Revealed in Fire (Demon Days, Vampire Nights World Book 9)

by K. F. Breene

  This mastermind…

  There were two elder vampires at work in his outer kingdom, he knew. One had been weaving threads together for some time—decades. Only a few stray threads at first, but he’d woven them together over time, creating tapestries. Vlad, his name was. A well-known vampire who was also well positioned within both the Realm and the Brink. He had amassed quite a lot of power and had more than a few eager ears listening to his ideas about revolts. His dabbling in the Underworld could not go ignored, however. When Lucifer had finally agreed to an audience with the vampire, he hadn’t known what his next move would be: issue a strong warning, or just kill the vampire and be done with it.

  Amazingly, neither had happened. The vampire was incredibly clever, with a well-established network Lucifer could use. He would be difficult to govern but worth the effort.

  The other vampire, though…

  Darius Durant, if rumors could be believed. Vlad’s child.

  Lucifer glanced up, summoning images of the toughest dwelling area in the Edges, a place where death haunted its citizens, and a single misstep would cost someone their life. The second vampire had set up shop there, forming alliances with some of the toughest residents in the Edges.

  This other vampire worked altogether differently than Vlad. He hadn’t attempted to bring any sort of sophistication to the Edges, nor had he tried to change the culture in any way. Because of it, his business thrived. More than thrived—it had spilled over into the areas surrounding it, including those already infiltrated by Vlad, and spread into the very heart of the Dark Kingdom. The vampire knew his market, so to speak.

  He knew the Dark Kingdom.

  He’d set up trading stalls catering to Lucifer’s subjects. He’d even found someone who could thread Incendium and Glaciem magic into the spells.

  An image crystalized in Lucifer’s mind. A blond woman in black leather pants and heavy boots, a sort of pouch around her waist. Lucifer hadn’t been able to make out her face, but he would forever remember that bearing. Strong and straight and utterly fearless, even in the middle of a battle. She’d looked his way in challenge.

  And that vampire had been beside her.

  Darius Durant.

  Lucifer threaded his hands into his pants pockets and turned from the window.

  He’d only recently found out the woman’s name: Reagan of the Brink.

  She had no records. No friends he could discern. No listed home, no birth certificate, none of the records attached to normal Brink citizens. It was as though she did not exist.

  The woman the custodes had recently found had all of those things and more. Every inch of her life could be accounted for, from her mother’s death to her move to Santa Cruz for school and eventual assimilation with the shifters. She’d destroyed Lucifer’s subjects in the Realm, so he’d thought for a time that she might be the one he’d seen. But he’d sent his subjects to check it out. They hadn’t sensed any Underworld magic from her, and her party hadn’t noticed the amare interiorem perched on the roof above them, watching it all unfold.

  She was not the one. But she had helped flush out the one.

  After an extended absence, an absence not even Vlad could penetrate, Darius Durant had resurfaced. And with him…her.

  Her. The woman who was possibly Lucifer’s heir.

  The door clicked open, and Lucifer turned as Victoria entered in human form, her legs a little too long but overall well shaped, and the rest of her proportioned perfectly. She maintained that humans liked longer legs on women for some reason and had not been dissuaded from the choice.

  “Sir,” she said, sounding harried. “I received reports from our spies in the Realm. Reagan Somerset is being held by the elves. She arrived three days ago with a band of custodes, four mages, and a pack of shifters led by Roger Nevin, the wolf. They detained the custodes and chased out the shifters in an effort to acquire Reagan Somerset. Their plan worked almost to their liking, as far as I have heard. They did acquire Reagan Somerset, though whatever they’d hoped to achieve with the shifters and custodes did not pan out. The two factions successfully left the castle. Most of the custodes and shifters successfully escaped to the Brink. The elves are sending people after them, though we aren’t sure what they plan to do. They don’t have enough forces to cross into the Brink and disband the traitors, as the custodes and the shifters are being called.”

  “The elves are trying to save face. The custodes have always been well loved. Their absence has only created a deeper fondness. This will create turmoil for a kingdom already harvesting unrest.”

