“Can we go now?” she asked, chomping at the bit to leave the narrow prison.
“Yes. Back to the meeting chamber, before your real mate gets there,” Amara replied.
“So, you knew all along that it was Minach that they’d imprisoned?” Trix asked.
“Yes,” said Amara. “I followed you the night we met, remember. I know that your mate smells different. That he doesn’t speak out loud. Lyre is somewhat quieter than this bastard, not to mention less aggressive.”
Trix almost laughed. Somehow, without ever having met them properly, Amara had sized both twins up perfectly.
“All right, so maybe you’re not our enemy,” she admitted as they walked. “But there’s something I’m still confused about. When you and I met on the street…you said something about the Enlightened. What did you mean by that? I assumed that you were some sort of rogue Forsaken. But you do smell…different.”
Amara sighed. “I smell this way because I don’t feed on human blood. Nor will I,” she said. “Not ever. It’s a barbaric ritual, not to mention unnecessary. It turns our kind into monsters, tears away their humanity. Once a Forsaken has gone to that place, it’s impossible to return.”
“But you…you are a Forsaken, yeah? I got that part right, at least?” Trix felt guilty as the words slipped out. It seemed wrong to refer to Amara in such disrespectful terms.
The other woman shook her head. “I would prefer not to be referred to in the same breath as those creatures.”
“You have shifter in you,” said Minach, inhaling deep. “You have the scent. But you’re something else, as well.”
“Jesus, would you two stop talking about my smell? You’re going to give me a sodding complex,” Amara hissed out. “I am a half-breed, just like the Forsaken. As to what makes me different, it’s a long story. Many Forsaken offspring came to be through acts of violence between vampire and shifter. A romantic bond between the two is forbidden and rare. In the old days, half breeds were often the horrible consequence of rape; one species showing its dominance over another through violence. Those who were born to that horrible fate were used as weapons. Raised to hide in shadow, to kill silently. They’re animals who slay for sport. Unleashed on the world like dogs who’ve been caged and starved. They are fed blood when they’re young, given a taste for it. My parents never cursed me with that lust.” Amara’s voice had gone thin, choked, as though the thought of it was too painful to express, but she continued. “My parents were different. They loved one another, though their love was punishable by death. They raised me in secret, far from any Forsaken who might have known what they were up to. They chose to raise me in a home that was as normal as they could provide for me, not to treat me as an instrument of war.”
“Jesus,” Trix breathed. For a millisecond she actually felt pity for the Forsaken, for what genetics had done to them. It wasn’t their fault that they’d been bred as some sort of gruesome experiment, to become living weaponry.
But the feeling dissipated as she thought of Farell on the dark London street, his fangs sinking into a young child. He’d been the essence of malice, and his kind had to be stopped at any cost. The only way to do it was to collect the Relics, to strengthen the Dragons against the threat.
“I’d never even heard of the Forsaken until a few weeks back,” she said quietly. “I didn’t even know they existed. We thought the Lapsed were being commanded by someone, but we didn’t know who it was, or how powerful.”
“There’s a reason that you didn’t know,” Amara replied. “Because the Forsaken were a forbidden species, they stayed concealed for centuries. Always knowing that one day the Dragons would return. So they’ve been saving themselves for this moment, amassing quietly in covens here and there. Killing with impunity, in order to maintain their strength. They intend to take down Dragon-kind and to rule the streets of London and other cities through fear, through a twisted sort of martial law.”
“And so,” said Minach, skeptical. “You’re ever so kindly telling us all of this. Yet you insist that you’re not like them. You’re all rose petals and puppy dog licks and huggy-wuggies, aren’t you?”
Amara shot him a narrow-eyed glance. “I bite just like you do, Dragon. But I was raised not to kill. I was taught to help others. My parents were a shifter and a vampire who were unfortunate enough to care for each other so much that they couldn’t and wouldn’t separate themselves, in spite of the law. They taught me never to kill, except in order to defend myself and anyone else in need. There are others like me, other Enlightened, though they can be difficult to find. They conceal themselves even better than the Forsaken do, for fear of discovery. Maybe I’m not as warm as some, maybe I’m not made up primarily of ‘huggy-wuggies,’ but I am here to help your kind, even at the risk of my own life. So you can stop with your bullshit remarks right now, or face a gash in that smug face of yours when my blade loses its patience with you.”
