Black Of Mood (Quentin Black: Shadow Wars #2): Quentin Black World

by JC Andrijeski

  “Friends... quiet. Please.” Staring around at all of them, he made his words another warning. “Killing the female is not an option. Brother Brick has made that abundantly clear. He has need of her, well beyond what we require of her mate.”

  His scanned every face, assessing reactions to his words.

  “Yes,” he added. “What happened to Konstantin was unconscionable.” His lips twitched, but the solemn expression on his face didn’t move. “Brick does not believe the female was responsible for this, however. And yes, her targeting of our assets was terrible. But they were the desperate acts of a seer attempting to prevent the death of her mate. Despite this, I still believe, in time, she will come around.”

  Voices erupted around the table, most of them in clear disagreement.

  Harkness and Malakai spoke the loudest, but Lincoln caught words from others, too.

  In the end, an old vampire with a narrow face made his voice heard above the rest.

  “You speak as though such irrational acts were anomalous to their natures, Lincoln.” He raised his voice more, until the others quieted. “You pretend the nephew is somehow an exception... that his wife and Charles are ‘inherently reasonable.’ But we all know such behaviors are hardwired into their very blood. If you kill either of them, you will have the same problem that brought Konstantin’s death. Only this time, it will be worse. This time, her and Charles will unleash the full power of the human governments against us, as well as their own zealots. Even Brick could not be so stupid and reckless. Not with the fate of our entire race in play...”

  Lincoln opened his mouth to reply. Before he could, another voice rang out.

  “I heartily agree, brother Stevens. I heartily agree...”

  Lincoln turned sharply, shifting his weight and looking past the back of his chair.

  A vampire walked languidly into the room, lightly swinging a black cane.

  “...Although perhaps you’re being overly generous in the assessment of my pure stupidity and recklessness,” the vampire continued, speaking pleasantly in that New Orleans lilt. “I have been known to indulge in both traits to the full extent of my capacity, often on the flimsiest of pretexts... and usually utterly without apology.”

  Lincoln smiled involuntarily, even as he rose to his feet, bowing deeply. Straightening from the bow, he met those cold, fathomless eyes, and his smile faded, seeing no hint of that wry amusement in his master’s expression.

  He watched as the lanky, black-haired male entered the greater depths of the dining area, mouth pursed in a frown, eyes unreadable as he took in the room. Held back in a partial ponytail, his black hair framed sharp cheekbones, falling down over deceptively broad shoulders. As per usual, he wore a black suit with a black dress shirt underneath. Today, he also sported that dark cane, with a black dog’s head at its end and ruby eyes.

  His cufflinks, along with a studded pin at his collar, flashed with rubies as well.

  He smiled at Lincoln’s bow, but Lincoln remained cautious, carefully gauging the predatory stare. “Sir,” he said, lowering his head. “An unexpected pleasure.”

  Brick spoke as if Lincoln had not.

  “...And how very interesting this all is.” He glanced around the candle and fire-lit room, showing the barest hint of fang in his smile. “Such a cozy gathering of peers and cherished friends. Loyal subjects one and all, I’ve no doubt. Yet strangely, here to meet without my knowledge or blessing... without even my awareness of any issue so pressing in our realms that it might necessitate such an urgent meeting of the minds.”

  His glass-like eyes reflected firelight, focusing a beat too long on the form of Dorian in the burgundy chair.

  After another pause, Brick swiveled that smile back towards Lincoln.

  “...I admit to finding myself somewhat hurt, that I was not invited to such an auspicious gathering.” Brick glanced around at the walls that had once been owned by Konstantin, his eyes resting on a particularly stunning Rembrandt, long believed to be lost to the Nazis during World War II. “It is a bit... well, disconcerting. Particularly for one of such fragile constitution as myself.”

  Another flash of those sharp, white teeth.

  “Perhaps my presence is so very, very overpowering in its inherent charms that you chose to shield yourselves from such heady excitements? At least until you had fortified yourselves into a more unified position?”

  Stopping in the middle of the floor, Brick leaned his weight on ring-covered fingers where they rested on the cane’s black handle.

