by Kresley Cole
She'd face him when she chose, and on her terms. Yes, everything was under control.
6
In the last three days, Sebastian had found it hellish to be around so many humans—a blood drinker, a predator, walking among them as if he were still one of them. Especially since women had begun gazing at him longingly, and even following him, to his consternation.
But he reminded himself what was at stake and completed task after task in anticipation of finding Kaderin, even as he had no idea how to do so. The villagers, his only lead, had disappeared, at least during the nights. Of course, she'd warned them.
After all this time away, he'd finally returned to Blachmount, and he'd been awed as ever by the old manor, even if it was as decrepit as his own holding. He'd dug up gold from his chests, then sold the coins in Saint Petersburg. Cash in hand, he'd bought clothing at the only place he knew wealthy men acquired clothing—Savile Row in London. He'd been to the port of London once when he'd been mortal and remembered it only vaguely. Yet one mental picturing of it put him there.
Money got him tailoring appointments after sunset, and each night before he set out in that city, he forced himself to buy and drink blood from the butcher.
He'd done these tasks because he wanted to become a man she could want. But he was also desperate for anything to keep his mind occupied. At every turn, he wondered where she was at that moment and if she was safe. She'd cried that morning, had doubled over in pain.
And he couldn't find her.
Her accent had a tinge of a drawl, but that helped little in determining her place of origin. He couldn't trace to her home country to begin a search, because he didn't even know what continent she lived on. Besides, his brothers had told him that vampires could only trace to places they'd already been. If she wasn't in Europe or Russia, then he couldn't reach her.
Again and again, he'd thought, If only I could trace directly to her.
The idea that a vampire didn't need to know how to get to a destination, only to envision it, didn't make sense to Sebastian. He'd traced from Russia to London to buy clothing, but he couldn't imagine the exact route. If merely seeing the location was the requirement, then why couldn't a person be a destination?
What if there was more to tracing, and his brothers didn't understand everything about it? They had been newly turned themselves all those years ago and had admitted their ignorance about so much in the Lore.
It might be that vampires traced to individuals every day...
Sebastian was unique among his family—he was the dedicated scholar, the one introspective son among four. In battle, Sebastian had used cunning as much as strength, relying on foresight as much as on past training. He was a thinker who liked to solve problems, and his father had instilled in him the belief that the mind was capable of unimaginable feats if one were strong enough to believe them possible.
And Sebastian needed to believe that tracing to her was possible. The alternative was to wait out the villagers, which was untenable.
His family had known he'd been courted by chivalric and church orders, as well as other secret sects of arcane knowledge, seeking to recruit him. What they didn't know was that he'd accepted an offer with the Eestlane Brothers of the Sword, learning about the world from isolated Blachmount, corresponding with masters of physics, astronomy, all of the sciences. Eventually, he'd even sailed the Baltic and North Seas to be knighted in London.
While his brothers had been fighting each other or chasing women, Sebastian had been studying, growing confident in his ability to learn.
It might just be that Sebastian's sacrifices then would benefit him now, as he chased the only female who'd ever mattered to him.
Filled with a burning determination, Sebastian had traced back and forth to places he only vaguely remembered from boyhood, studying the amount of effort, the amount of mental clarity, required.
He convinced himself that he just needed to see her as clearly as a location.
There was danger inherent in tracing to a place unseen. She could be under an equatorial sun at noon, and he could be too stunned to get away. She could be on a plane. If his trace was mere feet off, he could be sucked into an engine.
Hell, it would have been worth it.
Perhaps when Kaderin had determined that everything was under control, she might have done so too hastily.
Since that night, her blessing had been behaving like an engine in an old Karmann Ghia convertible—sometimes it slipped. There she'd be, cruising along, the same as usual, then, out of nowhere—a slip.
For instance, right now, she felt an odd, hollow kind of ache. She thought she was... worried. Coincidentally, Kaderin had a pressing urge to know if her niece, seventy-year-old Emmaline, the daughter of Helen, was better. The last time Kaderin had checked in with her New Orleans coven, she'd learned that Emma had been critically injured by a vampire.
