All she did was stare up at him, resolute.
He was close enough to grab her, close enough to do what had to be done, but … he didn’t. What the hell was wrong with him? She reached out and touched him. Her hand settled gently on his cheek and rested there, where Phillip Stargel had patted him. Her fingers moved, gently. “Remember,” she whispered. “Remember what it was like to be human, to love, to do anything to protect your family the way I’ve tried to protect mine.”
And he did, in a rush of almost forgotten emotion that nearly dropped him to his knees.
“I’m ready to die, Sorin,” Nevada said. “I’ve accepted that. But my family … save them. It’s my dying wish. You owe me that much.”
“I owe you nothing,” he said, his voice low and rasping.
She ignored his words, showing neither fear nor sorrow. Serene, trembling very slightly, she closed her eyes and tipped her head back and to the side, offering him her throat. The scent of her, of her skin and her breath and the blood on her finger, drifted up to taunt him, to rouse his hunger—and his memories, memories that were best left buried.
Laughing children, a loving wife, the comfort of a warm fire at the end of a long day. Contentment … yes, dammit, he had once been content.
And now he was damned.
Fuck it. He’d never liked the bitch queen anyway. “Let’s go,” he said, grabbing Nevada’s arm and dragging her toward the door. She tripped along, unsteady, surprised. And judging by the expression on her face, very annoyed.
In the past three years Nevada had seen glimpses of the hallway outside her door, and she’d visited some rooms and passageways via remote viewing, but the rest of the big house had always been a mystery to her. It wasn’t as if she’d seen every detail when she’d walked about in spirit only. She didn’t see much now, as Sorin hustled her down the stairs, past other vamps who didn’t dare to question his right to have her.
The house was very nice, for a vampire lair.
The kitchen he led her into was almost untouched; she recognized the remnants of her own meal—the meal she’d assumed would be her last and had been unable to eat.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked. She had hoped he’d kill her quickly and with a minimum of pain. Nevada realized that she had to die, but that didn’t mean she wanted to hurt.
“I’m letting you go,” Sorin said curtly. “When you’re out the back door, head west. Run. Run as fast as you can and don’t look back.”
She stopped in her tracks. She was nowhere near a match for Sorin, strength-wise, but she caught him by surprise and his hold on her slipped. “You can’t let me go!”
He stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “I don’t understand. I’m risking everything to let you go, and you’re arguing with me?”
She could hardly explain to him that, fully expecting to die, she’d tied the breaking of the spell to her heartbeat. She hadn’t been sure that the bitch would release her family before the spell was broken, so she’d had to make it work. Still, she’d known she was going to die, so attaching the whole shebang to her heartbeat had made sense. The world wouldn’t be vulnerable for more than a few minutes. As soon as she was dead, the spell would be back in force and human homes would once again be safe from vampires.
She hadn’t counted on Sorin actually releasing her. He couldn’t do that! Her best hope had been that he’d help her family. This … this was cruel, because it gave her back the hope she’d lost a long time ago. She really wanted to live, but her survival meant every human in the world was vulnerable. Could she recast the original spell to make home a sanctuary from the vampires? Of course she could, but, God, how long would it take? How many people would die in the meantime?
The world would be a safer place if she died tonight, but she was weaker than she’d thought; she liked the idea of living, of finding her family and keeping them safe. She wanted to see the sun again, fall in love, laugh, lose herself in a silly movie or a sad book.
“Never mind,” she said. “I’ll go. Thanks. Which way is west? Just point.”
Sorin’s eyes narrowed, and he moved so he effectively blocked her path. “What are you up to?”
“Do you really want to know?” She’d been right about him, after all. He could’ve killed her, he was supposed to have killed her, but he hadn’t been able to do it. She’d been right in seeing more in him, in sensing the more that lay beneath his skin, behind his eyes.
He surprised her then, at a time and in a place she thought held no more surprises. The vampire who’d kidnapped her, held her prisoner, threatened her and her family, and in the end saved her, took her face in his hands, leaned down, and placed his lips on her forehead. She was sure he also inhaled deeply.
Nevada held her own breath for a moment, and a moment was all she had. An explosion of glass and an unearthly scream from the front of the house interrupted the gentle kiss. Moving so fast she felt as if she were flying, Sorin carried her a few feet to the left and all but threw her into a small storage space beneath the back stairs. She grunted and her arm slammed against the wooden wall as she landed. The door slammed, and Nevada found herself trapped in a small place, in complete darkness, while outside her new prison what sounded very much like war raged.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Anything might be happening out there, anything at all. But was it possible that the net she’d cast had caught a hero or two, after all?
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
Three vampires and one human attacking a stronghold filled with an unknown number of rebels was ridiculous, but Luca didn’t see that he had any choice. Surprise was the best advantage they had. It wasn’t the first time in his long life that he’d gone into battle against long odds.
He would’ve given anything to have a safe place to leave Chloe, but like it or not the safest place for her was with him, no matter where he had to be, even if that place was here.
Duncan had always had a flair for the dramatic. He leapt through a large bay window, glass shattering as he gave one of his demonic yells. Isaac was a little less flamboyant, and was satisfied to burst through the front door.