  “I confess,” he added lightly, with another sweeping glance. “I would very much like to grow beyond that tired edict of ‘loneliness,’ said to be the inevitable fate of such a lofty title as mine. Clearly, however, I must take that warning to heart... and endeavor to remedy such a thing via my own vigilance, and not rest on the labors of my friends.”

  Eyes continued to avoid his as Brick glanced around the table.

  Only Lincoln held his gaze when Brick returned it.

  Lincoln bowed a second time, making his voice and posture openly submissive.

  “I apologize, Patrón,” he said humbly. “I should have informed you that I was invited to this gathering. You may drink from me to assure yourself of my words, but I confess my thoughts freely. I wished to spare you the time from your busy schedule in dealing with what I gauged to be a matter likely solved by my presence alone. I planned only to assess the issues and report back to you if I felt they warranted your valuable attentions.”

  “And do they?” Brick quirked an eyebrow, once more staring around the oak table. “Do they warrant my valuable attentions, friend Lincoln?”

  Lincoln hesitated, thinking. Then he inclined his head.

  “Truthfully, sir, I had not yet ascertained that for certain.”

  “Hmmm,” Brick nodded. “I see. Well, perhaps I can help you with that, my good friend, now that I am here.” Brick’s eyes reflected firelight as he turned to where Dorian sat in the burgundy chair. “I see you brought your shadow with you. You must have harbored your own concerns about the intentions behind this meeting, Lincoln, to have interrupted Dorian’s busy schedule for such a comparatively dull event.”

  “I did,” Lincoln admitted, glancing at Dorian, as well. “Brother Dorian was kind enough to agree to accompany me here when I asked.” Glancing around the table, Lincoln let contempt reach his words. “I confess, I hoped his presence might speed things up. I myself would prefer not to spend an entire evening listening to yet another session of old men’s hand-wringing, if such a thing could be avoided.”

  When he looked at Brick that time, a faint smile lived at the corners of the other vampire’s mouth. His eyes remained as still as crystal.

  “I see,” was all he said.

  Drumming his fingers on the dog’s head at the end of the cane, Brick took his weight off it without warning. Fluid as water, he closed the distance to the oak table. He reached the empty seat at the table’s head and sat, depositing himself under a gilded wall mirror.

  With two loud thunks, he propped black and gold alligator-skin boots on the wooden surface and crossed his ankles.

  “Sit, brother Lincoln,” he urged. “Please. Do let us resume this talk.”

  Lincoln lowered his weight back to his seat.

  Brick smiled at him from across that expanse. Adjusting his back more comfortably, the vampire king folded his hands in his lap, that smile still ghosting his full lips. Without turning, he snapped his fingers in the face of Morley, a blond, Nordic-looking vampire with a heavy jaw who sat to his right.

  The vampire, who had been looking between Lincoln and Brick, jumped.

  Brick indicated towards the serving table just behind him.

  “Do pour me a drink, won’t you, Morley?” Brick’s fingers swung in a fluid arc, indicating the glasses held by others around the table. “The strongest concoction of whatever it is that you-all are having would please me immensely.”

  After a bare second’s pause, Morley
shoved back his chair.

  He walked to the drink table, his expression visibly uneasy. Standing over the silver tray, he turned over a brandy snifter. Selecting the oldest bottle they had on hand, he poured Brick a generous portion.

  Brick held up splayed fingers, and Morley fitted the glass between them carefully.

  “Ta,” Brick said, still without looking over. He smiled at Lincoln instead, taking a drink from the snifter. “Well?” he said pleasantly, swallowing the mouthful. “I am all ears. Regale me with what you have learned so far in this oh-so-dull meeting of yours, friend Lincoln. The underworlds know, you’ve earned the right of such indulgences from me.” Giving another narrow glance around the table, he folded an arm on the chair back, cushioning his head. “It should be noted, however, that not everyone here has.”

  Lincoln saw a few of the older vampires hiding scowls.

  He knew Brick’s very age offended some of them.

  If Brick noticed, he paid no mind.

  “Well?” He smiled at Lincoln. “I presume you’ve had enough time to discern some hint of what it is they want from you and I? So pray, tell me this most-important wish of theirs. I live to hear the hopes and dreams of my people.”

