by Karen Monroe
Omea’s jaw clenched tight. “Yes, my Lady. They have a lot to answer for.”
* * * *
“All you can do is try and keep up with the pace life sets for you.”
Walking through the cold and desolate hallway, Tylan right beside her, Marissa remembered the phrase Jon had often used, and knew that was exactly what she was doing, keeping up with the pace.
She didn’t dare stop and question her surroundings, the tense feelings of menace hovering in the air, or the tall, lethal men and women lining the walls.
She kept her stride quick, and her back straight, as she moved further and further into what had to be the most dangerous place she had ever been in.
Eight months ago, she’d never wondered where an enclave for vampires and werewolves would be. Heck! She would have laughed in someone’s face if they even suggested the place existed. Yet that was eight months ago, when she’d thought she was human and the world was a normal place to live.
Now she knew better.
In the middle of a gang-infested city in Tijuana, Mexico, where some of most dangerous criminals and hoodlums called home, the true terrors were lurking unseen and unnoticed.
It had become readily apparent to her that the world’s neighborhood slums housed many secrets the rest of the human populous were unaware of.
A little over an hour ago, she and Tylan had departed the transport, surfacing from the waters through a hole located beneath an abandoned warehouse. The specially built Eritrean pier was located in the worse part of the industrial district of San Diego. She had driven by the sector numerous times, but she’d never actually thought of stopping because it was a haven for homeless people and drug addicts.
When she’d asked Tylan why they would build a docking point here, he’d explained there were many such stations throughout the world, and in similar neighborhoods, because it was easier to avoid the prying eyes of humans who were intoxicated or down on their luck.
Marissa idly wondered how many people had spent a night in jail after reporting something weird at the docks.
She didn’t have long to ponder the question though. A fleet of limousines and SUVs awaited, ready to transport Tylan, Omea, Keanan, herself, and a large contingent of warriors to the building she and Tylan were walking through now.
As her eyes glanced around the dim, darkened interior, taking in the lifeless cold eyes of the men and women lined against the walls like soldiers ready and willing for battle, Marissa again felt fear course down her spine.
Relax, beloved. No one will harm you. Tylan spoke in her mind.
She wasn’t so sure about that. Everyone certainly looked like they could, and would, harm her. Who are these people? Marissa asked, using the mind-speak she was gradually growing accustomed to.
Lycan and Vampire warriors, my love, Tylan answered back. Their job is to protect the Committee from harm.
Well, they certainly look equal to the task. I’ve never seen such a forbidding group of folks in my life.
Tylan nodded briefly, and his fingers flexed against the small of her back. A low snarl sounded from his throat, a warning growl.
Several pairs of the eyes fastened on her quickly looked away. Marissa could smell the rise of fear in the air.
Well, they looked mean, but she gathered they had no desire to tangle with Tylan.
Glancing briefly over her shoulder, she noticed the trio trailing behind also looked pretty scary. She guessed Keanan, Omea, and Cowan liked being here about as much as she did. Keanan, in particular, looked ready to do serious damage if any one so much as moved.
Suddenly, Tylan stopped walking, his arm flexing around her, he quickly placed the bulk of his body in front of hers.
“Your Majesties, I’m here to guide you the rest of the way. The Committee is aware of your presence, and are waiting for you below in chambers.”
Marissa was able to the stop the scream gurgling in her throat from voicing, but she wasn’t able to stop her body from jumping nearly a foot in the air.
Her heart beat at about three hundred paces a minute. She still had trouble reconciling herself to the fact that a man just appeared out of nowhere, seemingly misting like a shadow to materialize in front of their small group.
Tylan, however, hadn’t even flinched. “Lead the way, Duncan,” he said to the tall, formally dressed stranger.
Marissa, still having a hard time gaining control of the rapid beat of her heart, opened her mouth agape, before closing it rapidly to stare at Tylan. “Please tell me where he came from?”
