responding in kind.
Specter made a rude face. “Oh, so you’ve gone and changed your name. As if that changes who you are.”
Sebastian said nothing.
Specter waited for him to respond, sighing theatrically when he didn’t. “I suppose I must yield to these little idiosyncrasies, Sebastian. A rose by any other name is still a killer, after all.” He waited for that to have some impact. When it didn’t, he sighed again, more frustrated this time. “Don’t you even have a hello for your old master? Or are you more concerned with the whelp?”
Aha. As he thought. Specter was interested in Ian. Almost definitely the one who had sent the shape-changer.
“I have nothing to say to you, Specter. I came in answer to your challenge.”
There. It was out. He had accepted challenge before, issued many himself, fought and won against vampire and mortal. Never against Specter. Though he had not entertained the notion of refusing the challenge, accepting it out loud nonetheless gave the impression of a difficult decision resolved.
Specter smiled, pretending to surprise. He jumped down from his throne easily, landing with a light thud in the grass before Sebastian. Sebastian waited to see if Specter would draw his weapon. They had been nearly evenly matched when Sebastian left. Part of him wondered if he had improved enough to defeat the one who had taught him. Another part of him did not believe in his chances.
Instead of drawing his sword, Specter cocked his head to one side. “What is she to you, Cain? She’s little more than a child. You aren’t . . . nibbling on her?” He made an almost worried face.
Sebastian refused to move.
Specter breathed a mock sigh of relief. “I hope not. She can’t have left her Daddy too long ago.” His eyes flashed wickedly.
A small growl rumbled deep in Sebastian’s throat. Playing at insults. He remembered this game. Specter needed to prove that he had the upper hand, a quicker wit, plenty of information. Knowing it was only talk did not lessen the anger.
“I believe you know enough about her,” Sebastian said. “I am here to answer challenge.”
Specter stabbed an angry finger in the air between them. “I may know enough, Cain, but do you? You must know who her father was? What went on? What he did?”
“I have nothing to say to you, Specter,” Sebastian repeated. “I do not believe you have anything to say that I care to hear.”
“You’re a traitor,” Specter tossed off. “A murderer of your own pack.”
Sebastian narrowed his eyes against the verbal slap. Forced himself to lift his shoulders in a shrug that he did not feel. “So the shape-changer was one of yours,” he said. “Interesting.” He had not guessed until tonight that his pack might be involved with either Ian or Kent.
“You swore allegiance to us, Cain. That brat’s father murdered your packmates. We killed him, finally, at long last, and she deserves to die with him.” Specter hissed the last words.
Sebastian did not move. That Kent had killed members of his own pack – he had not known – when? When had this happened?
“She is my ward.” He announced it clearly, giving no hint to his thoughts.
Specter’s eyes narrowed. “Your ward. Now that is a twist. When have you ever taken a ward? Does she know you, Cain? Who you’ve killed, how many? How you enjoyed it? Does she know her family and yours are enemies?”
Sebastian refused to shudder. He ignored the memories that cried out to him, focused on Specter. “She knows enough.”
Specter spat, reached for his blade. “Draw your sword, Cain. I want to see what you’ve learned since you abandoned us.”
Another verbal slap. Sebastian sneered, fangs bared. Specter pinned him with black eyes, hungry for a fight.
I have no love for him.
It was almost a new realization. Almost. He knew. Had known for too long. In one smooth motion Sebastian drew his sword and lunged.
His first stroke met Specter’s block with a clang of metal. With all Sebastian’s weight, all his strength thrown behind that stroke, Specter caught it and held it. For one second, they stood face-to-face with their blades between them. With a twist of his lips, Specter chuckled and spun.
Sebastian had to bring his sword up fast to block the blow that came. He caught it, barely, before it could slash across his neck. He shoved Specter off and swung for him again, was blocked, again. This time he whirled, brought the sword up under Specter’s guard, aiming for his abdomen. In the same move, Specter knocked Sebastian’s blade aside with his free hand and brought his sword in at Sebastian’s neck.
His sword was too far away to bring in to block. Sebastian brought his free arm up and took the blade with it rather than his neck. Bone cracked as the blade connected, embedding itself in his forearm through the coat. He pulled back to free his arm, and caught Specter’s fist in the face, a punch that shattered his nose. Sebastian back-pedaled out of range, but Specter stayed with him, refusing to give him an inch.
Specter was a move ahead of him. If Sebastian couldn’t regain the even ground they’d started on he would lose. He clenched his jaw and dove forward into Specter’s reach, but rather than taking a blow, he shot past and spun –
– just in time to watch Specter’s blade come flying towards him.
It was too close, too fast –
– he’s faster than me –
Sebastian took it in the face, a blow that made his broken nose flare. He back-pedaled again, then dove forward before he had entirely recovered. Specter deflected the blow meant for his neck, but took the punch that followed, and the kick. Specter’s cheek crunched under Sebastian’s fist, his shin cracked under Sebastian’s boot.
