Memory of an Immortal Heart (Immortal Hearts)

by Kita Bell

  So yeah, she’d been in a long-term relationship, but hadn’t developed any attachments.

  Yet here she was after only a short time with Brand, acting all…attached.

  Eva snarled and turned away from that thought. What she felt didn’t matter. What mattered was that Brand had left. Again. That he was keeping more secrets from her than his age.

  Maybe he had work. Or maybe something happened. Maybe Seth had contacted Brand…or Khael or Gaviros. But this was Stronghold. It was better guarded than anything Eva had ever known, more closely watched than even Rohe’s Asylum. And nothing, Eva knew, would be able to get past Gaviros’s ability. Brand had convinced her of that.

  Eva turned; she barely realized what she was doing before she was back in the bedroom, pulling Brand’s oversized sweatshirt over her head and slipping on her jeans. The sweatshirt was thick and blue and fell to her thighs; Eva didn’t bother to lace her sneakers as she shoved them on her feet and left the Brand’s suite.

  Her feet automatically took her left down the tile floor of the hall. It was as if, somewhere deep inside, she knew where Brand was. As if she could sense him, with a half-formed instinct.

  Eva touched her heart, settled her fingers over the ache that had lodged there. Then she pushed through the heavy wooden door at the end of the hall and stepped into the library on the Nave’s second floor. She ghosted past the exercise room, her feet soundless on the hardwood floor as she crossed beneath the large watchful portraits that lined the wall; the back stairs spiraled down to the kitchen.

  The stairway’s door was cracked a hand’s width, light slanting through to flare in Eva’s eyes. There was the sound of a chair being pushed back and Eva saw a shadow move across the span of door; Brand’s scent caught her nose. Her heart jumped even as she moved forward to push the door open. Then another, darker scent seized her attention, and she stilled.

  “…a Sakai named Rohe,” Khael rumbled, his voice a deep, near-growl behind the door. “She possesses a Strategoi.”

  A shudder ran down Eva’s spine. Rohe. They were talking about Rohe. And the Strategoi.

  “Strategois are the weapon of the Courts,” a female voice said. The woman almost sounded like Nikandria, but there was an odd twisting accent to her words; she spoke precisely, deliberately, as if each word might have a different meaning, and must be weighed carefully. “The final shield before the Lord. Or, sometimes, they act as the Lord’s blade against the world. A Strategoi would not leave his true master. Strategois are loyal. They are always loyal.”

  “And the name Rohe? You have heard it before.” Brand stated. There was a careful note to his voice, as if he expected to be misunderstood. Eva touched the doorframe; she could almost imagine the frown on his face as he addressed…whoever it was.

  “A child. Kaine’s Summerbourne child.” A shrug implied in the woman’s voice. “Or so they claim. It is unlikely, but he has never bothered to deny her. He is old and finds her play amusing.”

  “Is she dangerous?” the worry in Brand’s voice was palpable.

  The unknown woman hissed softly, as if with amusement. Derision entered her tone. “She is a child.” A pause. “Nevertheless, a child of the Shadowlines. She has always sought to become named heir to Kaine’s Court. But he would not choose her. He will never choose her. Rohe Nightchild is too greedy, too hungry.” Musingly, “She is a viper of the Courts. Nikandros wished to sever her head once, but I told him that that action was not his to take.”

  “Is Rohe a danger to Stronghold?” Eva listened as Khael rephrased Brand’s question; this time there was a longer pause before the woman responded, her voice turning sharp, clear.

  “Yes.”

  The pure knowing in that single word sent a cold lance through Eva’s heart. Her fingers clenched on the ornately carved paneling.

  Brand cursed, Khael growled. Then they both spoke, but Eva couldn’t understand the language they were using. Instead, Eva leaned against the door and slowly inhaled the still air of the stairwell into her lungs as she fought to calm the sharp fear that had risen in her at the mention of Rohe. Her heart pounded.

  This woman – whoever she was – spoke as if she knew Rohe. As if they were acquainted.

  As if they had met.

  This woman called Rohe a child.

  Eva shuddered. She remembered the look in Rohe’s eyes…the coldness that lurked beneath that almost-human warmth, the emptiness of Rohe’s breathtaking smile.

  Rohe was no child. She was a monster.

