Shadow Rising (The Shadow World Book 7)

by Dianne Sylvan

  When she saw David’s face she shrank back unconsciously.

  His eyes were black, yes, but there was blood all over his mouth like he’d completely lost control of himself. How was that even possible? He was the one who’d taught her that only monsters and animals left their prey gory and themselves bloody. Civilized vampires left only two fading holes as evidence they’d been there.

  She leaned back in and carefully turned his head to face her. There was no recognition in his eyes at all.

  “David,” she repeated, more firmly, then snapped, “Prime, focus.”

  The tone made him literally twitch, then blink. She started to see her husband in the wild-eyed, almost feral face she’d never seen before.

  The others kept their hands on him to help shore him up and offer comfort. Whatever this was, they knew he would never have done it willingly. That just wasn’t the David Solomon any of them knew.

  Finally recognition began to return to his expression and his eyes began to fade back through silver and into blue. He started shaking.

  “What happened?” she asked barely above a whisper. She was afraid to scare him lest she lose him again.

  He leaned his head sideways to look past her shoulder and confirm what he had apparently been hoping was a hallucination.

  Then he returned his gaze to her, and there was so much fear and bewilderment there she had no idea how to react except she wanted to get him home, clean, and in bed before this could hurt him anymore.

  He swallowed. His voice was strange, almost childlike, when he said, “I was so hungry.” A violent tremor ran through him and his eyes filled with tears. “I couldn’t stop. Why couldn’t I stop?”

  She had no answer.

  Deven, however, did. “Because there are four of us,” he replied, stroking David’s head. “A moment ago our hunger disappeared. You got all of it somehow.”

  “What do you remember?” Miranda asked. They were all whispering, trying to shield the Prime from the gruesome scene behind them. He’d seen it, but they didn’t want him staring at it and losing his hold again.

  “I couldn’t stop,” he repeated. “I killed one, and it wasn’t enough. It usually goes away after that, but…it didn’t. I needed another, and another, and another…and…when it was finally gone and I looked around…”

  He started to curl up again. They all tightened their grip to stop him.

  “It’s okay,” she said.

  He looked at her as if she had gone mad. “No it’s not.”

  She sighed. “Okay, well, it’s not. But we’ll figure it out. Let’s get you home and get this taken care of. Boys, would you…”

  They didn’t need instruction. Both rose, bringing David with them, holding onto his arms like he was an invalid. Deven told him not to look down, just to follow their lead. He didn’t argue.

  Miranda could feel anguish building in her heart, but there was no time for that. “Dispatch, I need a body disposal team—we have a multiple Alpha Seven at these coordinates. Four victims. All need level three containment. This is priority—pull as many swords off patrol as you need to.”

  “As you will it, my Lady. ETA four minutes.”

  Good enough. “Harlan, I need you to bring the car to where we’re at as fast as you can. The Prime is in a…well, he needs help, and we need to get him out of here.”

  “Two minutes, my Lady.”

  The Elite team exceeded her expectations—they were there before Harlan. She directed them into the alley, thankful that they knew better than to question her; if there was something to know, they’d hear it, or at least hear it through the Elite grapevine in the next few days. She was well aware that they talked; in fact it was something the Pair counted on, to get manufactured rumors and information into the Shadow District.

  Harlan, too, would not ask, though usually he ended up finding out what was going on out of necessity. She’d trust him with her life and trusted his discretion. That was part of why he’d served in his post as long as David had held the Signet.

  He didn’t say “Holy shit” when he saw David, but she could see it in his face. He simply opened the door so they could coax David into the SUV.

  There were emergency supplies in all Signet vehicles—some weapons, usually a bag of blood kept on ice, a change of clothes for the Pair, and first aid supplies to keep bleeding or broken bones at bay on the way to the Hausmann. There were also towels and enzyme-based wipes for removing blood without leaving a stain. Vampires were, by necessity, good at getting blood out of things, and a couple of months back Hunter Development had sold a version of that same formula to a human cleaning products company, so now mothers all over the USA were using it to get grass stains out of their kids’ jeans, making Hunter’s owner—David Solomon—another passive fortune.

  Nico went around to the back to grab what they needed while she and Deven tried to get David comfortable. He was still shaking, of his mind with shock…and when Nico started to touch him to work on the blood on his face, David snarled and nearly attacked him before sinking back into a daze.

  Deven had him pinned to the seat before he could even touch the Elf. He put a hand on David’s neck. “Should I…”

  “No, not yet,” Miranda said, picking up a box from the med kit and taking out a pre-loaded disposable syringe. “Let’s try this first.” She clicked the safety off and thrust the needle into David’s thigh.

  Seconds later, his muscles went slack and he passed out.

  It was the same tranquilizer they’d given Nico when he went feral, though the Elf had become immune to it quickly. She knew David had never had it, so it would still work for him, at least long enough to get him home. She could sense from the bond that once he was safe in bed he’d pull out of this…for now.

  They all looked at each other. “What the hell is happening?” Deven asked. “Has either of you ever taken the hunger from the other?”