“He’s a vampire, Marissa. It’s a skill common to their kind,” Tylan calmly responded, like watching people appear from nowhere was an everyday occurrence for him.
“Well, ask him not to do it again. He scared the shit out of me,” she snapped back, angry.
“I apologize, my Lady. I had not stopped to think. I realize you are unused to the ways of my people,” Duncan replied easily, bowing low in a respectful gesture.
Scowling, Marissa exhaled a long wind of air. She’d been ready to hold on to her resentment, but now that the thumping in her chest had slowed to a respectable level, she began to feel a little guilty.
This Duncan character wasn’t really at fault. He just did what came naturally to him.
“No, I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “I should be a little more up to date on my vampire lore. I totally blame someone else for that.” Marissa swung her gaze to Tylan, who had the good grace to appear sheepish.
Duncan laughed. “We would hope that he doesn’t know everything about us, my Lady,” he replied, raising a meaningful eyebrow.
Marissa smirked at Tylan’s disgruntled expression before grabbing onto his arm. “Well, let’s get this show on the road. It’s not everyday a girl gets to see someone mist from thin air. I’m curious as to what else I might see.”
Duncan’s eyes crinkled at the corner, and strange light began to blaze from their emerald green depths. Marissa immediately took notice of his handsome features, the thick hair contained in a ponytail, his masculine jaw line. He stood a couple of inches shorter than Tylan, and his body was wiry, more lean, but he still had a radiance about him that couldn’t be ignored.
Tylan stiffened beside her. “Stop it,” he growled at Duncan.
“Sorry, my Lord. She’s … infectious. I’m envious.”
“As you should be,” Tylan snapped. “Now lead the way.”
Marissa narrowed her eyes. She’d just missed something, but for the life of her, she didn’t have a clue what it was. Maybe it was some sort of weird Eritrean-Vampire thing she didn’t know about. Shaking her head, she put it out of her mind, deciding to ask Tylan about it later.
Duncan gestured forward with a graceful sweep of his arms, indicating a door off to the left. He quickly led the group through the entryway, and toward a row of curving stairs inside.
Multitudes of thick, fat, white, dripping candles lined the ominous descent, and any second now, Marissa expected to see some bats or some other type of spooky creature swoop by her head.
She couldn’t help but remember the numerous movies she’d seen, detailing the creepy lives of the infamous creatures of the night. Chills crept across her skin.
Duncan might be cool, but she had no idea about the other folks waiting below. For all she knew, they could be walking into some elaborate form of a trap. As she passed by a fully formed spider web, Marissa was convinced they were walking someplace she didn’t want to be.
“Here we are,” Duncan finally said, signaling toward a large, mahogany door located at the end of a hallway. “The Committee is waiting inside.”
Marissa hesitated on the last step, unsure she wanted to go any further. There was still time to turn around, backtrack and beat a hasty retreat out the door. Wondering why she hadn't asked to wait in the car, she peered at Tylan, trying not to look as afraid as she felt.
He smiled at her slowly, leaning close, his hot breath fanned across her skin. “Trust me,” he murmured.<
br />
Famous last words, Marissa thought, before finally taking that fateful step off the stair.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Tylan always hated his infrequent meetings with the Committee. Their pompous ways were more annoying to his peace of mind than were the numerous gatherings with his own senate.
There always seemed to be a lot more head nodding and grand gesticulations than actual talking.
What he really despised, though, was the Committee’s continued resistance to let go of the remnants of the past. He had thought his people were stringent in their reluctance to move forward. The Committee, however, seemed determined to stay rooted in antiquity.
Even this building was a marker to the ways of old.
The thick oriental rugs and black lacquered furniture throughout the meeting chamber, in his opinion, leaned toward the ridiculously sublime. The modern conveniences scattered about looked foreign amongst the grim scenery.
He knew there really was no need for the eerie setting. Of course, the vamps did need to stay out of the sunlight, so that gave some credence to the chamber being in the basement. It wasn’t always convenient to assemble after sundown, as they were doing now. But the whole edifice, as well as their other meeting locations, was kept like some mystic relic from the past.