“A feisty lass,” Minach growled. Trix thought she detected the slightest hint of approval in his voice. “After you’ve helped us, you’ll simply return to your docile life of needlepoint and flower arranging, is that it?”
Trix glared at him. Why the hell was he being so snarky? Amara was their only hope of finding his brother and of getting out of the labyrinth alive.
“I will return to the shadows when we’re done,” said Amara. “Where I’ve remained for many, many years. Don’t worry, you won’t see me again if you don’t want to, Dragon.”
“And no blood, of course, for your nightly dinner,” Minach threw her. “No humans will be harmed in the making of this Enlightened.”
“No human blood shall ever pass my lips.” Amara’s voice remained calm in spite of the constant string of pseudo-accusations from the Dragon shifter. Something told Trix that she’d been through this before, and more than once.
“What if it did?” asked Trix, feeling all of a sudden like an inquisitive six-year-old. “If you did drink blood, would something happen to you?”
“Then I would be corrupted, just as the Forsaken are. As I said, they feed when they’re young. Rather, they’re force-fed blood, even as babies. Human babies drink milk, of course. But the Forsaken…” Amara winced away the thought, as though she’d witnessed the horror of it.
“You said there are more like you?” asked Trix. “More Enlightened?”
“Yes. And they are allies to Dragon kind. No Enlightened is a willing aid of the Forsaken. They’re on your side.”
“Why don’t the Forsaken kill you, or imprison you? They must know you’re not like them,” Trix added. “Surely they don’t trust you.”
“So many questions, child,” Amara said, suddenly letting out a quick laugh. Trix wasn’t sure how she felt about being called “Child.” But then, Amara might have been hundreds of years old for all she knew. “The Forsaken don’t know what I am, not really,” Amara continued. “Their senses are finely tuned in some ways, but not in others. They see any half-breed as an ally, a pawn in their war. They know that the Dragon shifters hate all of us, after all, and so they assume I’m on their side. I’m just another foot-soldier to them. It doesn’t even occur to them that I would ever offer aid to the Dragons. They assume that the half of me that’s a blood-seeker is stronger than the shifter side, because that’s how it is for them.”
“But they’re wrong about that,” said Trix. “The shifter is more powerful in you. Now I understand the scent…” She recalled that she’d smelled it in the chamber, even before Amara had entered.
“Yes, my shifter side is strong. But even if it weren’t, there is a humanity in me that fights off any urges that my vampire genes may force on me.”
“Well, for whatever reason, you’re helping us, and we appreciate it. Don’t we, Minach?” Trix turned to look at Lyre’s twin, whose trademark scowl had renewed itself on his face.
“Of course we do,” he grunted. “Who wouldn’t appreciate the help of someone with stretchy canines and a penchant for blood cocktails?”
“Jesus, would you just fuck off?” Trix snarled. For once, the shifter went quiet.
“I will help you for as long as I can, as will my allies,” said Amara. “We cannot let the Forsaken get their hands on the Relics at any cost. But we’re getting close; let’s stop talking, or we’ll be heard.”
By now they’d been walking for some time, and they must have been getting close to the labyrinth’s centre. Trix wondered if Lyre might be close by yet; her heart was still tight with worry.
“Minach,” Amara said softly after turning towards him. Her eyes flashed reflectively under the tunnel’s dim light. “Stay in the shadows, and don’t enter the chamber until the time is right. If you walk in now, things will take a turn. They’ll know I helped you, and it won’t go over well.”
“Understood,” he said, though his tone smacked of reluctance. His eyes had brightened, the creature inside him on high alert. Trix could all but feel the Dragon’s energy, straining to be released and to unleash hell on the Forsaken inhabitants of this strange underworld.
