“Good evening.” She crossed the room and met Khan halfway, holding out her hand for him to kiss. He took it and pressed his lips against the backs of her knuckles, and a shiver of longing curled her toes even as she admired the contrast between her pale skin and his bronzed face. She, too, had once possessed golden skin, and she remembered how his hands, lips and tongue had felt gliding across it.
Suppressing a sigh, she withdrew her hand, and he straightened, a ghost of a smile flirting with his sensual lips. Werewolf senses were as keen, if not keener than a vampire’s, especially their sense of smell; and he would have scented her desire. She straightened and smoothed her features into a composed mask, determined not to let their history direct the course of this meeting.
“Would you care for any refreshment before we begin?” she asked, leading Khan and his fellow wolves to the long, oval mahogany table she used to hold meetings.
Khan’s dark gold eyes gleamed impatiently. “We did not come here for pleasantries, Amelia.”
She bristled slightly, unused to anyone using her given name in such a familiar manner—but right now would not be the time or place to argue, when there were more grievous matters at stake. “Very well,” she agreed, pulling her chair out and folding her body gracefully into it at the same time Khan did. The other werewolves and the vampire council whom she’d called into attendance followed suit. “So, why have you called this meeting on such short notice?”
“A half-breed killed several of our own tonight.” Khan sent Amelia a pointed look from beneath his brows, and several of his wolves growled quietly, their powerful bodies shifting in their seats. "We understand that he is under your protection.”
“He was.” Amelia inclined her head briefly, her heart sinking. She’d had a sneaking suspicion about this when several of her vampires had found Malachi severely wounded, his body left not far from the edge of the woods near her manor. “But I am told he left several hours ago, with one of my former Seethe members.”
“You let him leave?” Khan’s voice was whisper-soft, but his eyes had lightened to a dangerous yellow, which in werewolves was a sign of anger. “You are many things, Amelia, but stupid is not one of them. You would have had to know of, or at least suspect, his actions.”
“Do not presume to know my mind, Khan,” Amelia said coldly, even though he was right. “None of this changes the fact that he is gone now. What is it you want?”
“His head, of course, paltry payment that it might be for the lives he stole tonight.”
“And if I refuse?”
Khan narrowed his eyes. “You know that would mean war. Our treaty does not extend to half-breeds, especially not ones who kill our kind. And yet you dared to keep him alive after discovering what he was, even though by doing so you put our clan in danger! You know how volatile half-breeds are!”
“You go too far in your assumptions, Khan. Thomas has remarkable control over his thirst and his mind. I did not see him as being a threat, and I am not certain I believe he attacked unprovoked.”
“Whether he was provoked or not is irrelevant! The issue still stands. Either you bring us his head, or the treaty is absolved. I don’t make threats lightly, Amelia.” Khan’s voice dropped an octave. “You of all people should know that best.”
The two leaders stared at each other for a long while, their history flowing between them like a river of memories, as their eyes remained locked. Amelia knew this was not a battle she could win. Even if Thomas and Elsbeth were worth the risk of open warfare, she could not bear to make an archenemy of her former lover. It did not matter that they could not be together—she often convinced herself that the myriad vampire lovers she took from her seethe were enough to forget what it was like to be held in his arms. But she would not put herself in a position where she would be forced to hurt him.
“As you wish.” She turned to the two guards stationed by the closed double doors. “Bring Malachi in.”
Both guards bowed, and one of them slipped out through the doors to relay the message. The silence that followed was choking, but it wasn’t long before the doors opened again to admit Malachi, who was flanked by two guards half-dragging, half-supporting him as they brought him in.
Amelia eyed him distastefully as he was brought before them. His long, blond hair was matted with blood and hung around his face, which sported a black eye and split lip, and his clothes were torn and dirty. He looked much like a drunken scrapper who’d just been tossed from a drinking establishment. The half-breed had definitely been stronger than he first appeared, if he had been able to fight off the Lyrian Clan as well as reduce Malachi to such a sorry state.