  “No,” she answered. “Never. It would have been nice, in a way. He could have killed for both of us. I know he would have done it willingly if it meant I didn’t have to. But this…”

  “I’ve never seen him like this,” Deven said. “And I think I’ve seen just about everything he’s capable of…or I thought I had.”

  “Me neither.” She started stripping off his coat and shirt; the coat would survive but the shirt was probably ruined. No great loss; it was a nondescript black button-down, not one of his beloved collection.

  It was cramped in the seat but the three of them worked in silent concert to clean David up and make him more comfortable. Miranda wiped the blood off his face while Nico did one hand and Deven the other. By the time they were out of the city, he looked almost like himself again.

  The Queen hoped he wouldn’t wake until they were home, and she got her wish.

  “Here,” Dev said. “I’ll take him—let’s just Mist to the suite so the Elite don’t see. He’d be mortified if he thought he’d looked weak to them.”

  She and Nico agreed, and in a breath they’d all disappeared; Miranda took a second to psych herself up. She considered just walking, but she didn’t want to be away from David any longer than she had to, and shut her eyes, determined not to be sick.

  She stumbled out of the Mist a second later and into the safe familiarity of the Signet Suite. She joined the boys at the bed, where they’d lowered David into the pillows, and all three of them hovered for a moment unsure what to do next.

  Thankfully there was another Prime in the room willing to take charge.

  “I think this is a Tetrad sort of night,” Deven said. “Nico, you take the first shower—I’ll fetch us clothes, and Miranda can keep an eye on him. Sound good?”

  He vanished before they could argue, but Miranda hadn’t planned to anyway. Nico reached over and touched her shoulder. “Would you rather I waited with you?”

  “It’s okay. It’s just for a minute.”

  The Elf left her reluctantly. She sat down on the side of the bed and yanked off her boots. />
  What the hell was happening? On the one hand, the thought that they could divide the burden of the New Moon made her heart leap—if he had a choice in the matter, David wouldn’t shrink from killing, and neither would Deven. It might be the only way to keep Nico stable—she worried, though she didn’t want to let him know, that the violence of killing even in the most nonviolent way possible might break him again, and the monster Morningstar had unleashed could return. The thought of protecting him from that, and no longer having to do it herself either, left her almost weak-kneed with hope.

  It was the loss of control that worried her. Not once in the years she’d known him had David ever done anything like this. He didn’t lose his calm, even when enraged; it was that steely-eyed composure that scared the hell out of his enemies. He was a quick and efficient hunter and never spilled so much as a drop.

  She heard a groan and turned around. David’s eyes fluttered open, and thank God, they were the right color, and not glazed with confusion or fear.

  “My head is killing me,” he muttered, shutting his eyes tightly.

  “Are you okay?”

  He frowned and opened his eyes again. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Well…don’t you remember what happened tonight?”

  The frown deepened. “I…” He groped after the memory for a second, and she saw it returning: Slowly-dawning horror came over his face, and he sat up, staring down at his hands. “I don’t…I don’t…”

  “Whoa,” she said, sensing he was about to lose it again. She grabbed his shoulders and sent as much soothing energy along the bond as she could; she felt Nico do the same, and Deven, until their combined reassurance and love had wrapped the Prime like a cocoon and shielded him from his own mind.

  Deven reappeared with an armload of clothes just in time for Nico to emerge from the bathroom in a towel. Miranda returned her attention to David while they divided outfits and Dev took the shower. They were deliberately acting like nothing awful had happened; she was glad of that.

  “Did the Elite…the…bodies,” David managed, head in his hands.

  “All dealt with,” she told him. “Can you tell me if they were on the list?”

  David shook his head. “The first one was. The others…I don’t know. I didn’t read them, didn’t care, I just…they were there. Walking by. I didn’t care.”

  That was alarming too. Even when feeding off the innocent on an average night, they all took a minute to evaluate their prey, finding those healthy enough not to be seriously weakened or injured by the blood loss. The fewer humans who wound up in the ER with fang marks the better.

  One by one they showered and joined the Prime in bed; when Miranda went into the bathroom for her turn she noticed a bag of blood and wine glass on the counter—Deven had left it there for her, and it looked like he’d had one himself. Only Nico and David had actually gotten any blood tonight, and though the death-lust was gone, she still had good old-fashioned hunger to deal with. She had a long drink while she waited for the water to heat up to the thermonuclear level she preferred, grateful Deven had thought of it.

  By the time she returned to the bedroom David was dozing off, held securely between Prime and Consort; he’d visibly relaxed, and looked completely like himself again, just more tired than usual.

  She climbed in with them. Deven swapped places with her so she was next to David and Deven was against her back. She touched David’s sleeping face gently, checking for a fever she knew wouldn’t be there. He didn’t stir.

  “What do you think?” she asked, not even sure what she was asking.

  “I think that’s another on a long list of questions Persephone will need to answer on the Winter Solstice,” Nico replied, looking ashamed. “I admit the thought of escaping the killing sentence upon us makes my heart leap, but…not if the cost is David’s sanity.”

  “I know,” Miranda agreed. “I feel awful that my first reaction was relief. But I couldn’t help it either.”

