by Aja James
Finally, after an interminable period of time, during which she barely breathed, because she was that in awe of the female carrying Devlin and because the situation seemed to require the solemnity, the double doors of the elevator opened, revealing their destination.
And what a destination it was.
The female warrior exited the elevator with Devlin in long, confident strides, but Grace shuffled her feet slowly behind, slightly overwhelmed by everything she was taking in.
They were apparently in the Chrysler Crown, which Grace thought had long ago been closed to visitors. But someone had invested a great deal of money to build a veritable palace within the Crown that took up three floors in height and square footage.
A magnificently opulent, gigantic Great Hall rose thirty feet from the floor to meet at the intricately decorated point of a vaulted dome, surrounded on all sides by floor to ceiling triangular windows, alternating with ribbed and riveted stainless-steel cladding, radiating outwards in the world-famous sunburst pattern.
Toward the far end of what could only be called a throne room, sat an enormous Chinese styled…well…throne. The palatial chamber also contained a variety of seating arrangements, thick, plush rugs and jeweled ornaments. Ornate, but not ostentatious. Lavish, yet tasteful.
And upon the luxurious throne sat the most beautiful woman Grace had ever seen. No one else was present.
Aesthetically speaking, the alchemy of her features did not produce perfection, but rather a mesmerizing collection of imperfections that gave her beauty a fragility that haunted, enchanted—seduced.
The female warrior who still carried Devlin in her arms said something Grace couldn’t hear to the woman on the throne.
“Take him to the healing chamber and set up the transfusion. I shall be along shortly to see to him myself.”
Grace was able to hear the Great Beauty’s words now that she was close enough.
“I need to go with him,” she spoke up, before the Amazon could take off with Devlin, and realized belatedly upon receiving a gimlet glare from the Great Beauty that perhaps she’d spoken out of turn.
“And who might you be, human?” GB (as Grace shortened Great Beauty in her head) asked softly. Strange, that softness could menace.
“My name is Grace Darling,” Grace answered at face value. “Devlin and I are…friends.”
“Are you indeed,” GB said this more like a statement, less like a question.
Grace nodded. “He got injured while defending me from some sort of shadowy assassins. If he needs blood to recover, he can take mine.”
“How generous of you to offer,” GB demurred, then added, “But in his current state, I’m afraid he would drain you dry—as in dead—if he were to take you up on it.”
“Oh.” Grace felt oddly disappointed that Devlin wouldn’t be taking her blood, and alarmingly, she wasn’t so worried by the “drain you dead” part.
But apparently, GB had come to a conclusion in those couple minutes of conversing with Grace. She whispered some more instructions to the Amazon carrying Devlin, who promptly began marching out the throne room.
As she did so, she jerked her head toward Grace, indicating that Grace was to follow. And Grace hurriedly did so, not looking back at GB.
Belatedly, she wondered whether she should have curtsied or bowed or something before departing the Great Beauty’s presence.
In silence, they exited the Crown, going down a curved corridor and a set of spiral stairs, reaching a nexus of hallways that contained many doors. The female warrior walked purposefully down one hallway and entered one unmarked door that looked like all the rest.
They arrived at some sort of clinic, the “healing chamber” GB had mentioned. It was a lot more luxurious than the grandest of hospital suites. Everything was pristine white, Grace could tell, even with the lights dimmed to a low setting. There were windows carved into the walls, but nothing to look out at. Grace supposed they were more for looking in, like observation windows.
With soundless efficiency, the Amazon got Devlin hooked up to some monitors and bags of blood on a mechanical bed that looked too comfortable for its purpose, like one of those deluxe adjustable Sleep Number beds.
If ever Grace was this incapacitated, she’d like to book a room in this “healing chamber” please.
“He should be awake within twenty-four hours,” the Amazon finally deigned to speak to Grace. “His deep sleep now is his body’s way of conserving energy to mend itself. He’s sustained heavy injuries.”
“But none are fatal?” Grace wanted to make sure.
How did the Amazon even know the extent of injuries Devlin suffered? It wasn’t as if she or anyone else had done a thorough examination. She hadn’t even taken his vitals or felt around his wounds.
The female quirked her lips. “If any were mortal, he’d be a pile of dust by now. But since he is still in his physical form and his body is intact, he will make a full recovery.”
“Oh.” Grace was saying that one paltry word a lot. It was a sound she uttered when she wanted to indicate that she’d heard what was said but that she didn’t really understand the meaning of words.
“So you’re Grace Darling,” the Amazon said, as if embarking on a casual conversation.
“And you are?” Grace asked, slightly annoyed.
If she had the manners to remind others to provide their names, it just went to show how little manners the others had.
“Anastasia Zima, at your service,” she answered with a slight inclination of her head. “I am one of Devlin’s comrade in arms.”
That sounded quite… soldiery, Grace thought. No wonder she conjured up the image of an Amazon warrior.
“And you’re a vampire too, I guess?” Grace ventured, taking a seat in a cushy armchair beside Devlin’s bed.