“This is Malachi, a member of my Seethe.” Amelia told Khan. “He is going to lead the hunt for Thomas and Elsbeth.”
Malachi’s head snapped up, his icy eyes wide, and he had to steady himself as the guards released their grip on his arms. When they had come for him, he thought he was being taken before the Mistress to decide his punishment. He should have expected trouble of a different sort the moment he’d caught the werewolves’ scent, but he was having trouble thinking clearly after such a sound thrashing from Thomas.
“You cannot,” he blurted before he could stop himself.
Amelia raised a brow. “You dare to tell me what I can and cannot do?”
Malachi snapped his mouth shut, his cheeks coloring as he realized how foolish he was being. Vampires had been put to death for showing disrespect to the Seethe Mistress in private, never mind in front of a werewolf clan.
He bowed low, even as his muscles screamed in response. “I only meant that I feel it would be a waste of resources, Mistress. Thomas is not a threat to us, and Elsbeth is a member of our Seethe who should not be harmed.” In truth he could care less about Thomas—his strength was terrifying but Malachi was confident he could get at him again, and would have normally jumped at the chance to do so. But if he was to follow his Mistress’s orders, going after Thomas meant killing Elsbeth as well. And Malachi still loved her, even if she’d chosen Thomas over him.
“Elsbeth is no longer a member of this Seethe.” Amelia’s voice cut sharply into him. “She abandoned us the moment she made her choice to leave with Thomas, and therefore, I renounce her. You know as well as I that there is no way to go after Thomas without also going through her.” A flicker of sadness touched her eyes, and Malachi knew that even though Amelia was fond of Elsbeth, she would not be swayed.
The moment passed, and her eyes hardened. “I am not stupid enough to think that Thomas didn’t get a ‘helpful’ push in the right direction, Malachi. Either you do this task, or die by my hand. Either way you will have been punished for choosing to defy me not once, but twice in this matter.”
A chill ran down Malachi’s spine, and he bowed again, not so much out of deference but to escape his Mistress’s thousand-yard stare. He was out of options, and unwilling to forfeit his life for the sake of the half-breed that had stolen his woman.
“I am surprised at your hesitancy, Malachi,” Amelia’s voice was soft. “You owe your life, your very existence to me. You should be grateful that I have granted you the protection of my Seethe for as long as I have.”
Malachi raised his eyes again, and this time they were cool and composed as the met the gaze of his Mistress.
“I have not forgotten. And I will go.”
“Good.” Amelia clapped her hands and turned to face Khan. “He will set off with your pack directly after sunset tomorrow.”
***
Thomas and Elsbeth sat in the living room, steaming mugs of tea in their hands as they took turns regaling their tale to Xander. They had all risen not too long ago, the sun having just sunk beneath the hills. The two of them had been anxious to speak to Xander, but the vampire had taken one look at their exhausted faced and ushered them off to his spare bedroom, assuring them that it would be safe for them to wait until tomorrow.
Despite the axe hanging over his neck, Thomas had slept deeply, with no dreams. The
re was something about this house, this place that exuded a sense of calm, spreading it over the mind like a blanket. He was grateful for the reprieve, however undeserved it might have been.
“It sounds like you are in a great deal of trouble, young man.” Xander stroked his beard, his dark eyes boring into Thomas’s soul.
Thomas grimaced, instinctively bristling at the cool look in the older vampire’s eyes. “I did not wish for any of this to happen. No one told me anything about half-breeds or werewolf clans.”
“Even so, that does not change your situation.” Xander set his empty cup down on the small table next his rocking chair. “What is it you are going to do?”
Thomas set his own cup down and folded his arms. “Whatever I have to in order to survive and keep Elsbeth safe. If that means taking down the entire seethe, so be it.”
Xander chuckled and shook his head. “You are but a whelp who does not understand the depth of his powers. There is no hope for you at your current level of strength if you decide to take on the seethe now.”