Tylan took a deep breath to keep from shaking his head in disgust.
Standing in the doorway of the large hall, he kept his hand rooted to the small of Marissa’s back, partially because he liked the feel of her close to him, but mainly because he needed to keep contact to propel her forward. He knew she was scared out of her wits, and he was glad she kept her gyree firmly in place. The last thing he wanted was for any of the vamps or wolves present to capitalize on her unguarded emotions. The unruly land dwellers seem to feed on that. He’d almost had to rip the larynx from Duncan earlier when the young fool had tried to ensnare her.
Had it been up to him, he wouldn’t have even brought her. The Committee, however, insisted on her presence. He’d balked when Cowan had initially told him, but after conferring with his chief advisor, he decided to play along.
There was something foul going on. Tylan could almost smell it in the air. The Committee usually took a year to decide on a simple meeting date, no matter what the cause. However, after Cowan contacted them about the attack on Liacin, they had agreed to convene within a mere month. And it was Lucian, the acknowledge leader of the Lycans, who had expedited the process.
Something was definitely going on, Tylan thought, and he was going to find out what it was.
Lifting his head, he motioned to Keanan, Cowan, and Omea, to take up their positions as he ushered Marissa to their seats at the front corner of the long meeting table. Mentally pulling out their chairs, he helped his mate to sit by holding onto her hand.
Marissa gave him a wobbly smiled, and he winked at her in return.
If anything happens, my love, stay near the others.
She swallowed visibly, fear highlighted in her eyes. Tylan wished he could comfort her physically, but he settled upon sending gentle waves of assurance to her mind.
After they were both seated, Tylan allowed his gaze to drift over the people in the room.
The usual players were present. Drakken and Lucian taking center stage at head of the table, the leaders of their respective races. Their sons, Draco and Mikel, were in attendance, sitting on either side of their fathers.
Tylan wasn’t familiar with everyone, most being the leaders of the various enclaves around the world, but his gaze settled distinctly on the two humans sitting at the end of the table, the lone representatives for mankind.
He could feel the fear emanating from them.
Shifting his stare, he waited for Drakken or Lucian to begin the meeting.
“So, everyone is here and present,” Drakken commenced. “Though, I fear I must introduce our new members before we can begin these proceedings. As some of you may already know, Steffan Douglas died earlier this year. His son Richard takes up the mantle, as delegate for the human race. He has brought his son, Nigel.”
No one clapped, nodded, or even acknowledged the men. Tylan figured it was because the humans died so often in comparison to the rest of the members, who were practically immortal.
Drakken continued, suddenly swinging his gaze toward Tylan. “Now that the pleasantries are complete, I will ask what brings about the urgency of this meeting.”
Tylan didn’t flinch under the older man’s stare, letting him and the rest of the room know he wasn’t afraid or intimidated. “A little over a month ago, the province of Liacin,” he paused for emphasis, “…a province in my kingdom was attacked.”
Drakken rolled his eyes. “We are all aware of the difficulties in your realm, Tylan. I do not see how your inability to control your own people concerns this Committee.”
Tylan could hear his brother’s soft growl in the background, as the tension level in the room rose noticeably. Marissa shifted next to him, and he squeezed her hand tightly under the table. Relax, my sweet.
“It involves this Committee when someone other than a Eritrean is battling in my borders. As you all know, no one is allowed to enter my kingdom without my express permission,” Tylan said, keeping his voice deceptively soft.
Drakken’s dark eyes were fierce. “Do you have any proof of your accusations?”
“The warrior who saw the intruders died shortly thereafter. But I know his words to be true.”
“But, you don’t have any proof?”
Tylan snorted softly. “Would you like me to bring in the mutilated bodies of my people as evidence?”
“What I would like is for you show this Committee some respect. We do not come into your palace making baseless accusations,” the Vampire gritted, his face tight, his teeth clenched.
