Realm of Shadows (Vampire Alliance)

by Heather Graham

  She screamed, thinking that one of them had come upon her, as a particularly prickly, bony-fingered, leafless branch tangled into her hair. She freed herself, pushing Ann along, and at last broke into an open field.

  Yet even as she ran toward the place where she’d left the car, she felt the eerie sensation that had come to touch her with danger.

  With the presence of her enemies.

  A great shadow seemed to fall over the night, and the sound of whooshing winds came again.

  The shadow was behind her ... sweeping over her. She felt the darkness, felt the fear. And then ... the shadow loomed before her. Huge, giant wings, rising ... and then falling. And it seemed that the wings folded, and Gerard stood before her once again.

  She halted, arms tight around Ann, staring at him.

  He smiled. “So ... here we are. I have both the lovely granddaughters of the learned and knowledgeable Jacques DeVant standing before me. Ah ... a bit like smorgasbord.”

  “I will kill you if you come one inch closer,” Tara told him.

  He laughed, tremendously amused.

  “I’m not so sure I want to destroy you at all, Miss Adair. So much spunk and fire! You can join with us, you know.”

  “I don’t think Louisa will like that.”

  “Alas, I’m not sure Louisa is going to survive the fight in which she is currently engaged.”

  “Lovely. You left her to fight Lucian and Ragnor, and you came after two mortal women.”

  “There are many ways to win,” he said softly. “I loved Louisa, truly. Yet, in all those years, I had forgotten how demanding she could be. And then, of course, in the midst of all, I am forced to recall that it was she—trying to save herself—who gave my name to the Alliance at the Sun King’s court. I suffered cataclysmically. And yet . . .” His eyes narrowed. “Not quite so badly as I did at the hands of your grandfather—and Brent Malone.”

  Tara’s arms were aching. Ann leaned against her so that she was standing with her cousin’s form weighing her down, and causing new aches in her muscles. Keeping her eyes locked with Gerard’s, she eased Ann down into the high grass. She drew the stake from her coat.

  “Come near me, and you’re dead.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He took a step toward her. She felt a sudden agony in her arm.

  “Yes, a creature of spirit, courage, and beauty! But such a novice. Oh, yes, of course, you dealt well with the silly young creatures and dumb bandits I created and dug from graves to test your strength and skill. But you’ve yet to be up against something like me.”

  He took another step toward her. “I should make use of a much greater finesse!” he said. “But ... time ... we’re going to have to end your resistance here and now, I’m afraid. We’ll see where the future might lead once I have tasted your ... deliciousness,” he said softly. “When truly hungry, of course, we will dine on just about anything. But a young woman such as you ... I’m salivating already.”

  The entire length of her shook. She could barely hold the stake. She wanted to reach for the last of her holy water, but she couldn’t force her arms to move. She had to tear her eyes away from his. She could not, and he was coming closer, closer, closer ...

  She prayed in desperate silence and willed herself to break his hold. At last, she tore her eyes from his, keeping the stake in her left hand, and reaching for the water with her right. But it was too late. Even as she tried to aim the gun at him, he reached her, and her bones were nearly broken as he forced it from her hand. Still, she struggled with the stake, but he wrenched it from her as if she were a child waving a tinsel wand.

  Then he stared down at her, holding her shoulders. Smiled suddenly, and lifted the fall of her hair. She found one last inch of strength, and brought her knee up with a vengeance, wondering if she could move him in the least. He fell back, shrieking a guttural cry of pain and fury. But he was instantly up, instantly on his feet, ready to come after her again.

  But then ...

  They both heard it.

  A baying sound. A sound that rose and rose into a cacophony, cries to heaven, a shrieking, a howling borne on the wind.

  Beneath them, it seemed that the earth began to tremble.

  Gerard let out an expletive, reaching for Tara and his rifle at the same time.