Specter’s unbroken leg, however, shot up to connect with Sebastian’s face, a blow that knocked him off balance, which Specter followed with a stab of his sword. The blow struck Sebastian square in the abdomen. He felt the blade penetrate, felt it come to rest against his spine. He stumbled and fell back, sliding off the blade.
Then it hurt, after the shock of the penetration, the grating of his body coming loose. He landed hard on the ground, the pain screaming in the back of his mind in one high note. He rolled to one side, but the crack of Specter’s hilt against his head stopped him. Stars shot across his vision as his body ceased to obey him, stunned into stillness for one precious second.
Specter’s cold blade settled across the side of his neck, the sharpened edge sliding into his skin, just lightly, just enough to hold him where he lay.
Lost.
Sebastian clenched his jaw. His hands curled into fists that would not come undone.
Lost.
And now the end.
“You’ve grown soft.” Specter spat it, glaring down at him.
He could not move. Specter held the sword point to his throat as a collector might hold a pin to a beetle. If he moved, the blade would go through him, pinning him to the ground as surely as that. Face pressed half to the ground, Sebastian watched his former master for the chance to move.
The end of the
sword blade sank an inch into his flesh, burning where it slid. He grit his teeth and refused to take his eyes from Specter’s. Those black eyes bore down on him. Merciless.
“I should kill you,” Specter muttered.
“Then do so.” Sebastian’s voice was muffled by the ground against his face. “If you do not, I will only come for you again.”
“I think not.” Specter twisted the blade.
The already burning wound screamed with fire. It flared up his neck to his jaw, down his shoulder and into his arm. Sebastian ground his teeth together and glared up at Specter. If Specter meant such amateurish torture to cow his former pupil, he would be sadly disappointed.
“You have one chance to redeem yourself, Cain the Traitor,” Specter said.
“I am not interested,” Sebastian growled.
The blade twisted again, sending pain howling along his neck and into his arm. He felt tendons snap. His fist loosened its grip on his sword against his will.
“You will bring the girl Ian to me. Within a week.”
Twist.
“If you do not, I will hunt her down myself.”
Twist. The blade worked its way deeper, growing dangerously close to slipping all the way through Sebastian’s neck. From there, it would only be a quick motion to remove his head entirely.
“The death I give her should you bring her to me will be quick. Painless, even. You will be welcomed back into our number, redeemed. But, should you refuse –”
Twist.
“– you will share her fate. Which shall be neither quick –”
Twist.
“– nor painless.”
The blade had gone through Sebastian’s neck now. If he took a breath, he would feel the air whistle past it through his windpipe. The wound burned all the way through, like a sword heated to glowing red had been pushed through him.
In one swift move, Specter pulled the blade up and out, freeing Sebastian – except that the tendons leading to his sword arm had been severed. He could feel them coiling up under his skin, unanchored. His arm was as useless as a club. He could use a blade just as skillfully with his left hand, but his left arm lay pinned beneath his own body.
Specter offered his left hand, eyebrows lifted gracefully. Sebastian ignored it and levered himself up with his good arm, gathering his sword with it as he did.
“Sheath it, Cain,” Specter ordered. The others of the pack closed in, their own weapons drawn and ready.
With another growl, Sebastian shoved the blade into its sheath. More than one he could take. Five plus Specter – the fight would be shorter than his match with Specter alone.
Specter stood before him, his weight on his unbroken leg, his face innocently curious. “Do you understand the terms I have set before you, Cain?”
Sebastian glowered.
Specter waved his hands at him, rolling his eyes. “Oh come now, how much can she mean to you? As much as your pack? Your sworn family?” He smiled again, a pompous leer that grated to Sebastian’s soul.
And with that his former instructor turned and left, limping just slightly on the leg Sebastian had broken.
As he had expected, the others flitted away as quickly, vanishing into the shadows. He could have followed. Gone after them one at a time, picked them apart. He wanted to. Wanted to watch them fall –
But taking any of them now would only mean facing Specter again. And that, he had just discovered, he could not do.
Anger seething in his belly as hot as the wound through his throat, he turned and took himself away from the cemetery.
IAN
One second I was asleep, the next, wide awake.
I sat up in bed with a gasp. I didn’t recognize my own room at first. I had thrown myself sideways in my sleep.
Home – my room – facing funny. It’s okay – all okay.
I started to lay back, relax, let myself wake up more slowly.
And then I remembered last night. Amanda. Sebastian.
We’d waited up for Sebastian until very close to sunrise. He never came back. I’d dreamed about him last night, walking through a graveyard, followed by shadows. I didn’t want to think about that too hard. Between nightmares about him and worrying about Amanda, I’d had an awful day’s sleep.