  Lincoln exhaled a breath. Then he nodded.

  “Very well,” he said. “It relates to the Black problem.”

  Brick’s smile faded.

  “The Black problem? And what problem would that be, dear Lincoln?”

  Lincoln hesitated. He glanced at Malakai, turning over words. Before he could speak, the Scottish vampire burst out in frustrated anger.

  “You know exactly what damn’d ‘Black problem’ we mean!” He glared at Brick, then at the others seated around the table. His Scots’ brogue came out more strongly as fury filled his words. “Ye’re lettin’ ‘im venture further inta the human spotlight, further ‘n further inta the open arms of the human governments. You’ve lifted nary a finger to stop ‘im. Nor will you tell us why yer so hell-bent on protecting ‘im. At the very least ye could––”

  “We are not killing Quentin Black.”

  Lincoln tensed. He turned to look at Brick.

  His king’s gaze focused solely on Malakai. The bloom of crimson in his eyes had grown, taking over more of the crystal-colored iris around the vampire’s pupils. Lincoln was still studying the change when Brick turned, facing Lincoln instead.

  “Whyever would you indulge even the faintest whiff of such a notion, Lincoln?” he said. “I was under the impression you were rather fond of Quentin’s wife.”

  Fingering the end of the cane he’d leaned against his chair, Brick tapped the metal end against the stone tile, his mouth a delicate frown.

  “As for the rest of you, I have made my position extraordinarily clear on this matter. Clear enough that you had no need of pestering Lincoln just to clarify it for you again.” His eyes made a slow procession around the table. “I require both Quentin Black and his wife, Dr. Miriam Fox, to remain alive. Further, if you kill one of them, you risk killing both of them. Have I not explained the way these creatures bond?” His lips pursed in affected puzzlement. “I feel quite certain I have.”

  Lincoln frowned, too. He, also, glanced around the oak table.

  He tried to decide if he should speak to the conversation so far, but Brick saw him open his mouth and waved him off.

  “No need to defend yourself, Lincoln. It is clear you are not the spokesman here.”

  Lincoln shook his head. “No, it is about Miri... Black’s mate.” He hesitated. “Would she really die, if Black did? I thought that was uncertain. Unlikely, even.”

  Brick’s frown grew less affected. “Any risk at all is too much, friend, when it comes to her. I feel quite certain I explained that, too. She is... unique. Again, I am a bit appalled that you would allow any of these cowards to threaten her life, Lincoln. Shame on you.”

  Lincoln knew he should remain silent. He also knew Brick’s words were aimed more at the others around the table, not at him.

  He spoke anyway.

  “Is there any way to test this?” he said. “To know if killing him would also kill her?”

  “No,” Brick said, his voice even colder.

  A pale steel shone briefly in his irises, as he assessed Lincoln’s face. Lincoln lowered his head, and eventually his eyes, too.

  Brick’s voice remained hard. “You seem well aware you spoke out of turn just now, friend, yet you did so anyway. Is it possible the rebellion in this room has infected my most loyal servant? If so, I will be distressed beyond measure.” Pausing, he softened his voice. “Or am I merely witnessing the passion of your personal feelings overriding your judgment, dearest Lincoln?”

  Lincoln kept his eyes aimed at the stone. “The latter, sir. I apologize.”

  “Brother?” Brick said, sharper. “Look at me.”

  Lincoln raised his head, meeting the eyes of his king.

  “I will always put you first.” Brick’s cold eyes penetrated his, right before they traveled around the table. “You are always the foremost thing on my mind. My people. My blood. I protect not only your bodies... but your hearts, too. And mine.”

  Lincoln nodded, feeling something in his chest relax.

  “We serve you, brother Brick,” he said humbly. “We die for you.”

  “Then trust me in this,” Brick said. “I don’t just ask it of you. I demand it of you. Trust me that in this, I serve our people. And that I serve my friends most of all. Including you, loyal Lincoln. Including the heart that still beats in your chest.”

  Lincoln felt a flicker of shame. “I do trust you, Patrón. In this, and in all things.”