Luca was right behind them, his senses on full alert as he homed in on the center of the energy that filled the house. The sharp pang of a hunger for power pulsed from beneath his feet, and it was so close, familiar. For a moment he was washed in that energy, and the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. He should’ve known. She’d always wanted more, for herself and for the kindred.
The vampires in the house weren’t prepared for attack. This wasn’t the time they’d planned to begin the fight in earnest, and they certainly hadn’t expected resistance from their own kind. Many of them were new, new to rebellion and to the life of a vampire. They were all unarmed—thinking themselves safe here, thinking they had time before they launched their attack. They were confused by the sight of three vampires and a human woman who wielded a flashlight and a sword, both rather clumsily.
Before the rebels gathered their wits and were able to fight back, Luca was swinging his sword. With attackers coming from all directions, a properly wielded blade was the most efficient weapon; he could use his unnatural strength to its fullest. Eventually he might need the shotgun and the handguns, but those weapons operated at human speed, and sometimes they weren’t fast enough. The sword was a part of him, an extension of his body. He’d been fighting with a sword since before he’d turned ten.
In the wide foyer, the formally decorated parlor, and the hallway splintering off the center of the house, bodies tangled in battle. Luca counted himself lucky that so far those they faced were young and inexperienced, as well as ill-prepared. Chloe’s flashlight was effective on fledglings who were still so sensitive to light; it was enough to keep them away from her, which was all that was necessary.
Even when the rebels realized what was happening and attempted to defend themselves, they failed. None were as battle-trained as the three vampires who fought like whirl
ing dervishes, at the same time doing their best to keep Chloe in the middle of them.
Between them, Isaac and Duncan had fought in almost as many battles as Luca had, and like him they’d served the Council in past years, as hunters or bodyguards. Like Luca, they saw the value in maintaining the secrecy of their existence. They also enjoyed a good fight now and then, and good fights were hard to come by in a modern world.
Swords flashed, slicing through vampire flesh, sending rebels to blood and then to dust. They didn’t attempt to wound their opponents but inflicted only killing blows.
Beyond the bloodshed and the dust, Luca caught sight of a familiar head of blond hair, as Sorin ran from the rear part of the house and disappeared through a doorway, shutting the solid wooden door behind him. Given the energy Luca felt, the surging power beneath his feet, that door probably opened on a stairwell that would lead down to a basement. Running wasn’t like Sorin; if anything, he loved a fight as much as Luca did. There had to be an important reason for Sorin to head away from a battle.
He moved in that direction. A young vampire, young in all ways, flew down the stairs from the right and leapt toward Luca, fangs extended, hands clawlike as he attempted to strike. It wasn’t even a challenge to take the fledgling’s head. As Luca fought, he worked his way toward the door where Sorin had gone. Chloe remained close, but not so close that he had to worry about catching her with the tip of his sword. The blade he swung was never beyond his control.
Among the three of them, they dispatched most of the rebel soldiers who’d been on this level of the house when they’d attacked, but more continued to pour in. Reinforcements had been called, through shouts and mental powers and even cell phones; some of them had been close by. Though they weren’t the strongest of their kind they were soldiers, ready to fight to the end. Luca decided two competent fighters could handle the incoming, if those two were battle-trained.
He turned to Duncan. “Block the doorway. No one comes or goes.” He jerked open the door. As he’d suspected, it opened onto a plain, steep stairwell. Chloe pressed close to his back, so close she was a part of him. He knew precisely where she was standing, and whether or not anyone was targeting her. He was struck by the certainty that it was meant to be just that way. Just before he closed the door behind them, he caught a glimpse of Duncan and Isaac taking up their stances near the doorway. Luca didn’t know what he’d find below, other than the woman he’d come here looking for, and he didn’t know how many other entrances to the basement there might be, but no reinforcements would take these stairs up or down, not as long as Duncan and Isaac survived.
They’d fought tougher battles than this one.
“Oh my God, oh my God,” Chloe muttered as they hurried down the stairs, but she didn’t hesitate, didn’t drop down and hide her face in her hands and wail. He wanted to laugh, he wanted to stop and kiss her until she was breathless. She had no idea how brave she was. He’d tell her so, when this fight was over.
They reached the bottom of the stairs. This was no cluttered, utilitarian basement. It was cut into hallways and rooms and was larger than most homes. Though he didn’t see Sorin or any others waiting for him, he knew they were close by. He sensed their presence, and probably at least a few of them sensed his. He wouldn’t remain undetected for very long, so he might as well not even try to hide.
He lifted his sword into position, drawn back and ready to swing. It was perfect for taking heads, which was what he intended to do. He wasn’t even going to give the traitor a chance at a fair fight, he was going to take her out as if she were a rabid wolf. The uprising depended on her. With her dead, it would roll to a stop. With the revolution halted there would be no reason for the warriors to come in at all, and therefore no reason for Chloe to be hunted. That alone was reason enough to fight.