  And then, from the tangle of forest and trees, they appeared. There seemed to be a hundred of them—silver, huge, wolves, and not wolves, for as they moved, they couldn’t truly be seen, they were like a spin of motion, film out of focus, a thunder of illusion that spilled across the landscape. Tara struggled wildly to free herself from Gerard’s steel hold. She started to shout in warning. “He has silver bullets, he has silver bullets! ”

  Gerard began to fire, wildly.

  It seemed that the wolves were a wave. A wave of howling, baying, snarling death. They barreled on toward them. Gerard took aim. Tara used all her strength, forcing the gun up, the bullet to burst into the air.

  And as she did so, the first of the wolves was upon them. Far larger than life, standing taller than Gerard, taking him down in a fleeting glimpse of time.

  She could hear Gerard. “Damn you, damn you, damn you, die!”

  Tara, released, gasping, staggered away, trying to reach Ann, to cover her from the immense pack of wolves thundering over them. But though she heard the howling, growling, snapping ... tearing, gnashing of teeth and ripping of claws, nothing came near them. She kept hearing Gerard’s curses, and then a gurgling sound. She closed her eyes, ducked over Ann, praying, and then ...

  She realized that she heard nothing. Nothing at all. Except the soft whisper of the breeze, and a rustling of trees.

  She lifted her head, and rose slowly.

  There were no wolves in the field.

  Only a man.

  The moon had risen high in the night sky. The clouds had dissipated. And against the natural shadow of moonlight and night, she saw him standing there, tall in his silhouette, reflecting upon something that lay in the grass.

  The body of his enemy.

  She swallowed hard, needing to speak. She was shaking. Sound wouldn’t come to her lips.

  Then at last. “Brent?”

  He turned to her, and started walking across the grass to her. He was limping. She found her own strength again, warmth to make her frozen limbs burst into motion. She raced across the grass and into his arms. He encompassed her in the strength of his hold, drew back, smoothed back wild tendrils of her hair, searched her face with his anxious golden gaze, and trembling himself, kissed her lips.

  She leaned against him. For a moment, they held there, feeling the sweetness of the night air, the caress of the breeze, and of the moon.

  Suddenly, the night was shattered by the sound of an explosion. Streaks of fire soared into the sky.

  Brent’s hold tightened around her.

  “It’s the house in the woods,” he said softly. “It’s over.”

  She drew back. “Lucian,” she murmured worriedly. “And his ... his friend. Ragnor!”

  “It’s all right; they’re out.”

  “But how . . . ?”

  “I would know if they were not,” he said simply. Then his arm slid around her shoulder and he lifted her chin. “We need to get Ann, and take her home now,” he said.

  And she nodded, for though fire filled the sky, the world seemed strangely right once again.

  EPILOGUE

  They sat at a table at the same café on the Champs Elysées where they had come that first morning when Tara arrived in Paris.

  There were three of them, though, this morning, Ann, Tara, and Jade DeVeau. Jade had been trying to make sense of everything for Tara, though she had gotten most of the story from Brent and her grandfather.

  Brent had been attacked during the war, but discovered by the one enemy general who had known and recognized his exact condition the moment he had seen him. Calling himself Andreson at the time, Gerard was too impressed with his own power and superio
rity to fear the mangled man he had at his mercy. He had become fascinated with medicine during that phase of his existence—and the human capacity to endure pain.

  He’d never realized he was creating the creature who would undo him, cast him into years of pain and healing.

  Doctor Weiss had been a truly good and gentle man, and it was through him—and the rescued political prisoner, Jacques DeVant—that Brent had first been brought to a woman in Paris, Maggie Montgomery, a friend of Lucian’s, and someone with knowledge and a healing touch. Brent had learned what he was, but Maggie had saved him from despair. He would be different, because of the things done to him in the prison’s experimental lab. He would have greater powers. And perhaps, at times, greater agony, learning to harness the violence and needs that tore at his physical being. But such had been the case, and as such, he had, in his way, become part of the Alliance.