She was suddenly beyond exhausted. The adrenaline rush that had sustained her thus far ebbed to nothingness and she felt weighed down by worry, fear and uncertainty.
“What gave me away?” Anastasia quipped, baring the tips of her fangs again.
Grace nodded, not because she fully grasped the situation but because the motion of nodding made her feel as if she had more control than she did. Sort of like the advice of smiling to feel happy when you’re sad.
“Tell me exactly, in detail, what happened back there.” Now that the friendly preliminaries were out of the way, Anastasia was all business.
Grace efficiently explained the events as she recalled them. She didn’t know why Devlin happened to be outside her apartment at just the right time; she was just grateful he had been.
“What did they want with you, these shadow assassins?”
“I don’t know,” Grace answered, “I didn’t wait around to ask.”
She gazed unblinkingly at the even rise and fall of Devlin’s chest.
He was still in his tattered clothes, still smeared with blood, but he seemed so calm and contented lying there.
A contrast of black clothes, red blood, golden skin and hair amidst all the sterile white of the bed sheets, pillows and surrounding ivory furniture and décor. He looked like he was submerged in a deep, dreamless slumber.
And as Grace’s eyes fixed on a particularly nasty gash on his forearm, she thought she could see the skin knitting together as if his tissues had taken on a life of their own.
Anastasia regarded her in silence for a long, long time.
Grace distantly wondered what the female was hoping to see in her. Something special to explain why Devlin sought her out?
It certainly wouldn’t be found in her looks, Grace thought. She’d seen two women tonight who surpassed the beauty of all the supermodels and movie stars that had ever graced the giant billboards of Times Square. If this was the type of women Devlin surrounded himself with on a regular basis, he definitely didn’t seek Grace’s company for the visual feast.
“I’m a tech genius,” Grace blurted out, to save the other woman from having to puzzle it out all by herself. “I can
design, build and hack into anything digital.”
“Ah.” This seemed to satisfy Anastasia’s curiosity. “Devlin has been trying to find a way into Zenn’s secure files for the past few months.”
Grace nodded. “He has all of them now.”
Anastasia arched one elegant eyebrow slightly as if to say, “not bad.”
“So you’re an… aide of sorts to Devlin?” the female warrior ventured, still trying to figure out the exact nature of their relationship.
“We’re lovers.”
There.
Grace hurled that out there like throwing down a gauntlet. She raised her eyes from Devlin to stare directly into the other woman’s gaze, locking eyeball to eyeball.
Mine. Grace wanted to say, though the mad desire to lay claim on a man she’d told both to him and herself that she didn’t want to get attached, was a blatant and alarming contradiction.
The other elegant eyebrow lifted too, until both wing-like sable beauties were raised aloft to give the female warrior an expression of both surprise and surrender, as if she heard Grace’s claim on her comrade and forfeited the right to challenge her.
“You must be very proud,” Anastasia said quietly.
For a second Grace thought she was making fun—that someone as ordinary as herself could claim to be lovers with someone as extraordinary as Devlin Sinclair.
But then the warrior added, “Be good to him, Grace Darling. He is well worth keeping.”
Anastasia drew closer to Devlin’s bed side and brusquely checked the monitors and changed out his bags of blood for the transfusion.
Goodness, Grace thought, he’d already used up a half dozen bags! The Great Beauty wasn’t kidding when she said Grace would be drained dead if he took her blood instead.
“This should be enough until he wakes up,” Anastasia said, getting ready to depart the chamber.
“You may stay here if you like,” she told Grace. “There is more than one bed to sleep on. Toilet and shower just in there. I’ll have food and water brought to you shortly. If you need anything else, just say it. The walls are wired for sound. We will hear you no matter where we are.”
How efficient and…creepy.
Grace didn’t ask who “we” referred to. She’d only just met two women in this giant palace.
“Actually, I would like something,” Grace ventured, just as Anastasia was about to step outside the chamber door.
“Could someone bring some clothes, my phone, any one of the laptops on my dining table, and a red notebook from my apartment? It should still be on my bed.”
Anastasia inclined her head.
“And—”
One eyebrow arched again, this time with subtle impatience.
But Grace was not intimidated. She didn’t know how long she would be here and she had her needs.
“Could they also bring my two goldfish and my chinchilla? They’re on a strict feeding schedule.”
Anastasia’s expression did not change, but Grace could almost hear the “are you kidding me” in her thoughts.
Nevertheless, the warrior inclined her head in acquiescence and departed.
Satisfied, Grace turned back to Devlin, her gaze fixing on the gash on his forearm, as if the healing of that wound marked how he was getting along in general.
Remarkable.
The previously puckered flesh around the gash was now smooth and seamlessly pulled together. Only a thin pink line indicated where some sharp object had sliced through his skin and muscle before. The rest of him must be healing quickly too.
Vampires were such fascinating creatures, Grace thought in a scientific vein.
She would ask him many questions when he woke up, but for now, she was bone-weary.
She took hold of the large, long-fingered, gloriously masculine hand attached to that healing forearm in her own much smaller hand and pulled it to rest underneath her cheek as she laid her head on the armrest of her chair and curled into the fetal position to sleep.