  Deven was smiling in spite of the situation, and shook his head. “You two. You act like this was your idea—he knows, as do we all, that you’d never ask him to do this even if it was a viable option. Perhaps you should hold off on guilt until we know what this actually was and if it’s going to happen again.” He reached over and flicked Nico’s ear lightly, earning a quiet chuckle. “Now, let’s all sleep…after what happened this afternoon nobody got much rest, and now we need it even worse. We’ll deal with the fallout when there’s fallout.”

  “Wise words as always,” she murmured, burrowing down. Whatever was going on, the simple act of snuggling up with her husband had always lifted even the greatest burden for a little while, and now she could greedily drink in even more comfort, offered without hesitation, as if they’d all been together like this for decades instead of mere weeks.

  “Life is weird,” she said tiredly, letting sleep pull her toward the earth.

  Dev nipped lightly at her neck just below her ear. “None of us would have it any other way.”

  “Good,” she replied with a yawn. “Because I think it’s about to get a lot weirder.”

  Chapter Three

  The door to Nico’s suite—currently Kalea and Inaliel’s guest quarters—stood ajar, with flickering candlelight beyond. Dev paused and asked the guard, “Are they in?”

  “The lady Kalea is at a meeting of the refugee leaders, my Lord,” she replied. “She left the baby asleep.” At his raised eyebrow she added, “She asked me to contact her immediately if I hear the baby stirring.”

  He nodded and eased the door open, no longer able to deny his curiosity about the strange little creature asleep in his Consort’s bed. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to know…just that he wanted a better look at her, to learn…something.

  It turned out the shipment of baby things had arrived—he hadn’t been paying much attention to what supplies were coming when. There was a crib in the room now, under the window where the moonless, starlit night streamed in through the open shutters.

  The sense of “Elf” in the room had redoubled, as had the scent, but these Elves had a different quality to their energy from Nico’s, something brighter he couldn’t really describe. There were also the empathic echoes of heart-weariness, uncertainty, and grief he was sure saturated every room that currently housed a refugee of Avilon.

  He moved to stand by the crib and rested a hand on the rail, peering in at the bundle of blankets that rose and fell steadily in the puddle of starlight. The baby slept in periwinkle, including a little cap to keep her head warm on these cold Winter nights and ridiculously tiny socks on her ridiculously tiny feet. She was as fat as a human infant, and would have been adorable enough already to anyone who liked babies, but the way her little ears pointed at their tips was almost too much.

  “Aren’t you a marvel,” he said softly, unable to help a smile.

  As if agreeing, the baby’s fingers twitched against the blanket, and her eyes blinked open; she looked up at him calmly through her pale lavender eyes and, after a moment, rolled over and sat up.

  That surprised him. She seemed awfully small for that kind of coordination…but then again he knew absolutely nothing about Elven babies. She didn’t make a sound, just looked at him, the same way he’d been looking at her, evaluating, making up her mind.

  Not entirely comfortable under her gaze, he reached down to the foot of the crib and picked up a stuffed purple bear, presenting it to her. She held out both hands for it and immediately set to sucking on its ear.

  The quietly-cleared throat behind him didn’t startle him; he hadn’t been listening for footsteps but he’d been expecting Kalea to return any moment. He didn’t acknowledge her arrival until she’d come to stand next to him.

  “You could pick her up if you like,” Kalea said in careful English. “I sense you know how to manage an infant.”

  He shook his head and replied in Elvish. “No thank you.”

  She was silent in the awkward way that mean
t she was trying to figure out how to say something. He might have thought she didn’t want him near Inaliel, but she’d already given her tacit approval.

  “I feel I should tell you…”

  Deven waited, unmoving, eyes still on the baby, whose eyes were still on him.

  “Your mother had no idea you survived until she had already come to Avilon and the way was sealed behind her. She regretted abandoning you…deeply, though not as deeply as she regretted sending you away as a child instead of here with Lesela. But I think, perhaps, it was best that you did not meet.”

  Now, he looked up. “Why not?”

  “Elendala never lost the shame and self-hatred that plagued her when she lived as a human—and she was never the most…pleasant…person to be around. I only knew her for a short time, and I must admit I did not like her. She was bitter and angry; even reclaiming her Healing power was done out of shame, not out of a true desire to help others. She was atoning, she claimed, for…”

  Kalea trailed off a moment—Deven had a feeling she wasn’t the sort of person who often lacked for words, let alone twice in one conversation. He waited.

  The Weaver took a breath and went on. “She said she was atoning for all the lives you had taken.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?” he burst out, to his dismay, and even the baby seemed surprised—she started and stared up at him with her wide, too-smart eyes. “What did she know about my life?”

  “Oh, a great deal. Lesela was a Prophet, after all. Apparently Elendala had her scry for knowledge of you—that’s how Lesela discovered you were alive. Elendala wanted to know if you died in the monastery or elsewhere, and to their mutual surprise, you had not—and moreover you were a…how did Nico put it? A gay vampire murder pimp.”

  He normally would have laughed at that particular set of words coming out of an Elf’s mouth, but he was still too flabbergasted. “She was ashamed of me.”