  There were differences in the world beneath the known society, Tara learned. Brent could not shadow-shift, as the vampires could. But his strength went beyond that of even the oldest and most practiced and learned vampires. Nor was he prey to saltwater, which meant certain death to vampires. He couldn’t mind read, or focus, the way Lucian could, but he was learning.

  The night had ended with a victory that went beyond expectations. Even the police had been satisfied.

  Javet hadn’t totally ignored Tara’s words. He had been checking into his man from Paris. He had discovered that the specialist had not been who he said he was, and he was more than willing to believe that the false inspector had been the thief and the evil murderer who had brought his victims to the ruins in the woods, satisfied his sick needs, and tortured and killed them there. He believed that “Trusseau” had died in the fire, and even that he had been the one to kill Jean-Luc and steal the corpse—for on a pile of bones among the rubble, incredible riches in jewels were discovered. Jewels that had belonged to the Sun King’s mistress, Louisa de Montcrasset.

  An even better note had been that not all had perished.

  The café girl, Yvette, had not been killed. She must have endured terrible events at the hands of the two, but they hadn’t killed her. Nor had they killed Paul, who had retained something of his sanity, his will to protect her and his love for her stronger than the power of his captors. The two, like Ann, had emerged from it all very ill, but getting better every day.

  And, Paul had told them all proudly, Yvette had asked him to marry her.

  Rick Beaudreaux had been in worse shape than Ann, ravaged in his fight with five of the “young army” Louisa and Gerard had created to be the front line of their battle. He had saved Roland, however, from certain death, with the help of Eleanora, even after she had been attacked by the creatures. Old Daniel had even helped out, Rick said, kicking the “holy shit” out of two of the attackers.

  Ann, though mending herself, let no one else tend to Rick. The two were actually quite adorable, not seeming to have so much as a single argument between them, ever.

  Jacques, too, was doing well, gaining strength with each new day. The fact that he now had his family around him, believing in him, seemed to be the greatest medicine in the world.

  Healing had been the first order of business.

  And now . . .

  Tara leaned forward in an attempt to get Jade to explain more fully. “I’m trying really hard to make sure I’ve got everything straight. The Alliance is as old as...?”

  “Organized civilization, I guess,” Jade said. “I’m not really sure of that myself. It is, of course, a secret society. If it weren’t, most of its members would be locked away for their own benefit. In years gone by, the society was more accepted. People had a greater belief that there could be more that went beyond the realm of the everyday senses. And of course, in past times, such beliefs have caused absolute horror as well—look at the Inquisition, the witch burnings, more.”

  “And Lucian is very old, almost as old as the society.”

  “Not as old as the society. Just very old.”

  “But you’re not?” Ann said curiously, joining in the conversation.

  Jade shook her head ruefully. “Just as old as you see me. I met Lucian a few years ago. He saved my life.” She flushed slightly. “He believes that I saved his as well. ”

  “But . . .” Ann murmured. “You’ll age, and he will not.”

  “We’ve not really worried about that yet. He was deeply concerned at first, knowing that I wanted a family. But by happenstance . . . we’ve adopted a son. And he’s gorgeous.”

  “I don’t understand,” Tara said. “Every time I think I do, I get confused again. Lucian is a vampire—a good vampire, a part of the Alliance now.”

  “Not really a part. He has known about it, and in our current times, it’s a natural coalition.”

  “Crosses don’t bother either of them because at heart they still have a deep belief in an afterlife and the sanctity of God and man. If I have this right, it’s kind of like hypnotism—if you’re not an evil person, you can’t be talked into doing evil under the power of the hypnotist?”

  “Kind of,” Jade said, “but the question of free will comes in often. A vampire can be driven by natural instincts, just as man can be driven. It’s a question of what’s right, and what’s wrong, and learning to exist by a code that respects others. The world is always shifting—our world is always shifting, new fears, new friends, new enemies. It’s the same in the world we can’t really touch. The rules have changed in the new order. But yes, I suppose it boils down to the classic fight man always wages within himself, a battle between the capabilities of doing good and doing evil.”