“Your Dragon?” she said. “He’s…awake?”
Minach nodded. “Awake and ready to rumble.” he said. “Which means, I think, that Lyre can’t be far off.”
Trix’s heart leapt in her chest at the thought of it, and her eyes darted around the space, searching.
“Don’t focus on him for the moment.” Minach said. “Keep on track with the plan. When I’ve found my brother, we’ll make our move. But until then you’re going to have to stall the bastards in there.” He thrust his chin towards the chamber’s doorway, and Trix nodded.
“Beatrix,” Amara said, taking hold of the Hunter’s upper arm as though to reinforce their plan. “Conceal your weapon and come with me. I’m afraid that you and I will have to put on a bit of an act in a minute.”
“Of course,” said Trix, shoving the knife down the back of her jeans and covering it with her t-shirt. “I once played the Virgin Mary in a school Christmas play. I’m an old pro at this.”
“Well then, channel your inner virgin and let’s get to it.” Amara nearly cracked a smile, reminding Trix that she was actually very beautiful, her exotic dark features lighting up with the dash of humour. But her expression turned grim again, and she began to march back towards the large chamber. Trix moved in synchronicity with the strange woman, walking silently through the doorway.
She couldn’t help but wonder where on earth her lover was.
Struggle
Trix and Amara re-entered the chamber to see that the male and female Forsaken leaders were standing next to the round stone table, engaged in quiet conversation. Cintra was hissing a string of words at her male counterpart, and he seemed to be doing his best to calm her.
“We’ll all be killed!” Cintra was telling him quietly, her fists clenched at her sides. “Every last one of us. Is that really what you want?”
“Of course not. But…” The man stopped speaking when he spotted Amara and Trix near the entrance.
“The Seeker,” Amara told them as she stepped towards the table, “has agreed to our demands.”
“Is this true?” Cintra asked, her irritated features softening into something that looked remarkably like relief.
Trix nodded. “I will. Just…don’t hurt him,” she pleaded as she retrieved her limited acting chops from the deepest reaches of her mind. “I’ll find the Relic for you. I’ll do anything. Just please, don’t hurt Lyre.” It’s possible that she was being a little too melodramatic for her own good, but the Forsaken didn’t seem fazed by her tone.
“So it’s true,” Cintra said, a wicked grin curling her lips. “We really do have him.”
“I told you that he was taken, and he’s under lock and key,” said Dakra. “He won’t be able to escape the cell, let alone do any damage. Not with a newly-fed Forsaken watching him.”
Trix wasn’t sure if it was her imagination or if Cintra actually breathed a sigh of relief. So odd to see one of their kind looking so bleedin’ nervous. Perhaps Lyre’s reputation as a slayer of Forsaken had preceded him. A surge of pride filled Trix’s chest to think of it. So, her arse-kicking Dragon lover was a legend in the making.
“Right, then,” said Cintra, turning Trix’s way, her face all business now that she was convinced that she was out of danger. “You’ve said you’ll find the Relic for us. So get to it, Seeker, and make it quick.”
“It’s in this room,” Trix said, her eyes darting around the space as though she were really searching. In the dark corners she could just make out faint shapes, outlines of figures who may as well have been carved of stone. None of them dared to move an inch until they were ordered to do so. Frozen enemies. Most were probably brainless Lapsed, not nearly so powerful as the Forsaken. But there might be stronger, more frightening faces in the hidden crowd, and Trix was in no hurry to find out how many she might encounter.
“Well, search then,” the woman said. “Find the Relic, and we will reward you with the release of your Dragon.”
Bullshit, Trix wanted to snarl at her. Even if you had him, you would never release a shifter who’s killed one of your own. You’d put his head on a spike, more likely.
But she kept up the act and moved towards the table where the two leaders stood, placing her hands on its flat surface.
“It’s here,” she said, slipping her palms over the immense slab of stone. “I can feel it.”
