“Quite the astute observation, my young Page.” Tyrian tried and failed miserably to keep the smile out of his voice.
“Don’t patronize me, Tyrian. Why the hell did you walk through here drenched in Necro blood? You know that shit is acidic. Do you want to pay to have the floors redone? Because I sure as hell don’t want to have to deal with that again,” Caleb ranted.
Tyrian hid his smile behind his teacup. “Hence why I called you up here at five o’clock in the morning.”
He knew that Caleb wanted to lay into him about the mess, but the Page wisely held his tongue. Whining and complaining about the situation wouldn’t change anything, as Caleb had learned the hard way over the years. Though he grumbled an exorbitant amount, the boy never shirked his duties. Tyrian counted himself lucky to have him.
True to form, Caleb turned abruptly and carefully navigated his way past the large, slimy footprints, heading for the pantry and grumbling all the way about disrespectful Hunters and damned zombies. A moment later, he emerged from the large closet, carrying a steam mop and a few wooden-floor polishing supplies. Not even sparing a glance at the Hunter, he immediately went to work mopping up the icky green mess.
Tyrian placed his teacup in the sink, and made for the stairs.
“You’re not even going to tell me what the hell happened, are you?” Caleb grumbled just as Tyrian reached the bottommost stair. Tyrian placed his foot back on the bamboo floor and turned to face his Page. He could understand the boy’s ire. If anything were to happen to him, Caleb was next in line to take his place. He’d been out of contact for a little over a week now. No doubt Caleb had begun to wonder. At barely eighteen years of age, Caleb was far from ready to become a Hunter.
Not that Tyrian had been much better off when Caine left him…
Shaking off that memory, Tyrian thought back to the meeting that had landed him in the damnable mess.
* * * *
“Shall we proceed?” Starla inquired, calling the meeting of the Hunter’s association to order.
The front legs of Jagger’s chair hit the floor suddenly, shooting him straight upright after Lilith jabbed him in the ribs. Apparently, the Necro Hunter had not been feigning sleep. Deep blue eyes leered at the Witch Hunter from behind a fringe of jet-black hair.
“Jagger, what have you to report?” Starla asked, interrupting whatever Jagger might have said, and waylaying the inevitable verbal (and possibly physical) battle.
Sniffing indelicately, Jagger gave Lilith a once-over before turning his attention to their leader.
“Not a damn thing,” he stated simply. He leaned back in his chair again and cupped his hands behind his head, resting his feet once more on the thick, black marble table.
Starla closed her eyes slowly, something Tyrian recognized as a sign of exasperation in the normally placid leader. She breathed in, and above the table, a scene played out for all to see.
Hordes of Necros filled the space, more than Tyrian had ever seen moving together before. Directly in the middle of the throng of decaying bodies stood Jagger. His custom carbon steel chigiriki hammered body parts, sending them flying in all directions. The long, black, spear-like weapon was almost as tall as the man. It had one sharpened, retractable end for greater maneuverability. From the opposite end trailed a long chain, approximately twelve feet in length, and attached to a nine-inch-diameter spiked ball that Jagger flung with unerring accuracy, cleaving whole chunks of Necros to pieces.
The legs of Jagger’s chair once again hit the floor, and he shot a look of clear disdain up the table at Starla. Her eyes eased open slowly as the image above them rippled and faded away, like a stone tossed at the surface of a pond. Pearly white met cobalt blue in the dimly lit space of the adobe conference room.
“Not a thing? I see. It does appear to have become regular for groups of twenty or more Necros to come through at any one time. Or is it that you have been too distracted from your duties lately to focus on the problem?” Starla’s knowing gaze drifted to the Witch Hunter, seated next to their resident problem child.
The dagger Lilith had been bouncing between her fingers slipped from her scrutiny and cut into her left thigh. Huffing indignantly, Lilith waved her hand and repaired the damage, then glared back at Starla in exasperation.
“What? It’s not my fault this buffoon thinks he’s invincible,” Lilith shot back. She crossed her arms across her chest, and tucked the dagger into her belt.