  “Why doesn’t Lucian change you then?” Ann asked.

  “Because he doesn’t know what the end brings,” Jade told her. “I’m willing to take any chance. Lucian isn’t. I was bitten once, but like you . . . I healed. And he still doesn’t really know about the immortal soul, and so . . .”

  Tara plunged in then, asking frankly, “What about werewolves?”

  “What about them?”

  “Do they live forever?”

  Tara sipped her coffee. “No. But they age far more slowly than an average man. They have their weaknesses, and their strengths. And like any other creature, they learn with age. At the beginning, as I understand it, Brent had little control. He was subject to the pull of the moon, losing all power over himself when it was full, having little ability—unless he was under extreme duress—to change when there was no moon. But he’s learned over the decades. He has tremendous abilities. And in his desire to inflict torture, Gerard endowed him with incredible strengths.” She leaned forward, a slight smile curling her lips as she told Tara, “We all have to make decisions, and choices, you know. But then, I’m not really sure that you do have as many choices as someone else. You must realize yourself now that you have been born to the Alliance. There are many more who are Alliance across the world. They may not all know it yet . . . and usually, in times of need, they somehow find one another.” She looked at Ann. “You have a choice. Perhaps it’s already been made.”

  Ann shrugged and asked Jade, “Is there . . . has there ever been a cure for vampirism?”

  “No . . . well, yes, but I only know of one case where a vampire returned to a mortal life. And that was rather a different case. Back home, in Charleston, where Lucian and I and our . . . group is centered, there’s a woman. Maggie. Brent knows her well. She was here, in France, after the war, and she was a great source of help for him at that time. And now . . . well, long story, but she’s married to a cop in New Orleans, and I’m sure that Brent will tell you all about her, except, of course, that you should all come and visit. There are really too many stories to try to explain by simple conversation.”

  Tara stared at her, smiling suddenly. New Orleans. She loved the city. It would be wonderful to visit—and understand.

  “Strange,” she told Ann, “to think that the last time we were sitting here . . .”

  “I was bemoaning the l
oss of a monster!” Ann said with a shudder.

  “Yes, but you came through.”

  “And now I’m debating a life with a different vampire,” Ann said.

  Tara laughed. “At least you know a little more . . . Jade, you said that vampires can’t have children. What about—werewolves.”

  “Brent Malone is really a man like any other—with a few special abilities. Oh, there are so many arguments! Are these things all illusion, chemical changes? What are the true properties of matter? Throughout time, I’m afraid, no one has had the real answer.”

  “If my cousin marries Brent,” Ann said with stern practically, “is she likely to have a litter?”

  “Ann!” Tara said.

  “Well, it’s what you’re asking, isn’t it?” Ann said indignantly.

  “You’d be most likely to have lovely children,” Jade said.

  Tara didn’t say any more. She could see that the men, who had been in the airline office in the middle of the block, were returning.

  “We’re all set,” Lucian said. “But I’m afraid we leave now.”

  Rick looked at Ann. “You’re sure you’re coming?” he asked.

  “Definitely,” she told him.

  “Time to say our goodbyes then,” Lucian murmured.

  And so they did. In a very natural way, hugs and kisses all around, American style, French style.

  And it was strange, of course, because Tara was staying on in France for a few weeks while Ann was going to the States on vacation with Rick.

  In the end, the promise was that they would all see one another soon.

  Then the others were gone, and Tara was left at the table with Brent. He ordered a coffee, and smiled at her ruefully across the table.

  “So . . .”

  “A werewolf, eh?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  She was silent, watching him.

  “I can go away,” he said softly. “Walk away from your you, and your life, and leave you in peace.”

  She leaned close to him. “Don’t even think about trying it. I’m Alliance, you know. I’d hunt you down to the ends of the earth.” He lowered his head, but not before she saw the light that touched his eyes. Shimmering. Golden. She loved it.