  He saw that cold fire fade somewhat from the crimson center of Brick’s eyes.

  “Passion is not something to regret, friend Lincoln. Know only that I will fight your battles of the heart alongside you. You needn’t go around me to fight them... bring them to me, so I may better serve you, my friend.”

  He gave Lincoln a more genuine smile, pausing only to take a longer swallow of the brandy, resting his elbow on the table.

  “As it is, I am thinking of you already in this, so calm that agitated heart of yours,” he said. “There is method to my madness. Always. This pain you feel is only temporary.” Pausing, he gave Lincoln a faint smile. “I have chosen you to be the one to usher her into our fold, Lincoln. It is you who will guide her to the Light––who will first show her the wonders of the Blood.”

  Lincoln’s heart began pounding in his chest. Desire rose in him, a blood craving so intense, his fangs extended. He had to swallow before he spoke.

  “Thank you, Patrón. Thank you.”

  “You do not have to thank a father for rewarding his obedient children.”

  “I am your devoted servant. Always. My fire burns first for you.”

  When he raised his head that time, he saw a gleam in Brick’s eye that sent a shiver down his spine. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t desire, either, not for the other male. It was animal-to-animal, a predatory knowing that made him want to offer his vein to that mouth, to kneel by his chair.

  As if seeing that in Lincoln’s face, Brick nodded, almost to himself.

  “Good,” he murmured.

  Draining the last of the brandy, he plunked the empty glass on the wood. Rising to his feet, he strode back around the slab table, moving gracefully. Lincoln thought for certain he would leave, his message delivered, but Brick walked directly up to Lincoln’s own chair, instead.

  Lincoln started to rise, but Brick waved at him to remain seated.

  Leaning over him, he spoke directly into his ear.

  “Lincoln, my friend,” Brick murmured, giving him another of those faint smiles. “You know I can never stay angry with you.”

  Leaning closer, he kissed his cheek. Still smiling, he spoke softly, but loudly enough that Lincoln had no doubt every vampire around that table heard him.

  “...I am feeling magnanimous now, even a trifle maudlin from your touching proclamations of l
oyalty, dearest friend. As a result, we will speak no more of this infidelity by the Council. I can only hope they might come to know the error of their ways through the sterling example of my closest friends...”

  Glancing around the table over his shoulder, he smiled back at Lincoln.

  “Well.” He inclined his head. “I am a realist. Perhaps fear will keep them in line for now. Feel free to use Dorian to that end, if an example need be made.” He paused, still looking at Lincoln despite the rustling around the table his words provoked. “Love will win them over in the end, dear friend. Have faith. Once proof is put to my words, and the seer problem is settled definitively, we will revisit this issue... yes?”

  Giving Lincoln another predatory smile, he went on in a lighter voice.

  “...That being said, I cannot have my most valuable servants’ time wasted with such foolishness. Particularly given the sensitive nature of the tasks to which I have them currently assigned.” He gave Lincoln a harder stare. “Please inform the Council that I forbid this body to meet without my presence ever again.”

  Another flush of heat rose in Lincoln’s throat, a hotter blood-craving.

  “Yes, Patrón.”

  Chair legs screeched around the table as vampires rose to their feet.

  Patting Lincoln affectionately on the shoulder, Brick walked away without giving the others so much as a backward glance. He made his way unhurriedly towards the room’s only door, swinging the cane lightly in one hand.

  Stevens sputtered, glaring at Brick’s back. “We are the Council of Elders! Our body has existed for thousands of years. We serve the Blood, not you, Betial...” The old vampire’s voice shook with rage. “To give us to your half-breed dogs to manage, as if they are somehow above us... it is an act of disrespect beyond any perpetrated by a king!”

  Lincoln was on his feet now, too.

  He faced Stevens, his voice and posture unambiguous.

  “Watch your tongue, lizard,” he hissed. “You are speaking to your king.”

  Stevens glared back at him in contempt. “King? He is no king. He likely killed our true king, and don’t think the rest of us don’t know it.” He aimed his voice at Brick’s back. “He is not fit to wipe the blood from Konstantin’s lips!”