Thomas curled his fists, resisting the urge to bare his fangs. Elsbeth laid a gentle, but restraining hand on his forearm, and he forced himself to take a breath. “I defeated the group of werewolves that tried to kill me,” he pointed out. “If I can do that, I should be strong enough to hold my own against the seethe.”
“Thomas.” Elsbeth beseeched him gently, and he turned to look at her. Her eyes were soft, her grip on his forearm placating. “You faced but a handful of the Lyrian pack. If they had been together in full force, you would not have stood a chance. And werewolves are easier to kill than vampires. It would take many times the amount of wolves you faced to even compare to Mistress Amelia’s strength.”
“What would you have me do, then?” Thomas looked between Elsbeth and Xander, frustration etched into his brow. “I cannot simply sit here and wait for them to find me.”
“Certainly not.” Xander rose. “You will simply have to use this brief spell of time to hone your strengths and harness your powers.”
“How?”
“Training.”
* * *
‘Training’ consisted of being stuck in the middle of three of the most infuriating bastards Thomas had ever met, and tossed back and forth like a ragdoll between the trio. Ranulf, Gareth and Haden were their names, and they were lone vampires who shared the mountain with Xander. Neither mercy nor respect seemed to exist in their vocabulary, and they spent the next four days lording their supremacy over him, both with barbed words and sharp fists.
But then, as Xander had reminded him, the seethe would show him none, so it seemed only fair that his teachers would not either.
“How long do you think before he gives up today?” Ranulf, the one in the center, called to the others. His reddish-brown hair grazed his broad, beefy shoulders as they shook with mirth.
“Just try not to step on him too much,” Haden sneered, looking at Thomas down his hooked nose. “He’s small, so you might miss him.”
Red hazing over his vision, Thomas charged forward with a battle cry, fully intending to wipe the smirks off their faces. He pulled his fist back, aiming for Ranulf’s face, but the giant of a vampire swatted him like a fly, his meaty arm crashing into Thomas so that he went spinning away before sprawling in the dirt.
This must be what a fly feels like right before he’s swatted, he thought dazedly, the side of his face and neck throbbing.
“Worthless half-breed,” Ranulf jeered as Thomas struggled to his feet.
“I am. Not. Worthless!”
Thomas lunged again, and though his movements were slightly faster, he was still beaten down with little effort. Still, he refused to give up, rising again and again, every time his face was planted into the dirt. The laughs and jeers from the three vampires soon faded, to be replaced with looks of annoyance and anger as they realized their work had been more cut out for them than they knew.
“I don’t know why Xander insists on having us waste our time like this,” Ranulf complained as Thomas went sailing into the air. “You can only kick a beaten dog so many times before the charm of the act wears off.”
“I don’t know,” Gareth remarked as Thomas gathered himself for another strike. “I’m fairly well entertained!” He moved out of the way as Thomas suddenly appeared in his face, sidestepping in order to avoid a strike. Thomas went careening off, out of the circle as Gareth back-pedaled to the other side. “That was too close.”
Thomas lurched back into the center of the circle, and locked eyes with Ranulf, who was glaring murderously at him.
“Why don’t you just lie down and die?” he snarled. “You should have realized how fruitless it is to stand against the three of us after being flattened so many times. Unless all those hits to your head have addled your brain?”
Thomas raised his fists, his lips curving. “My brain is functioning just fine, thank you.” His body was bruised from head to toe, and yet there was a rush of something heady flowing through his veins, filling him with a terrifying combination of joy and power.
Ranulf raised a fist. “Don’t back talk to me like that, you half-breed.”
Thomas tilted his head slightly to the left. “You call me ‘half-breed’ as though it is a weakness, rather than my greatest strength.”
“Your greatest strength?” Haden mocked. “Where was this strength of yours the last few days, no, hours, when we were pounding you into the ground?”