She rang the manor, hoping she wouldn't get Regin the Radiant. Kaderin wasn't ready to talk to her, not yet, not so soon after her reckless morning with the vampire.
Regin's entire race had been annihilated by the Horde.
Kaderin had molded Regin into a killer like herself, training her and stoking her hatred of vampires. "Sword up! Remember your mother," she'd told the girl again and again, and all the while she was telling herself, Remember your sisters.
Don't be Regin...
Regin answered with: "Bridge. Uhura here." Kaderin sighed, then shook her head at the Star Trek reference. Kaderin did not appreciate Star Trek references.
Yet that was the thing about Regin. Aside from her boiling hatred of vampires, she was easygoing, quick to laugh, a prankster.
"Hi, Regin, it's Kaderin." She swallowed. "I'm calling to check on Emma. Is she any better?"
"Hey, Kiddy-Kad! She's totally better. She's healed already."
"Healed?" Kaderin asked in surprise. "This is great news, but how can it be? Did the witches help?"
"Actually, she's already wed that Lykae—that hateful one we wanted to neuter—two nights ago."
Had Regin just purposely glossed over that question? Kaderin wanted to know more but had always believed that in digging for secrets, she was begging Fate to somehow reveal her own. And now with her new secret? Kaderin would let Regin coast by so very easily right now.
"I can't believe she married him." The werewolf had absconded with Emmaline, taking her back to his castle in Scotland.
"I know. A freaking Lykae. It could be worse, I suppose. Could have been a leech." Though Emma was half leech herself and drank blood for sustenance, the coven didn't think of her that way whatsoever. "Nah, Emma isn't that big of a bonehead."
Kaderin felt a tic in her cheek, almost as if she had winced. The Valkyrie covens were at war with the vampires even now, and the Lore was hurtling toward an Accession—a war among immortals that occurred every five hundred years. During times like this, Kaderin was expected to be ridding vampires from the earth, not riding them. Did her face just get hot?
"We tried to call you," Regin said. Kaderin heard her blow a gum bubble. Like so many Valkyrie, she would chew only one specific brand, Sad Wiener Peppermint, which was beyond foul. Kaderin herself secretly preferred Happy Squirrel Citrus. "I think you left your sat phone at the Lykae's in all the confusion."
"I remember," Kaderin said, but she had to wonder if they'd truly called her. Kaderin was an emotionless cipher, and many were uncomfortable around her—especially at celebrations.
Kaderin recognized when situations might be humorous but was never moved to laugh. She knew she loved her half-sisters but never felt the need to show affection. At a wedding, she wouldn't have even approached a smile.
She bit her lip and stared at her feet. Luckily, Kaderin couldn't perceive the sting of hurt feelings from being left out, either. No, not at all. "Well, Regin, it happens that I didn't mind ditching the phone since you'd locked the Crazy Frog ring tone into it."
"Me? Who? Whaa?"
"Tell Emma congratu
lations for me," Kaderin said. "Is Myst around?" Maybe Kaderin could uncover why Myst had been so tempted by that vampire general—without revealing that she herself had been pleasured by one.
"She's busy."
"With what? When will she be able to talk?"
"Dunno." Another gum bubble popped. "So the Hie cranks up in two days. Are you ready?"
Another change of subject?
"Everything is in preparation," Kaderin answered. All her supplies were packed and her transportation confirmed. That had proved easy enough. The Accord—a federation of twelve Valkyrie covens—had agreed that they needed the capability to move readily about the world—especially Kaderin in the upcoming Hie. So they'd established a network of helicopters and jets available on most continents.
Pilots would be on call for Kaderin in all the key capitals. As she'd specified, they would be demons, and they wouldn't ask a lot of questions.
Naturally, the Valkyrie, with their lavish sensibilities, had only the best. Any competitors in the Hie worth their salt would be taking advantage of modern modes of transportation. But not all would enjoy luxury helicopters and Learjets.