Starla sighed, and folded her hands in front of her. “Tyrian, Byrne.”
The Vampire and Dragon Hunters turned their attention to their leader.
“I’d like you to accompany Jagger on his hunts for a few days.”
Jagger suddenly cut Starla off. “Now hold on just a minute!” He sat up in his chair and slammed his hamhocks down on the table, causing the large marble slab to quake beneath them.
“Just until you have the situation under control. Shouldn’t take more than a week at the most. This is not up for discussion. The safety of this realm is of the utmost importance, and it is my responsibility to determine what is safe. Hordes of Necros numbering in the twenties, unfortunately, do not fall within the bounds of safety. Handle it.”
Starla’s tone booked no arguments, and Jagger reluctantly sat back in his chair, a sour look plastered across his face at the reprimand. The fool had brought it upon himself, after all. If a Hunter could not handle his duties alone, Starla made sure he had help.
“Dhyrante and Slade, would you please divide your time between your own duties and the Dragons and Vampires until the Necro situation is under control?” Starla asked. Everyone in the room knew perfectly well, though, that she often guised her orders as requests. A nod from each Hunter put a smile back on her face, and the matter was dropped.
* * * *
The biker bastard had all but led them on a damned crusade.
Necros preferred to hunt at dusk and dawn, their own realm being trapped in a perpetual state of twilight. Their blood seals had informed them of when and where the Necros would pass into the human realm, and the three of them had waited every time until the numbers had dwindled to an acceptable range.
Travel between realms was tricky. It was next to impossible for any species to travel to a realm besides the human realm and their own. Passing through a portal required a realm-specific genetic marker, and those who tried to supersede the rules usually ended up in pieces, if they even arrived at all. Starla was the only one Tyrian knew of who could travel to all realms with no ill effects. It probably had something to do with her being a Druid.
Travel to the human realm, however, was relatively easy. Most species simply followed their noses to the portals; others, the strong emotional energies that crossed between realms unhindered. Portals appeared due to weaknesses in the protective barriers between realms, caused by large-scale destruction. The most recent portal openings had occurred in New York, Haiti, and New Orleans.
As a small blessing, Hunters’ blood seals would inform them when a portal was opened, and what had come through. Each symbol on the ornate branding corresponded to a species and a portal. They would burn and glow when anything came through, warning the Hunter to intercept them if necessary. It also warned them when there had been a violation, harm done to the human realm by other-realm species, and unceremoniously pulled the appropriate Hunter to the scene of the crime to mete out judgment as he or she saw fit.
That had proven quite annoying for the first hundred years, until Tyrian had learned to control it. It now caused a slight buzzing in his veins and a pulling sensation at his extremities, though he could keep from phasing if he concentrated hard enough. Still, it wasn’t the most comfortable sensation.
Tyrian sighed, retaking his seat before bringing his Page up to speed on the past week’s events. He intentionally left out his rendezvous with Kaelyn, as the boy worked on cleaning up the mess on the floor. By the time they both finished, the floor had been cleaned and polished, and Tyrian wanted nothing more th
an to curl up in bed for the next twenty-four hours.
“Damn,” Caleb said while making himself an almond butter and Nutella breakfast sandwich on toasted honey wheat bread. “You must be exhausted.”
Tyrian narrowed his eyes at the boy as he contemplated whether or not it was worth the effort to reach across the kitchen counter and smack him in the back of the head. He decided against the action, pushed himself off the bar stool he’d landed on while telling his story, and headed for the stairs.
“What’d I say?”
Tyrian offered only his retreating back as a response to the Page as he ascended the stairs to welcome solitude. Stripping off his clothing as he trudged towards his bed, he then paused before falling into its welcoming confines.
He opened the drawer of his bedside table.
Inside rested the worn paperback he’d purchased from Kaelyn the week before. Deciding to see how far he would make it through the book before succumbing to sleep, Tyrian lifted the paperback from the drawer and settled in to read.