Thomas kept his eyes on Ranulf. “My status as a half-breed gives me something that neither of you three will ever have.”
“And what is that?” Ranulf sneered.
“My humanity.” The three vampires laughed, but Thomas stood his ground. “You three have been immortal for so long that I doubt you understand what it means to be human, to have a true appreciation for life, both your own and the lives of those around you.” Thomas felt a sharp pang in his chest as he said the words—a reminder of everything he’d lost as well as gained ever since that fateful night when Malachi had bitten him. “The only thing you all have left is the instinct to kill. But I have the instinct to survive, and that is why I get up after you push me down, and why I will continue to do so until I have won.”
“Enough of this idle banter,” Ranulf growled, his eyes burning crimson. “It’s time to put our killing instinct to good use! Let us end this game!”
The three vampires charged him at once, but Thomas freeze-framed—one moment he was standing in the center, the next he was behind Haden. His foot snapped out, catching Haden in the back, and there was a loud crack of bone before the vampire shot across the clearing before skidding in the grass. The other two vampires froze, and then turned slowly. Thomas nearly laughed aloud at the near-comical expressions of shock and horror on their faces.
“Why you filthy—” Gareth exclaimed. “You won’t go unpunished for that!” He rushed forward at hyper-speed, closing the distance between them in an instant, and Thomas sidestepped to avoid the fists flying in the air.
“I think I’ve already been punished enough!” Thomas roared, blocking the punches, and then he grabbed Gareth by the arm and swung him directly into an approaching Ranulf. The two vampires went crashing to the ground, and Thomas was on them in an instant, kicking Gareth viciously out of the way and then falling on Ranulf so he could jab his elbow against the hollow in the giant’s throat.
“I think my instinct to survive is stronger than your instinct to kill.”
* * *
Elsbeth sat in the living room, worrying her lip with her teeth as she worked at a piece of embroidery. Six days had passed since she’d first arrived here with Thomas, and she knew they were running out of time. It was too much to hope that Mistress Amelia would take much longer to ferret out their hiding place.
Thomas was outside training again with the three vampires—she could hear their shouts and good-natured cursing, which brought a small smile to her lips. She’d been worried that the vampires’ attitudes toward half-breeds
would impede Thomas, but since that day he’d defeated them they seemed to have grown a newfound respect for him. Not only were they continuing to spar with him, but they had decided to teach him mind-control techniques so he could better harness the flow of his power. Elsbeth was ridiculously proud of how far he’d progressed in such a short time. She’d been right to bring him here to Xander.
Her brow furrowed at the thought of her mentor—he’d been shut in his room all night, and had not responded when she’d knocked on his door to ask if he wanted any tea. She knew that he liked to meditate, as it gave him better control over his mental powers, but he usually came out by this time to have a cup with her and talk about the past and present. He’d always been a good sounding board for her to bounce her fears and problems off of, and this time had been no different.
She was about to set her embroidery down again when she heard his door open, and then the patter of feet rushing down the hall. Anxiety gripped her throat and she rose to her feet as he rushed into the room, his eyes wide.
“Bring Thomas in, quickly. I have terrible news.”
=
CHAPTER 9
“Malachi?” Elsbeth asked faintly, gripping Thomas’s hand tightly in her own. She was sure that had she not already been seated, her knees would have given out from beneath her. “He is coming, with an army of werewolves? Are you sure about this?”
Xander nodded wearily. “My visions do not lie, Elsbeth. They will likely arrive an hour past sunset tomorrow, maybe two if we are lucky.”
“Werewolves?” Thomas demanded. “He’s with the Lyrian Clan?”
Elsbeth nodded miserably. “I had a feeling something like this could happen. Malachi is renowned for his tracking skills, and since he knows both you and I best—” Thomas snorted derisively at that, “—it is only logical that he would be sent to find us.”
“And he just so happens to have an army of werewolves at his command,” Thomas sneered.
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