"So where's your first stop?" Regin asked.
"All the competitors have to meet at Riora's temple." The goddess Riora was the patroness of the Hie. It was her competition—she made the rules; she decided the prizes.
"Kind of like an orientation?"
"I suppose." Kaderin's first jaunt would be from the exclusive and modern jetport at the London City Airport to Riora's ancient temple, hidden in an enchanted forest. The temple had been built before humans began keeping their histories and was found only with secret coordinates.
Kaderin might as well be going back in time, and yet she'd be traveling there in an Augusta 109, the fastest and most richly appointed civilian helicopter in the world.
Regin sounded as if she were typing on a keyboard. "You know, the results of this Hie are supposed to be posted in real time to the Net. Which is convenient, since you've never sent word back to us about how you're doing—even though we got you all those carrier pigeons. By the way, I adored and named all of them, and you... you just tossed them."
"Internet results will be interesting, and the birds, though beloved, preferred to be free." Pigeon drama. Scenes like that one reminded Kaderin why she worked alone.
7
At sunset, Sebastian took a shower the only way he could in his castle—with melted snow water caught in a cistern and piped freezing cold into a small tiled and drained room. After that he dressed in new clothes. He shined his sword, sheathed it with a belt at his hips, and sat on the edge of the bed, prepared to test his theory.
Everything depended on his success. I must find her to have her. His hand was damp around the hilt of his sword.
Then he frowned. If this could work, he didn't want to appear adversarial to her. He could just see himself materializing at a family dinner—the overgrown vampire with the very big sword. He unstrapped the belt, placed it aside, then sat once more.
This was all about sense detail. Focus. He concentrated on her for long moments. Wipe everything from your mind but her...
Nothing. He lay back.
Imagine seeing her beautiful face once more. Her elfin features, the delicate chin and high cheekbones, the way she'd gazed up at him with those smoldering hazel eyes.
He slowed his breathing. Recall how she felt beneath you. Her body was soft, giving, a perfect fit to his.
The remembered scent of her hair and skin called him as sharply as a cry for him would. He began tracing, feeling himself leaving the cold of his castle and moving toward warmth, having no idea what he would find.
Temple of the Goddess Riora, Codru Forest, Moldova
Day 1 of the Twelfth Talisman's Hie
The usual suspects, Kaderin thought with boredom. From her perch on a balcony rail, she surveyed the assembly gathered below her in the gallery of Riora's temple.
As with most temples, Riora's sported the obligatory marble Palladian style, with dishes of fire and candles to light it. Yet that's where the similarity ended. Tucked deep within the heart of the enchanted Codru Forest, it had lichen-covered oaks punching through the walls or lying fallen inside. Roots buckled the heavy floor. The dome was a skylight with glass cut into an intricate and patternless design.
"Order overcome, impossibility incarnate," that was Riora's motto. She was the goddess of impossibility and exalted proving possible the impossible. Few knew this, though, and she was coy, joking and spreading rumors. In the last fifty years, she'd come out as the goddess of bowling couture.
Kaderin waited with hundreds of other competitors, because Riora was tardy again. Nothing new there. To get her to be on time, Kaderin had been tempted at the last Hie to declare it impossible for goddesses to be punctual. But then Riora would just have declared that it was impossible for a Valkyrie to bathe in a vat of boiling oil for a decade.
To pass the time, Kaderin gazed down with disdain at the nymphs, making sure they saw her contempt. She jerked her chin up at Lucindeya, the siren who had been her closest competition at the last Hie. Lucindeya, or Cindey, was a violent, merciless rival, and so had earned Kaderin's respect. They customarily used each other to advance until it was only the two of them in the finals.
Then all bets were off.
At last count, Cindey had broken dozens of Kaderin's bones. But then, Kaderin had snapped at least twice as many of hers, cracked her brain bucket, and, rumor had it, ruptured the siren's spleen.