  Brand’s voice dipped, sharpening as Khael spoke in that unfamiliar language. There was a lull in their conversation, the sound of footsteps moving over the kitchen floor. Something smooth and hard slid along the table, before settling with a definitive snap. A glass?

  The faint scrape of steel.

  “Where is your bone blade? Bréanainn, I have told you. You must always carry your father’s blade.”

  “It is in my quarters,” Brand said quietly, and then came the horrifying – and oh so familiar – gliding scrape of knife on flesh.

  Eva lurched against the wall, caught in memories of Rohe. Of the table, of the room. Of Rohe counting time with knives, sliding those blades through her arms, her arteries, …a nexus of vessels, Rohe said, the warmth glittering in her gaze so that Eva’s stomach churned with terror and the nausea of suspense. She knew what came next. I will not cut too deep, Rohe whispered, brushing Eva’s face as if she were a lover or a family member or one of her Gens, for I do not wish you to bleed too fast, little beast. You are delicious but I want you alive – for now…

  The thick scent of Brand’s blood filled the air, snapping Eva back like a lifeline. But it was too much blood, the smell too thick, too deep. Eva’s nausea lurched.

  She snarled, no longer caring about hiding as her stomach clenched at the scent, at the idea of Brand bleeding. She pushed through the door, forcing her way into the kitchen.

  And immediately ran into the bulk of Khael. Eva looked up, directly into the eyes of Brand’s brother.

  Gold flickered in those blue depths – so like Brand’s but not – as Khael stepped aside. There was nothing discernable in his face, nothing readable at all. And Eva knew that Khael had been aware of her there the entire time.

  Eva looked past to where Brand stood.

  Her stomach twisted. “Brand.” She took a step toward the table, horrified…then stilled as she became aware of the rest of the room. Brand’s eyes had locked to hers, but Eva barely noted his resignation as she tried to absorb what he was doing.

  He was barefoot and wearing the jeans he had earlier that night. He had pulled on a dark gray t-shirt, but that wasn’t what riveted Eva. What held her gaze was the knife in Brand’s hand. Blood stained the edge of the pale blade. His right arm was lowered, his broad palm cupped above a glass on the table. Thick red blood coursed across the muscular gold of his flesh from the slash in his forearm, then over his strong wrist to pool into his palm; his hand was tilted just enough to pour the blood inside into the cup beneath on the polished wooden table.

  Eva hissed air into her lungs; it was thick, too thick, with the tangy sweet blood-scent of warmth, of sunlit leaves, of freedom and heat. Of Brand. She felt sick and hungry at the same time.

  “Eva,” Brand said. She shook her head.

  She watched that cup fill, just stared as she felt Brand’s eyes locked on her. The hand pouring the blood tightened as the cut began to clot; Brand emptied the rest of the contents into the cup. Then he picked up a damp black cloth from the table beside him, ran it over the cut, and carefully cleaned the blood away.

  As if it were nothing. As if slashing open his own flesh was a normal thing to do.

  Khael grasped Brand’s arm and frowned at it. He growled something in a language Eva didn’t know, sounding angry. Then he gripped Brand’s forearm, pinching the flesh back together, and Eva’s breath caught again in amazement as she watched the cut disappear.

  Nikandria had said Khael could heal inju
ries – apparently he could. It was like watching magic being done, but real.

  Perhaps that was Khael’s ability: healing?

  Which reminded Eva that she didn’t even know what Brand’s primary ability was.

  “Eva, you should have stayed in the suites,” Brand said as Khael finished, and Eva heard that wariness fill his voice. The withholding had never sounded so clear before, had never felt so agonizing…and infuriating. Eva could almost smell the secrets surrounding Brand.

  Her heart began to beat faster, the tide of anger in her veins rising to block her fear, her confusion…her worry.

  Khael settled back against the wall, arms folded to watch as Brand picked up the cup from the table.

  Eva licked her lips, trying to moisten her throat as she took a step forward and raised her eyes to Brand’s. “What exactly are you are doing?”

  It came out accusing.

  Brand’s eyes flickered gold, his lips compressing. Then he walked toward Eva with the cup. He didn’t remove his eyes from hers, and finally, when they stood only about an arm’s length apart, he stopped. Then he extended the cup to the left.

  “I don’t…” Eva stepped back, horrified and confused.

