by Aja James
Unlike his biological brother.
“You’ve always deserved this life,” Devlin told Ryu solemnly. “I don’t know a better man to heap with happiness.”
“I do,” Ryu returned, clapping a hand of his own on Devlin’s shoulder on the other side, “You, kōhai.”
Devlin gave Ryu’s shoulder a couple of manly thwacks and pulled back, huffing a falsely light-hearted laugh.
“Not me, senpai,” he said. “Why would I ever give up all the beautiful feminine bounty in the world for just one in particular?”
“Because you choose her, and she chooses you,” the Ninja answered, ever a man of few words, but they always made an impact.
Uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation, Devlin sat back in his chair and swiveled to face the giant screens full of code.
Without looking back, he said, “Have fun in Boston and try not to miss me too much while you’re gone.”
When he heard Ryu’s departure and the soft click of the door, Devlin slumped a bit in his chair and stared at the screens unseeingly.
The Chosen was down from six to just Maximus, Ana and himself. Ryu was technically still part of the team, but he had his own life now and seldom stayed at the Cove. Their Queen seemed to be in no hurry to repopulate their ranks by recruiting more warriors. She’d been out of sorts ever since her association with the Pure Ones’ Consul Seth Tremaine ended over a year ago.
Boring was not the right word to describe the situation; it was lonely.
Devlin was lonely.
Taking a determined breath, he refocused on the task at hand.
The Dark Queen’s summons earlier had been about recent developments with the fight club networks and the disappearance of many warrior-class Dark Ones and Pure Ones alike.
All linked to a mysterious figure called Medusa, whom Devlin had been hunting for the past fifteen months.
Given their tenuous relationship with humans and fragile truce with the Pure Ones, and given that in many ways, their Kind was an endangered species—only a hundred thousand or so in a world of 7.6 billion people, they kept detailed records of every vampire born and made.
Recently, there had been accountings of far more vampires than records indicated, and many Dark Ones from noble, ancient families had mysteriously fallen off the grid.
If Devlin connected the random series of dots, he’d wager that someone was amassing and creating a vampire army.
Ryu Takamura’s wife, Ava, was a critical link in the puzzle. Her research in genetic engineering was what had led them to Medusa in the first place.
A year ago they’d disbanded the fight clubs in the epicenter of NYC, but others had sprouted in Tokyo, populous parts of Asia and large Eastern European cities. Not enough to raise much notice from human law enforcement, especially since Ryu had dispatched his network of shadow Ninjas to suppress outbreaks in Tokyo and Seoul, but enough that Devlin detected the pattern from afar.
Their enemies had gotten smarter though, and whenever the Chosen traced a new node of the fight club expansion, it suddenly went underground again. It was like they were chasing ghosts.
Which was also what Devlin had been tracking on the Net. Sometimes it seemed like Medusa and her minions were merely figments of his imagination. Months would go by without any progress or clues. He was a very patient hunter, but even he was starting to seethe with frustration. His prey was getting too far out ahead of him. If he wasn’t careful, he could lose the leads entirely.
The only break he had thus far was one Grace Darling.
She was the architect of Medusa’s impenetrable cyber fortress. Devlin doubted she knew her part in Medusa’s growing global empire of violence, destruction and mass chaos, because their nemesis operated through well-established government agencies and reputable organizations. Tens of thousands of innocent employees were involved, just doing their jobs, unwitting cogs in Medusa’s wheel.
At that very thought, a blinking square appeared on the upper right hand corner of Devlin’s central monitor.
“I have a question for you,” the message appeared out of nowhere.
Devlin quickly checked the encrypted IP address. It was Mith, Grace’s online handle.
A surprised burst of breath left his chest.
So much for all the security he’d wrapped around the Cove’s technology like barbed wire and electric fence heaped with motion lasers and auto-target machine guns.
Grace had apparently infiltrated his secure network like it was child’s play. He was both admiring of her skills and chagrinned at his own lack. But now was not the time to dwell on it.
“I’m all ears,” he typed back.
“Do you have STDs?”
Devlin blinked. It was rather late for her to be asking the question, but then, he supposed they’d been preoccupied with other things last night. The building could have collapsed around them and he wouldn’t have noticed.
Given his pause, she explained, “I always check into these things, but I couldn’t find your records.”
“No. And I don’t have any proof; you’ll have to take my word for it,” he answered quickly.
This was not something to beat around the bush about. He would have provided medical records, but vampires didn’t have any; there wasn’t any need. Foreign microorganisms were killed immediately upon entering their bodies. They never fell ill.
The little square blinked for a few seconds, and then, “I don’t have any either. STDs, that is. Do you want to see my test results?”
“I believe you.”
Christ.
What an awkward post-orgy conversation. Not that any of his online exchanges with Grace had been what one would call smooth or relaxing. It was like a beat-up old car with misfiring spark plugs clunking along inch by inch and stalling every other foot.
At the moment, even though he knew he should be trying to get some answers out of her with respect to her position at Zenn, he didn’t know how to start the conversational thread after their… shared experience… the night before.