* * * *
The locks softly clicked open on the door to Kaelyn’s apartment, granting entry to two women, the smaller of whom was supporting the other. Ember abruptly deposited Kaelyn on the downy white couch situated just inside the door to the apartment, and clicked on the light. After kicking the door shut behind her, the bartender placed her hands squarely on her hips, and regarded the drunken girl with a mixture of exasperation and amusement.
“You know, for all that Irish blood, you sport, you sure can’t hold your liquor.” Ember flopped down on the couch next to her friend.
Kaelyn’s head landed on Ember’s shoulder, cloudy eyes staring up into the bartender’s. “’M only half Irish,” she slurred.
Ember laughed. “And what’s the other half of you, then?” she asked teasingly. She knew full well that Kaelyn’s father had been a no-show since the day he’d provided the seed that made her. Her mother had lacked even the coherence to remember which one of her many lovers could have fathered the poor girl.
The two of them had met in foster care. Ember’s own mother had died in a house fire when she was five. At the age of eight, her father had married the woman who ran the foster home where Kaelyn would eventually come to live. In time, the woman came to bear Ember’s three half-brothers: Killian, Declan, and Liam. Even though she’d finally gotten the children she’d longed for, Daria never closed her doors to the foster children in need of her.
One of those children was currently drooling adorably on Ember’s shoulder. The poor dear. Kaelyn hadn’t led the easiest life, but she had never let her circumstances dictate her happiness.
Small arms circled Ember’s waist, and a heavy head landed in her lap, the telltale dampness wetting her jeans telling the barista that the waterworks had finally broken loose. It nearly took an act of God (or a good bottle of Irish whisky) to get the woman to let her guard down enough to cry. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, it drained her. Ember rested a hand on the back of Kaelyn’s long, dark brown tresses, and softly ran her fingers through the strands.
“What’s wrong with me?” Kaelyn’s muffled voice drifted up from Ember’s lap.
Tightening her lips, Ember gripped a handful of Kaelyn’s hair and pulled.
The drunken woman shot up on the couch, grabbed her head, and shot Ember a look of shocked indignation. “Ow! What was that for?” she exclaimed, rubbing her aching scalp.
Ember shook a finger in Kaelyn’s face. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Don’t ever think that. You’re the most beautiful, intelligent, generous person I know.”
The corners of Kaelyn’s mouth turned down in a pout. “You work in a bar.”
Stifling the urge to laugh lest she ruin her plight, Ember grabbed Kaelyn’s shoulders and forced the woman to look her in the eye. “Which means I know a crap load of people.”
A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of Kaelyn’s mouth. She sniffled, and brought her hands up to wipe the tears from her eyes. “Thanks.”
“When in doubt, you can always count on me to knock some sense into that thick skull of yours,” Ember stated in a matter-of-fact tone. She mockingly tossed a shit-eating grin at the woman.
Kaelyn returned the grin, before a suddenly thoughtful look crossed her face.
“What time is it?” She glanced out the window at the lightening sky.
As she moved to rise from the couch, Ember intercepted her. “Oh, no, you don’t. You’re gonna take a much-needed day off, m’love.”
“But—” Kaelyn started, but Ember’s finger pressed against her lips, cutting her off.
“No buts. I already left a message for Oscar, telling him you wouldn’t be in today. Besides, it’s already five am. Well past time for good little girls like yourself to be in bed. Now shoo, off with you,” Ember stated in her most authoritative tone, as she pushed Kaelyn off the couch and down the hall to her bedroom.
“Are you even going to let me brush my teeth?” Kaelyn pleaded.
Ember rolled her eyes and let her hands drop, heaved a sigh, and crossed her arms in front of her.
“Fine, go brush your teeth. And then to bed. Don’t make me come in there after you, because I will.” Ember watched with narrowed eyes as Kaelyn slipped past and made her way to the bathroom.
“Yes, mother,” Kaelyn taunted playfully. She stuck her tongue out at the older woman before shutting and locking the door behind her.