  And felt someone move behind her. A breath touched her cheek.

  Eva jumped, lashing out as her heart froze in her chest...and Brand’s free hand caught her fist, pulling it toward him as he steadied her. He extended the cup of blood to the pale haired woman who had been standing silent as a ghost behind Eva. Nikandria…Nikandria? No. This was not Nikandria.

  The woman stepped around Eva and to the side. Her movements were gliding, predatory. Chilling. She took the cup and held it to her chest like a child with a cup of milk as Brand’s arms slid down to surround Eva. Sandalwood filled the air, mixing with the scent of Brand’s blood as the woman turned to survey them.

  “Leave her be,” Brand said quietly, to the woman, who arched her brows in amusement.

  She was tall, slender, clad in tight leather pants and a long blue silk tunic. Her hair hung to her waist in a thick braid of pale, pale gold. Her face was exotic, full lips and angular cheekbones; her eyes large and purple, tilted in the same way that Nikandria’s were.

  Those eyes peered into Eva, assessing – spellbinding as a snake’s – they blinked. One moment those eyes were sharp, the next, they turned inward, utterly dismissing any threat Eva could pose.

  If not for the sheer age in those eyes, the woman could have been Nikandria’s sister. Except Nikandria was warmer, nicer. Not so ancient.

  Not so…completely and utterly terrifying.

  Eva shuddered, forgetting that she was furious with Brand. She leaned into his warmth, needing it to surround her, and felt his hands run down her shoulders in a soothing gesture.

  This woman was ice so sharp it could make you bleed.

  This woman was a blade.

  “You are Bréanainn’s mate,” the woman said, examining Eva across the suddenly too-small kitchen. A trapped feeling rose in Eva’s throat. The woman touched the cup of Brand’s blood to her lips, her nostrils flaring slightly as she scented it, then took a judicious sip. She licked her mouth with a half grimace, and an unsettling not-quite-there smile crossed her face as she tilted her head. “We are glad you came. Nikandros worries for his sons. But now he can worry less for Bréanainn.”

  Khael moved to grip the woman’s arm, pulling her toward the door.

  “Brand’s father is dead. Who are you?” Eva’s stomach clenched in foreboding as she glided past. Brand’s arms tightened around her.

  The woman glanced back. An eyebrow quirked. Eva frowned, tried to hold her ground…

  …the woman flashed her teeth. Two long gleaming incisors descended into her mouth, half the length of Eva’s fingers…not teeth, fangs. Blood still stained those lips, and Eva’s heart jerked in her chest. Stunned fear…shock…anger…rose inside her.

  Sakai. This woman was Sakai.

  A Sakai.

  At Stronghold.

  Cold terror drove through Eva’s heart.

  “I am Ashtoreth.” The woman’s gaze bore through Eva with a raw, dangerous arrogance. “Don’t forget.” Then her fingers rose, brushed the pale misshapen stones on her necklace and twined there; slowly, the threat drained from her gaze. Her fangs retracted, she closed her lips. The woman tilted her head, as if she were listening to something – someone – and, for a moment, her eyes went warm.

  “Oh, I only frightened her a little bit,” she muttered, staring unfocused at the air to Eva’s left. “The young always frighten so easily. They are like bischee.” Then she snorted and looked amused – before turning to Brand.

  “Bréanainn, this child is afraid. You need to tell her the truth. And,” the woman tugged on her necklace, looking irritated, “If you care about your life at all, the next time you leave Stronghold, you will carry your father’s blade.”

  It was an order; Brand’s body tensed behind Eva.

  Khael spoke again in that foreign language, holding the door open. The Sakai pursed her lips, looking as if she were about to disagree, then sighed. She turned and followed Khael from the kitchen, still cradling the cup of Brand’s blood in her hands.

  Eva stood there, staring at the wooden paneling of the door, and had no idea what to do. She had no idea what to think, to say…to feel.

  “Ashtoreth,” Brand said finally, heavily, from behind her, “is my mother.”

  Brand’s mother.

  A Sakai.

  The only safe emotion was anger.

  They fought.

  “Bréanainn?” Eva turned with a snarl, eyes wild, confused – and terrified. Brand tried to pull her toward him, but she pushed away, gaze transitioning to molten gold. He let his hands drop as she bared her teeth. “So your name isn’t Brand, but Bréanainn? And you decided to keep that from me as well?” she moved closer to kitchen’s side door.