“You didn’t drink my blood last night, why?”
Apparently, she had no such qualms.
Devlin didn’t even know how to answer. He’d never hesitated before when Consent was given. It was for survival, after all, and he was due for a good long swill. He’d wanted more than anything to take her blood last night, especially in the throes of sexual ecstasy.
But the truth was, Devlin had never taken a female’s blood during intercourse. He’d taken it before and after, and also when sex wasn’t involved at all. He liked to keep the two separate, and he’d never had any trouble maintaining the boundary.
Last night, he’d already felt out of control, somewhat terrifyingly at her mercy. He’d wanted desperately to take her blood; it was almost an imperative.
Which was why he resisted to the end.
Somehow he knew that the combination of the two—blood and sex—with Grace Darling was a recipe for an explosive that he couldn’t defuse. It was safer for all involved if he never lit the charge.
Flippantly he answered, “Can’t reveal all my mysteries in one night. What then would we have to look forward to?”
“Does that mean you’re coming tonight?”
Devlin pulled a shaky hand down his face.
What a question. And the unintended double entendre didn’t help. He’d crossed the line last night mixing business with pleasure.
As a spy for the British army in his human life, he’d had to play parts to form useful relationships and obtain intel, but he’d been in full control of every situation he entered. He’d charmed women and men, pretended to be people he was not, even carried on lengthy flirtations and kissed a number of people he didn’t feel any pleasure in kissing.
But sex had been off limits.
Last night with Grace Darling, however, had been limitless. In ways beyond physical. Ways Devlin didn’t want to think about right now.
Maybe ever.
“I have questions
to ask you,” the letters of her typed words trickled onto the screen.
“You can ask them now.” Perhaps he could avoid being too close to her again. Or at least stall for some time while he sorted out his jumbled thoughts and emotions.
“Why did you seek me out?”
“We have similar interests and happened to collide on the same topic in the chat—” he typed in response, but she interrupted him.
“No, why are you pretending to be Azor Ahai to talk to me and meet with me? I want to know the truth.”
Devlin leaned back in his chair.
So much for subterfuge. It might work to his advantage to just be direct with her. She seemed like a direct sort of woman. Perhaps she could even be an ally in his hunt for Medusa.
“I was hoping to borrow your hacking skills,” he answered truthfully. “I was hoping you could tell me more about Zenn, the company you work for.”
Her conversational square on the screen blinked for a long while.
Just when he thought she wouldn’t answer, she typed, “Then come back tonight.”
Devlin frowned. Was she suggesting what it sounded like?
He couldn’t resist clarifying, “You’ll answer my questions and help me… in exchange for favors?”
“Yes, if I can.”
Devlin cleared his throat.
“For sex?”
“No,” was the immediate response. “I’ll give you twelve hours of pleasure in exchange for the use of your body. And I’ll answer your questions if you bring dinner.”
Well.
Put that way, it sounded downright reasonable as far as trades went. At least that’s what Devlin’s libido insisted, while more rational parts of him warned that he was playing with fire.
But before he knew what he was doing, his fingers had tapped out the word:
“Deal.”
*** *** *** ***
The front door to Dark Dreams jingled a little as Inanna pushed it open.
There was never a sign in the window that indicated whether the shop was open or closed. Probably because it wasn’t really a business. It was more like a historic home that was open to visitors whenever its owner felt like entertaining.
It was late afternoon, almost evening, perhaps too late to be having a snack and risk ruining dinner, but Gabriel had called earlier to say that he was running late. Dinner would be closer to eight, and probably wouldn’t be fancier than salad and grilled salmon. Even if they didn’t stay long at the shop, they could bring home some dessert for later.
The group of four entered the warmly-lit store like Aladdin tiptoeing into a treasure cave. Every time she came here, Inanna was captivated anew by Mama Bear’s eclectic collection of trinkets, books and the ever-present scent of spicy tea and freshly-baked pastries.
Inanna didn’t announce their presence, as Mama Bear could always hear the bells on her door.
The former-Chosen had always wondered whether it was safe for an elderly lady to open her house at all odd hours for any stranger to come barging in, but it was as if the place was protected by magic. Or perhaps even criminals knew that it was a sacred sanctuary, not to be disturbed, a sweet haven where the weary and the lost could go.
Using her Gift, Inanna could see through the far wall and kitchen shelving on the other side that Mama Bear was busy putting the final touches on a batch of Éclairs. They looked so good, Inanna’s mouth started watering.
But first she needed to take care of Papa, who stood unmoving just two feet beyond the threshold while Sophia and Benji roved happily from shelf to shelf, oohing and ahhing over the intricate wares.
“Floor-to-ceiling shelves line each wall of this square chamber,” Inanna described as she took her father’s arm.
“It’s about five hundred square feet, broken up by antique chests and bureaus. But if you walk straight, the path is four feet wide, unobstructed, and leads you directly to an oval tea table twenty feet ahead, large enough to seat four. Six would be cozy.”
He nodded once, and she knew that he could picture clearly what she described.