To the adorable-looking kobolds, a type of ground-dwelling gnome, Kaderin reached to her sword sheath at her back. She grasped the hilt, not even needing to draw it for the largest male—still standing only four feet tall—to swallow and swiftly lower his gaze. The kobolds only appeared wholesome and kindly—until they turned ravening.
Kaderin was one of the few beings alive who'd seen them as they really were, reptilian predators who sprang from the ground as they hunted in packs. She still did not find the term killer gnome hysterically funny as her sisters all did.
The crowd of entrants consisted of all makes and models in the Lore: trolls, witches, and the noble fey. Demons from many of the Demonarchies were present.
Kaderin noted the veterans who were out to win the grand prize—whatever priceless good was offered this Hie. She identified the scavengers who only wanted to snag the individual talismans allotted for each task.
And then there were the newbies. She could make them out in an instant, because they would dare to stare at her.
As a competitor—and the reigning champion for more than a millennium—Kaderin had become more high-profile in the Lore than many of her sisters. She'd garnered power and respect for her covens—and for herself. Had she been a feeler, she would have been prideful of her reputation. She couldn't believe she'd so easily risked it with her recent indiscretion.
Relative to her sisters, her fall from grace would be a nosedive—
Suddenly, her ears twitched. Sensing something in the shadows at the back of the balcony, she turned and spied a massive male, eyes glowing in the darkness. A Lykae? Now, that was unusual. The werewolves and the vampires never entered this contest.
The Horde vampires found it beneath them, and the mysterious Forbearers didn't know of its existence. The Lore found it both amusing and shrewd to keep those turned humans in the dark about their world.
Historically, the Lykae couldn't be troubled to care.
In the past, this set of circumstances had been fortuitous. The Lykae—for all their wild, seething good looks—were single-minded and brutal. And the vampires? With their ability to trace, they would be nigh undefeatable.
The werewolf moved from the shadows, approaching her, and she recognized him as Bowen MacRieve, best friend and cousin to Emmaline's new werewolf husband. He'd lost weight over the last millennium, but other than that, she sensed that he'd changed little—which meant he was still gorgeous.
"Kaderin." His golden eyes
were vivid, his dark hair thick and long. He didn't address her as "Lady Kaderin," as the rest of the Lore did, but then, he didn't fear her.
"Bowen." She briefly inclined her head.
"I dinna see you at the wedding. Quite nice affair."
He'd been at Emma's wedding, and she'd missed it. "I'm curious about why you are here."
"I'm entering." His voice was a rumbling Scottish brogue.
Deep voices were attractive. An unbidden memory arose of the vampire's gravelly voice breaking between kisses. She shook herself. "You'll be the first Lykae to do so. Ever."
He leaned his tall frame against the wall, utterly nonchalant. He was as tall as the vampire, but rangier. Both were rugged, but Bowen probably would be considered more classically handsome.
Comparing him to the vampire? Lovely. As if Sebastian Wroth were USDA grade A?
"Are you alarmed, Valkyrie?"
"Do I look alarmed?" She always enjoyed asking that, since she knew the answer was invariably no. "Why now?" She'd seen Bowen fighting vampires on a battlefield ages ago—he'd been pitiless in the past, and she'd bet that hadn't changed, either.
He answered, "A friend told me I might have a particular interest in the prize." Yes, if possible, Bowen was more handsome, but the vampire's eyes were so very gray, so dark and compelling. If a woman got lost in eyes like Sebastian's, she'd want to please him in any way he desired. Bowen's eyes? One glimpse of them, and a woman wouldn't know whether to jump him or run from him.
Clearly, Kaderin's blessing was holding, because she didn't feel even a flutter of desire for the Lykae.
"You know what the prize is?" she asked, but Bowen wasn't listening. The witches had just arrived—one called Mariketa the Awaited and another woman Kaderin didn't know—and he was busy scowling at them. "If you're this easily distracted," Kaderin said, "I'll have no problems."