  Brand stilled the urge to close that space and kneaded the back of his neck. He didn’t know how to respond. He wanted to go to her, hold her. His mother had obviously frightened Eva. And Brand knew Eva wasn’t mad about his name.

  It was just a name.

  No, he mentally steeled himself. This is about mother. About what Eva had witnessed with Ashtoreth.

  “Bréanainn is my birth name,” he said, a wave of weariness rising inside. Eva was wearing one of his sweatshirts. Her body was covered in his scent and her fingers were clenched in his sleeves, and if she had been able to grow claws in human form, Brand was willing to bet that she would have used them to shred his face. “My parents traveled to Hibern—Ireland—before I was born. Lis…she always teased me by calling me Brand. The name caught on with my brothers.”

  Eva’s eyes narrowed. Her face twisted. She opened her mouth, then shook her head, snarling, and turned to stare at the line of cabinets on the wall. She crossed her arms, back to him.

  “I don’t understand.” Her words were sharp, grudging.

  “I liked the sword,” Brand explained, moving a step closer. “I was good at it. Still am.”

  Eva’s shoulders tightened, and Brand realized she didn’t understand. “My father taught the sword to all of his sons. I was obsessed with it when I was a boy. More so than most. ‘Brand’ means sword, Eva. Lis laughed at me when I practiced, saying I was more sword than tiger.” He gave a narrow smile. “That was before my Initium. Afterwards I was, of course, more tiger.”

  “You used the sword on the wall in your study?”

  “No. That was my father’s.” Brand took another step. “One of a pair. Seth has the other. I keep my own swords in the box beneath our bed.”

  He touched her hair, ran his fingers over the thick dark waves. Tension rose off Eva’s body.

  “And your father. How did he die?”

  Brand inhaled the clean stubborn scent of her body. “He was killed by Sakai. It was an ambush. Back when we still lived in France.”

  Eva turned, eyes glittering. Brand battled the urge to touch her,
and failed. She was so stubborn, so strong. As he dropped his hand to trace her lips, Eva bared her teeth, snapping at his fingertips.

  “So that was another secret you kept. Something you didn’t think I should know.”

  “That isn’t it, Eva.” Brand frowned. “I would have told you. In time.”

  Eva’s lips tightened. She clenched her hands as her gaze turned inward in sudden frustrated anger. “In time,” she repeated. It was a furious, almost-pained snarl.

  Brand watched Eva grit her jaw. And he realized, with exasperation, that Eva was trying to hold onto her anger.

  She was dealing with what she had just seen, what she had just learned, by blaming him.

  Which meant Eva wasn’t dealing at all.

  Brand reached for her again but she slipped away. She whipped her head around, her eyes taking on a direct, angry focus as she hissed, “And Seth. Seth is telepathic. That’s his ability. That’s why I’m here, that’s why I’m even at Stronghold. That’s why you brought me to Stronghold. But there’s one thing Seth won’t tell me, one thing Nikandria told me that you need to explain.” Eva paused. “If it isn’t healing, then what is your primary ability, Brand?”

  Brand stilled. He shook his head. Now was not the time for that discussion. “You’re running, Eva,” he said quietly. “You aren’t thinking about this. You’re searching for reasons to be angry with me and you’re tired.”

  Eva’s nostrils flared. “And you’re avoiding the question. Again,” she snarled. Then she shook her head in disgust and moved toward the door. “I should have expected that answer. I did expect that answer. You always avoid my questions.”

  “I don’t,” Brand frowned, and she paused. Her hands clenched.

  “Yes,” Eva said with soft fury, “you do. But that’s okay.” Pained sarcasm laced her voice. Her head tilted forward, her hair sliding to expose the delicate skin of her nape, “I shouldn’t expect any more. I understand if you – and Stronghold – want to keep your secrets, Brand. I really do. Because it’s safer that way. Because Rohe might get me again and I would only endanger your Gens. It’s okay if you need to keep secrets from me…but be honest about those secrets. If it’s Stronghold’s secrets you’re keeping, I’m fine not knowing. Tell me that when I ask. But if the reason you’re not telling me about your ability is because you don’t trust me…Brand, there’s no point to this conversation at all. There’s not point to us at all…”