Amanda. Josephine had carried her downstairs last night. She lifted Amanda like she would’ve lifted Gypsy. My heart had leaped into my mouth when she’d done that, thinking it couldn’t be good if Amanda had lost that much weight. But Amanda hadn’t lost any weight. Josephine was just that strong.
We stripped off her filthy clothes and put her to bed in Kent’s room. Josephine left in the pre-dawn gray, both of us frowning at the thin light. We didn’t say anything, but I knew she was worried about Sebastian, too.
Where had he gone? What had happened?
And if he had been . . . if he had been killed, how long did we have until they came for us?
Tears sprang to my eyes at the thought. The idea of never seeing Sebastian again.
Face and eyes sore, I got up and dragged my feet to the bathroom. Some cold water to the face and a clean change of clothes made me start to feel bipedal again. I left my room, stepped over Gypsy, and went to Kent’s room. I needed to see Amanda.
The door was still shut, so at least she probably hadn’t gone wandering around in the daylight.
If she’d even been able to wake up during the daylight.
I hadn’t, not for months after Kent turned me. The change really knocked you flat.
I listened at the door, putting my ear to it gently. Gypsy chirped and ran up the stairs behind me. After that I didn’t hear anything. No sounds of anyone moving. Shifting. Dreaming.
With a sigh I turned the doorknob and let myself in as quietly as I could. The room was black-on-black. My vision must have started improving. I should have been blind. From the shape of the shadows, I guessed Amanda was still in bed. I could smell her, jasmine and patchouli mixed with blood. Her smell had already started to overlay Kent’s.
I stared across the room at the black bed for a long second, thinking, what now? She was here. Nothing other than the obvious had happened to her since I fed her my blood. Maybe I should get out and wait for her to wake up. She probably wouldn’t sleep all night. Just some of it.
As I turned to leave, she rolled over in the bed. A suss of skin on sheets. I paused with my hand on the doorknob.
“Jen?” Her voice sounded thick and slow.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
She rolled over again, stretched and sighed. “I had the weirdest dream,” she started, then stopped. I stood where I was, facing the door.
“Jen?” she said. “Jen, what happened last night?”
I didn’t run.
“It was all I could think of.” The words stuck in my throat. “It was all I could think to do.”
The room got so quiet that I heard her inhale to speak.
“What?” she asked, her voice tight. “What was all you could think to do?”
This was even harder than I’d imagined.
“I . . . I . . .” I didn’t know how to tell her without making it sound melodramatic or awful or confusing. “I changed you.”
Another silence.
“What does that mean?” she asked at last.
It means you’re dead, it means you have to drink blood, it means you can’t ever go home to Mom and Dad again . . .
“It means I changed you . . . into a vampire.”
I waited for some kind of response, biting my lip, eyes closed.
She stayed totally still. I took a step toward her. “I’m sorry,” I said. She didn’t answer. I took another step.
“I’m sorry.”
Step.
“I’m sorry.”
Step.
Until I knelt beside the bed, grasping for her hand, not apologizing – begging for forgiveness. And no matter how many times I said it, it meant nothing. I might as well have repeated my name, or a joke, or the weather. It would have b
een as pointless. With no permission, in a panicked moment, I had utterly changed everything about her life and I was sorry?
She found my hand and grabbed it up. “It’s okay. Really.” Her voice was small. “Just – just, when they broke into the house – when that guy jumped me –” she took a trembly breath. My hands shook, too. “I thought, you know, when it happened, I thought, I believed you. And I wasn’t going to get to tell you that. God – Jen, I died last night! I remember dying.”
I tried not to picture it too clearly. “I know.” Holding her hand felt the same as mine. Last night it had been warm. “I know.”
Her hand squeezed mine gently, then went still. She didn’t say anything else.
“Are you angry?” I whispered at last.
Her hand squeezed my fingers. “I don’t . . . I don’t know. I don’t know what to feel at all.”
“It takes getting used to.” That sounded lame out loud, but it was true.
“I think I’m just going to stay here for a while, if that’s okay. I wanna think.”
“Okay.” I squeezed her fingers again before I stood up. “Love you, Manda.”
“Love you.”
I let myself out of her room with the strangest feeling. Like floating a few inches above my body. I recognized it after a second.
I’m scared. This isn’t how this should have happened.
How what should have happened? Turning my little sister? That “shouldn’t have” happened at all.
Little late to worry about it now, isn’t it?
I sighed. Yeah.
Shaking my head, I trudged up the stairs.
PENTHOUSE
Sebastian opened his eyes on his darkened room and opened his senses to it entirely. If anyone had tracked him home, followed him to his sanctuary . . .
But he heard no one in his room, nor in the rooms beyond. Only the normal sounds of the apartment.
He got up, dressed, and went to the practice room. His injuries had healed, but the anger that threatened to scorch him had not. In the practice room he picked up his staff, swung it around once, and caught himself in the mirror.
His face was pulled back into a wolfish snarl that surprised him when he saw it. It did not look like himself.
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