Sorin was furious; furious with Regina, with Nevada, with himself. He’d believed in the cause, fought for it, killed for it many times over. But lately he’d been having nagging doubts, inexplicable moments of weakness: first Phillip Stargel, now Nevada. Dammit all to hell, all humans were not created equal. Some deserved protection. Some were good for nothing but serving as a source of food. Did they have to protect all in order to save some?
When Nevada had touched his face and said “remember,” he had. He didn’t know if she’d cast a spell on him or if it was simply the scent so similar to his daughter’s that had brought the memories flooding back. It was more than the face of a child he’d adored, more than memories of his human life, good and bad. He remembered love. He recalled intensely how it felt, how it flooded his being and made everything else seem unimportant.
He didn’t know what he was going to do, but he couldn’t go on this way. Maybe he could get Nevada to a safe place, then simply disappear. He was through with Regina, with this war, but he wasn’t a soldier who would desert in the middle of battle.
He found Regina in Jonas’s prison cell, as he’d thought he would. With warriors coming in and more and more conduits being awakened, Jonas’s job had become even more important than before.
“Warriors?” she snapped as soon as she saw Sorin.
“Luca,” he said. “And others, including the conduit he’s taken up with.”
Regina whirled and glared at Jonas. “You didn’t tell me there was a conduit in my own house!”
“My senses are overwhelmed,” Jonas said, shrugging his thin shoulders. Sorin could hear the deep weariness that was so pronounced tonight. Jonas didn’t have a lot more to give; he was all but spent.
Regina looked at the maps around her, and Sorin did the same. But for one, all the pins in the maps were white and black, representing conduits killed and warriors who’d arrived. The one green pin was stuck in D.C., and though the map wasn’t detailed enough to indicate it, he knew the conduit represented by that green pin was in this very house.
Her face twisted with rage. Her movements so quick they were a blur, Regina whipped a long, narrow-bladed knife from the sheath that hung against her hip, and buried it deep in Jonas’s heart. She pulled it out, stabbed it deep again, then again.
“You’re no good to me if you can’t keep up when things get tough,” she said viciously. “You’re useless if you can’t tell me when traitors are at my door!”
Jonas hung there for a moment, his gaze dulling even as he looked at Sorin—not for help, it was too late for that—but with a deeply sad expression of pleading in his eyes. Stop her. Then he went to dust.
Sorin looked down at the pitiful heap of empty clothes. This was the end of the line for him, and he knew it. If Regina would so easily kill someone who was still useful, someone who had, as far as she knew, served her well and faithfully, then no one was safe, not him, not anyone. Her eyes glittered red as she kicked at what was left of Jonas, that small pile of clothes and dust. No one was safe from her.
And he’d helped her get to this point. He’d commanded her army, killed conduits, and been instrumental in planning the attacks that were still to come. He’d taken Nevada and her family, cajoled and bullied his little witch into doing what was necessary. He’d set aside the fact that she smelled and looked like the daughter he’d left behind when he’d been turned, the daughter he’d watched from afar for as long as he’d dared.
Some humans—like Phillip Stargel, like Nevada … like Diera—deserved to be preserved and protected. Regina, self-named queen, would preserve no one if she had her way, he could see that now. To her, everyone was expendable.
“I have to join the fight,” he said, and as the words left his mouth they took on new meaning. Could he take her here and now? She still held the knife, and she was stronger than she appeared to be. She was older than he, and she was blood born. It might be worth the risk, but if he died here, in an unarmed and unplanned attempt to kill her, who would get Nevada out of the house? Diera had grown up without the protection of her father; he wouldn’t leave Nevada that vulnerable.
He didn’t have to fight against the revolution; he
just had to walk away. Luca or a warrior would take care of the queen, sooner or later.
Sorin gave Regina a crisp bow and left the room. He walked down a short hallway and stopped, listening; there was a fight taking place ahead of him. He couldn’t reach the stairway without taking this hall, and the way was blocked by an ongoing battle. He hesitated, then shrugged. What the hell.
He rounded the corner, paused to take in the situation. Luca Ambrus fought three rebel vampires; he was armed to the teeth, but he didn’t need weapons to be lethal. Luca was all but washed in blood and dust. He’d killed a lot of vampires in a very short period of time and he wore the evidence all over him.
The conduit Chloe Fallon also held a weapon, though she was obviously unskilled with it. The blood of the kindred had splattered across her clothing, here and there, but it was obvious Luca had been placing himself between her and danger.
Why had he brought her here? Was he trying to get her killed? At the moment Luca was keeping himself solidly between the rebels and the conduit, but more soldiers were headed this way, so he couldn’t keep it up indefinitely. She had her back to a wall, but there were pockets of opportunity that a rebel was sure to take advantage of sooner or later.
One soldier managed to slip around Luca, and the Fallon woman pointed a flashlight at his face and turned it on. The vampire screamed, dropped his knife, and lifted his hands to cover his eyes as he spun away, useless in the fight for the moment. Not a normal flashlight then, and a fairly effective defensive tool.
Nevada could use one of those …
The blinded soldier drifted too far to one side and was wounded by the wildly swinging blade of another rebel. When he floundered and stumbled into a dangerous path, Luca took his head.
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