“You,” Tylan pinned Drakken with his eyes, “don’t come into my kingdom at all without my permission.”
Drakken slammed his fist against the table, causing large fissures in the black, glossy surface. Marissa flinched at his side, but stayed quiet.
His anger rising steadily, Tylan narrowed his eyes. He would kill the Vampire on the spot if he made one move, consequences be damned.
Drakken opened his mouth wide, but before he could began another tirade, Lucian raised his hand for silence.
Tylan could see how the Lycan’s interference galled Drakken. He was sure if the vamp had enough blood in his body, his face would have been beet red.
Everyone present knew there was no love lost between the two. If rumor were to be believed, Drakken was responsible for the death of Lucian’s mate and youngest son. The enmity between the men stretched back for centuries.
“Tylan, I know you understand that you are making serious indictments,” Lucian’s deep voice echoed through the room. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you are not even sure if the intruder was Lycan or Vampire. Or perhaps, some other being.”
There was something unsaid in all that was being said, Tylan was sure of it. Calming his agitated nerves, he nodded at Lucian. “I don’t know for sure.”
“And you don’t have any other proof?” Lucian’s golden-brown eyes glittered in the dim lighting.
Tylan turned his gaze to Drakken. “Proof? Probably not. But one of my warriors was attacked by a Vampire, in the open, and on the surface.”
Pandemonium erupted in the large hall, as Drakken rose to his feet, several Vampires rising with him. Tylan quickly pushed Marissa’s chair back to stand in front of her, the deadly ringing of swords and knives being pulled from their scabbards echoing in his ears.
“How dare you come here making groundless claims against my people! You should look to your own fettered alliances, before your trample on those that have been already established!” Drakken roared, motioning with a flick of his wrist to a silent Vampire near his left.
The tall, pale vamp misted out, returning seconds later carrying a limp, bloody corpse, which he quickly threw on the long, meeting table. The arms and
legs flopped about wildly, before the body skidded to halt, no more than two feet from where Tylan stood.
The smell of decaying flesh permeated in the air.
“I think your wife will recognize this human,” Drakken sneered.
“Oh my God!” Marissa screamed. “It’s Brian! Dear Lord!”
Don’t let her see this. Tylan spoke to his brother.
Above the clamor, he could hear Keanan’s gentle murmurs to Marissa, urging her not to look, and as much as he wanted to, he didn’t turn around to console her. He had to keep his attention focused on Drakken. At this moment, Tylan had never wanted to kill someone so badly, except of course, for the now-deceased Brian Litchfield.
Clenching his jaw to keep the blood lust at bay, he stared down the older vamp. “You are treading very closely to death, Drakken.”
“And, as I said. You should look to the alliances you created. My son found this human after trailing someone you had taken into your confidence. If you seek to blame anyone, then it’s your head it should be heaped upon. You enlisted the aid of that rogue half breed to do your dirty work.”
“Gabriel wouldn’t do this,” Omea begin hotly, stepping forward. “And he wasn’t the one who attacked me!”
Tylan slid his eyes toward Omea, taking in her flushed face and tense posture, before allowing his eyes to roam over the carcass lying haphazardly on the table.
The entrails were shriveled, like they’d been pulled from the body. It was obvious; someone had gutted Litchfield like a fish. He had probably lived through most of the torture, before the sheer pain sent him into a merciful oblivion.
Tylan had known Gabriel Marcone a long, long time. And if anyone was capable of torturing someone it would be him, but he had to agree with Omea’s assessment. This wasn’t the kind of torment Gabriel would inflict. He was too cerebral for this type of senseless violence.
Lucian, who up until this point had remained silent, stood from his chair, his son, Mikel rising next to him. “Drakken, you dare too far this time.”
“I dare nothing! And I will no longer listen to this foolishness!” Drakken turned to stride briskly around the table, his contingent of warriors and the leaders of the Vampire enclaves following close behind.