He never talked of his time as a captive, but she gathered from the Healer that he had been blind for several hundred years at least. At Inanna’s urging, Rain had divulged her assessment of how he sustained the injury.
As with every other torture he’d endured, the process of rendering him blind had been vicious, excruciating, calculated. And repeated over and over and over again. Whoever did this made sure that even with his Pure healing abilities at full capacity, he would never see again.
Never use his Gift again.
In time, he’d taught himself to visualize perfectly in his mind’s eye the spaces and dimensions around him. His other senses had heightened to compensate.
He moved so easily once he’d familiarized himself with his surroundings that people who didn’t know of his disability would never have guessed he was blind. Only the cloudy opacity of his turquoise irises gave him away. That, and the apparent lack of pupils.
As a warrior, he was still one of the best, and getting stronger with each passing day.
But new places were always daunting to him at first, not surprisingly. Inanna suspected that he feared inconveniencing others and shaming himself in the process. He wasn’t the type of male who ever asked for help.
Inanna took his hand and put it on the edge of a shelf to his left.
“Many of the wares are fragile, but many are not,” meaning, if they were accidentally dropped, they wouldn’t break. She wanted to let him know that it was safe to explore the store if he chose.
Besides, if anything did break, her fortune was vast enough to buy small countries, so replacing a trinket in this store shouldn’t be a challenge.
Inanna wanted to hover, but she forced herself to let go of her father and move away, giving him space.
He’d let her know during the first few months of his uneasy convalescence without ever raising his voice or uttering a harsh word that he intended to be self-reliant. He would figure it out, whatever challenge came his way in this strange, modern world. Even without the use of his sight.
But oh, how her heart ached for him.
It was a balmy summer day in July. Inanna wore a light, short-sleeved shirt and comfortable slacks. Sophia chose a breezy, colorful sundress, and Benji was in a Batman T-shirt and shorts.
Tal, however, wore a long-sleeved Henley with black jeans. He never wore clothing that revealed more skin than absolutely necessary. The light-weight cotton Henley was the only concession he made to the hot weather, because in cooler times, he always wore a turtleneck.
The better to hide the countless scars he bore all over his body.
Inanna took a shuddering breath. She didn’t have enough tears to shed for all the pain he’d endured.
Thankfully, a wondrous exclamation from Benji drew her attention and she went to check on her son.
Alone for the moment, Tal slowly and carefully traced three fingers along the edge of the shelf, level with the middle of his chest.
When nothing wobbled or tipped over, he ventured deeper into the shelf and grazed the top of a small ornate box.
He could feel the jewels embedded in the lid, stones and pearls. Next, he felt something soft and flexible. He took hold of it gently and rubbed his thumb over the outer fabric. A face, two arms, two dangling stuffed legs. A doll of some sort.
His heart clenched involuntarily.
There had been no dolls for his daughter growing up. He’d carved wooden figures for her when he could, but he hadn’t known anything about dolls. He hadn’t really thought through what little girls played with.
Others in their fort and surrounding villages had been kind, contributing clothes, shoes, feminine accessories. But he couldn’t recall that she’d ever had a doll.
Tal replaced the fabric doll on the shelf and moved on.
His fingers grazed the rim of a bowl. The material was thick and sturdy with a smooth glaze to coat. It reminded him of the bowls he us
ed in ancient Akkad for supping. But he guessed that such bowls weren’t uncommon even in modern times. Surely he wouldn’t find four thousand year old pottery on display in a Brooklyn trinket store.
The aroma of freshly brewed tea and baked goods wafted into his nostrils from the back of the shop.
More than any other modern experience, excepting music, he was always amazed by the different scents in this age from those that had been familiar to him so long ago. Fragrances, perfumes, body odor, foods…some were enticing, some soothing, but others were noxious and unnatural. Like car exhaust, the laying of fresh concrete, the burning of plastic.
This shop had the most wonderful smells. The wares on the shelves reminded him of his ancient homeland, yet the scents from the kitchen gave him the sense of simply being home.
Even though he’d never smelled these scents before. Even though he’d never set foot in this shop before.
And then his inquisitive fingers alighted on an object made out of wood, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. He gingerly took it from the shelf and smoothed his thumb around the shape of it.
An animal. A dog—no, cat, perhaps a large predatory cat—sitting tall on its haunches, its tail curling around one hind paw. From neck to haunches something soft wrapped round and round its body, the material worn thin by time and use.
His breath abruptly froze in his chest. Why did the object feel so familiar? Even the smooth grain of the wood felt like a memory, with warmth of its own that heated even further in his hand.
A sudden, sharp pain splintered through his internal organs, almost taking him to his knees. The wooden sculpture fell with a soft cluck to the concrete floor.
“Papa, are you all right?”
Inanna was immediately beside him, taking hold of his arm.
But Tal couldn’t hear or feel her. He was engulfed in pain.
Bittersweet memories assailed him. The breaking of his heart devastated him.
There was not a day that went by that he didn’t think of her. Not a moment without regretting how he’d hurt her, and how he destroyed himself in the process. It took sustained concentration to keep these thoughts at bay, pushed into the back of his mind.