The surface was a simple, enormous grey circle that reminded Trix of the stories of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. Perched atop four thick, angular legs, it must have weighed tons. Each of its supports was ornamented in carved patterns and ended in an elegant foot, shaped like a Dragon’s. Talons of hard, dark stone dug directly into the floor below, as though the table were intended to stay in this place forever.
Being careful not to reveal the knife that she’d thrust down the back of her jeans, Trix leaned forward and examined the ornamentation on one of the legs. She hadn’t lied to Cintra; her senses had told her that this was indeed the place. But she knew that even if the Forsaken had some idea where to look, they would never find the Relic without her Seeker’s eyes. She held all the cards now, and she was going to take full advantage of the situation. She had every intention of delaying until she knew without a doubt that Lyre was safe and close by.
She moved her body around the first leg, reading its carvings as she went. The images depicted some sort of lore; a Dragon in flight breathing streaks of flame over hills and valleys. Among a series of shapes in the sky was a fiery sun, curving streaks of fire shooting out from its edges. The Dragon of Fire, she thought. As she moved to the second leg, she saw the familiar shape of the sea. Undulating waves making up a body of water over which a Dragon flew, looking down on tall ships filled with people. Water.
On the third leg, a cavern, surrounded by walls of stone. The Dragon of Earth.
It was when she came to the fourth leg that she took in a barely perceptible gasp, even though she’d fully expected to see the familiar shape that exactly matched her tattoo. A gust of wind divided into two swirls, shooting from the mouth of a Dragon. Trix could just see the faint outline of a quarter circle around the image.
She’d found the Relic of Air.
As she stared, the carved symbol began to glow, first a warm, rich yellow, turning orange and then red. The Relic was calling out to its Seeker, ensuring that she would find it. Somehow she knew that no one else in the chamber would be able to perceive the glow; to them it would simply be another hunk of grey stone.
Everything inside Trix wanted to reach for the Relic, to extract it from its longtime hiding place. To take it back to Hampstead Heath, where it would be stored in a vault alongside the Relic of Water and await its two remaining companions. But even with Amara’s help, she wouldn’t be able to escape this place. She would never leave without her mate.
“Lyre,” she thought, shooting the words silently into space, “what the hell should I do?”
�
��You know what to do, Beautiful Beatrix.”
When the words came to her, Trix struggled to hold back the smile that wanted to take control of her lips. But…had she only imagined it?
“Lyre?” Gripping the side of the table, she threw the name out into the void again, hoping for another response.
“I’m nearby. And I’m so fucking glad to be able to feel you inside my head again.”
Tracing the outline of the stone carving with her index finger, Trix sent him another message. “Minach is outside the chamber, waiting for you. I hope your Dragons can…”
“What is it, woman? Have you found it or not?” Cintra’s voice rang out, agitated, angry. Her sudden rage reminded Trix of her altercation with Farell in the streets of London. So much venom. She’d almost forgotten that the Forsaken were feral, driven by rage and little else.
“Just give me a moment,” Trix hissed, annoyed that Cintra had so cruelly interrupted her conversation with Lyre. “I’m not sure where it is yet.”
“My powers might be weakened, and so might Minach’s,” Lyre’s voice told her. “But together we become stronger. My Dragon is ready for battle, and eager to take these bastards out with my brother at his side.”
With that, Trix finally allowed herself the smile that had been trying so hard to infiltrate her face.
“I’ve found it,” she said out loud, standing as she pointed at the symbol of Air.
“Are you certain?” the woman asked. Trix glanced around the dimly lit space, trying in vain to assess how many sets of eyes were fixed on her. Amara’s, Cintra’s, Dakra’s. Amara’s hand was quietly tucked inside her robe and ready, no doubt, to pull her blade.
“Yes,” said Trix. “I’d know this symbol anywhere.”
“Well, give it to us then,” said Cintra, who’d foolishly leaned forward to look down at the massive table leg.
“I need to act now,” Trix said silently, throwing the words out to Lyre, hoping against hope that he would find a way to communicate with his twin, wherever he was. “This one is mine.”
Dragon Seeker, Part Three Page 10