*** *** *** ***
Enlil Naram-Anu blended into the shadows of the night and watched as two of Jade Cicada’s well-trained vampire guards gathered some of Grace Darling’s belongings and exited her apartment as if they were never there.
He then became one with the wind and floated in a swirl of black up upon the rooftop terrace. Gathering into solid form again, he surveyed the area for signs of the struggle that took place here only an hour or so before. There was some blood splatter and three black stains upon the concrete ground, as if someone had held three bonfires there.
That was all. None of the dead vampires’ dust remained.
Enlil wasn’t well pleased.
Very few beings had the ability to become shadows. This ability was rare in all the races that he knew. And even when their bodies contained this special gift of qi or energy, it took decades, sometimes centuries, of brutal, relentless training to harness it properly, to manipulate their own bodies and the surrounding air to become so fluid and amorphous, they become one.
Only Enlil himself had ever achieved the ultimate formless state; all others trained in the same arts were at most shadows.
Enlil’s shadow warriors, or shadow ninjas, as they were more often called in the East, ranked among the deadliest and fiercest fighters ever created. Once upon a time, they held the elite privilege of being the Dark Queen’s personal guards. They were also the special forces she sent out to battle when the strike was surgical and required speed and efficiency.
The majority of his army perished during the Great War eons ago. He’d tried to recoup some of the numbers during his time in Asia, for he discovered that a disproportionate amount of that special gift could be found in both vampires and humans from that part of the world.
But after hundreds of years, he’d only managed to successfully train a few dozen shadow warriors, including his half-human son.
Then, one of his earlier human disciples, a truly gifted Master of qi, had set up his own Gakko kage yushi (school of shadow warriors) to counteract the forces that Enlil was building for Medusa. He passed down his arts from generation to generation, forming a secret warrior society that could be called upon to combat chaos and evil.
Enlil’s own son had joined his ranks, even taking on the human Master’s name.
Ryu Takamura was only able to quell the wildfire of fight clubs spreading throughout Asia a year ago through his network of shadow shinobi.
Approximately a dozen of Enlil’s shadow assassins remained today. And he just lost another three.
No, he was not well pleased.
The Mistress commanded all, including him and his warriors, but she had never dispatched his soldiers without involving him. Perhaps in this instance, she knew that he would not have agreed to send them on this task, though he was not certain whether she had intended to capture or kill Grace Darling.
Well. It seemed they were both acting without consulting the other. Enlil knew that she was having him watched. If he were her, he would do the same.
For, after thousands of years of dutiful, unquestioning service, Enlil had started veering from his well-trodden path.
His life, his very blood and body, had ever been inextricably entwined with hers. He’d always thought that they shared one soul, one heart, like the gnarled and twisting giant cherry tree that guarded the gates of his Shinto shrine back in Japan.
But ever so slowly, infinitesimally, since the discovery that he had a son perhaps, if he were to pin point the exact moment of the change, a hair-line fracture had formed and spread at the root of their figurative tree.
He could feel himself desiring, for the first time since he’d devoted himself to her as a young and untried True Blood, to be his own person, with his own mind and purpose, to pull away from the darkness.
She no longer trusted him, it seemed. For good reason. For he had allowed the prisoner to escape. One might argue, if presented all the evidence, that he had even facilitated the prisoner’s escape.
He had
also allowed Ryu Takamura and Ava Monroe to live, taking with them the one-in-a-billion, never-again-replicable sequences now embedded in her not-quite-human DNA.
Enlil gave one last regretful look at the black burn marks on the concrete where his soldiers had perished. Such waste.
Even now, he would not voluntarily go against the Mistress. He would not stand in the way of her plans.
But he would be party to them no longer.
From his back holster, he unsheathed a long, thin blade, flashing silver in the night. Holding both hands around the hilt, the tip pointing down, he bowed his head over his clasped hands and murmured sacred words in an ancient language. The edge of the dagger glinted a pale blue, as if heated by an internal flame.
With one smooth motion, he plunged the dagger into his heart, deeply inside until it reached its ultimate destination, the notch that bound the Mistress and him together.
The white hot blade filled his heart with fire and pain; he could hear the sizzle as it cauterized the wound his devotion to the Mistress had created. And just as swiftly, he pulled it back out of his body, falling weakly to his knees, the wound in his chest gaping and dripping dark blood onto the concrete ground.
It was done, he thought as he fell forward onto his face, his limbs spread limply upon the cold, hard ground, his eyes open but unseeing.
He could feel his body trying to unravel.
Only time would tell if he would retain his physical form and live or if he’d just committed suicide. The severing of a Blooded Bond could go one way or the other, depending on the Bond in question.
Whatever the outcome, he’d made his choice. And now he would live—or die with it.
*** *** *** ***
Devlin awoke sometime during the next night, having slept almost an entire day.
Though he’d been submerged in a deep, healing slumber, he could recall faintly glimpses of what occurred while he’d been mostly unconscious.
He recalled the humiliation of Anastasia carrying him to and fro, something she’d probably tease him mercilessly about for years.