Chapter 3
Tyrian stood outside the East End Bookstore with a frown on his face, staring through the large plate glass window at the older gentleman behind the counter, where his Kaelyn should have stood. He’d read the book she’d recommended cover to cover before settling down to sleep the previous day’s afternoon. He had to admit that, though aimed at the youthful, the book had kept his attention from start to finish. He’d barely gotten any rest afterward, his body telling him he needed sleep, while his mind feverishly wished for him to seek out Kaelyn’s presence.
And now that he was here, she was not there.
Tyrian cursed his rotten luck. This must have been her day off. He hadn’t thought to take down her schedule before rushing out to the Hunters’ meeting. Sighing in dismay, he opened the door to let himself into the bookstore, then paused to hold it open for an elderly couple as they made their way out. He stepped inside, and approached the counter.
The older man looked up and smiled at him over his spectacles.
“Hello, young man.”
Tyrian couldn’t help the turning of his lips. He supposed that, in the man’s estimation, he still appeared young.
“What can I help you with?”
“I was hoping to speak with Kaelyn.”
Tyrian watched a sheltered look cross the old man’s face at the mention of her name. Clearly the man felt protective of his young bookshop keeper. Tyrian decided that he liked that.
“What is it, may I ask, that you need to speak with her about?” the old man asked cautiously, but politely, in his Boston-accented tone.
Tyrian held up the book he’d brought with him. “She recommended this book to me, and I quite enjoyed it. She suggested I return to talk with her about it when I’d finished.”
The old man’s eyes widened. “I see; you must be Tyrian.”
Tyrian’s shock that the old man knew his name must have registered on his face. The old man nodded and made his way around the counter, a small, knowing smile etched across his weathered face.
“Kaelyn spoke rather fondly of you. I’m Oscar, the owner. It’s nice to finally meet you.” Oscar held out his hand in greeting. Tyrian took the offered appendage and shook gingerly, still unsure of how to approach the situation.
“Kaelyn stayed home today. Quite unfortunate, as she had been eagerly anticipated your return,” Oscar admitted.
Tyrian’s heart soared. Perhaps she’d been thinking of him just as much as he’d been thinking of her. She’d even gone so far as to speak about him with her coworker. Which was more than he c
ould say for himself.
“Is she feeling under the weather?” Tyrian grew concerned as the first portion of Oscar’s statement sank in.
The old man shook his head, and waved his hands. “Oh no, I’m sure she’s just fine now. Nothing a bit of rest won’t cure. If she were a regular drinker I might be worried, but Ember assured me that she just needed some down time.”
Drinking? And who was Ember?
“Ember is the bartender at the Irish pub next door,” Oscar answered, as if reading Tyrian’s thoughts. “Apparently Kaelyn ended up there last night, instead of her own apartment. Ember called this morning to inform me that Kaelyn would be home nursing a hangover today.”
Tyrian tried not to smile at the man’s chiding tone. That Kaelyn had felt the need to get herself drunk interested him greatly, and he planned on inquiring upon the reason for her indulgence when next he saw her.
“I don’t suppose you could do me a favor, Oscar?” Tyrian inquired as he pilfered a pen from the jar on the counter. He jotted a quick note on the inside cover of the book.
Oscar shrugged nonchalantly. “You want me to pass her a message?”
Tyrian placed the pen back in the jar, then handed the book to the shop owner with a smile. “Please, if you would, give this to Kaelyn the next time she is in.”
Oscar took the book, nodding. “I’ll see that she gets it.”
Inclining his head in gratitude, Tyrian offered the man a small smile. “Thank you, Oscar. I am in your debt.”
Oscar glanced at him over his spectacles once more, regarding him with a measuring look of scrutiny. “You do right by that girl, and we’ll call it even.” A small grin lit his aged blue eyes as Tyrian nodded.
Tyrian made his way back to the entrance. He opened the door, and stepped back out into the cold winter air.
Immortal Sleepers_Blood Awakening Page 3