  Lucifer thought back to all that Vlad had said. His plans for striking at the heart of the elves. His assurances of success. His confidence in the players at his disposal. He only needed the might of the Underworld to see his plans unfold, he’d claimed. With Lucifer’s help, their victory was assured.

  Had Vlad suspected these events would transpire? His hints seemed to indicate it was so.

  “And the woman?” Lucifer asked, calmly collecting his thoughts so as not to react hastily. His actions now would create lasting ripples. One misstep and he could be pushed further down the ranks in the magical world. But if he pushed an advantage, perhaps he could right old wrongs.

  “Without a doubt, the rumors are true. She has both Incendium and Glaciem magics, has merged them, and uses them both. The working of her magic is rudimentary at best, but her power level is that of a mid-level five with room to grow.”

  “With room to grow?”

  “She is but mid-twenties in human years. She has many long years to fruit.”

  Lucifer stared hard at Victoria.

  She nodded. “She could reach a level six. And more, she looks quite a bit like her mother.”

  “Her mother?”

  “Yes.” Victoria didn’t look away as she pointed at the window overlooking the garden. “The inspiration for the statue down there. There can be no doubt she is yours.”

  Lucifer said nothing for many long moments, taking in that information. He’d always hoped for another heir. A child who could survive this world. An heir the Underworld could be proud of, and who would take his place when he desired to visit the Brink. Someone to help him work his creations.

  “She has been in the inner kingdom,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. He’d had many heirs in his never-ending life. He’d lost them all. No father should have to magically freeze their child for all of time in the pits of fire. A child was supposed to do that for the parent. If only he could keep one. Just one. “She can at least survive here for a time.”

  “The vampire Vlad has been in touch. He has apparently done some digging.” Victoria narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t too keen on that vampire. It was wise of her not to trust him. “Reagan Somerset’s mother—”

  “Amorette.”

  “Yes. She is said to have had godly power.”

  “Godly power?”

  “A human notion. We know it as the touch of angels.”

  Lucifer hissed. Angels were nothing but meddling, troublesome creatures that could stay holed up in their “paradise” for all he cared. They kept their so-called gifts to themselves, for the most part, which was the best idea they’d ever had. His kingdom had been plagued with much less riffraff because of it.

  He thought back to his powerful attraction to Amorette. It hadn’t been logical, his need for her. His ardent desire. One look at her beautiful face, and he’d been caught. He hadn’t been able to get enough, always begging for one more smile, one more touch.

  “She beguiled me with an angel’s kiss?” he asked, trying to conceal his reaction to that thought.

  “No. It was in her heritage. In her blood. It would not have a direct effect on a dark ange—”

  His look cut her off. She’d nearly forgotten herself. He would not suffer his person to be spoken of in the same sentence as those fools, regardless of his origins.

  “The blood will act as a crutch to keep her human elements from deteriorating,” Victor
ia went on. “We already know she does not need oxygen, assuming she was the woman you glimpsed, and I feel we must. There could be no other. Now we can assume that many long years here will not break her down as it did with the others. Something the elves do not yet know.”

  “And why is that?”

  “The vampires clearly know it, but they and the elves have been at odds for centuries.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “And two, the elves’ questions are going unanswered.”

  “Their questions…” He’d heard what the Realm had devolved into. What the elves had devolved into. He’d seen it himself on his visits. Despite his power and might, they always treated him as lesser. Mocked him. “They are torturing her?”

  “Yes.”

  “They suspect she is my daughter?”

  “Yes. That is the only reason she lives.”

  “And yet they are still torturing her?”

  “Yes, sir. So far—and this news is half a day old due to travel time—she has not broken.”

  Memories crowded him. Of a glowing, dewy-faced Amorette, so serene and content even after losing her breakfast every morning for a month. It hadn’t bothered her, the human sickness, and she’d looked so radiant in those final days he was with her, so earthy and peaceful, resplendent, that he hadn’t pressed. She was everything the Brink could boast for beauty. It had given him countless ideas for new creations.

  He’d assumed she was ill, that she would succumb to human fragility, the way his children had. When she’d demanded he leave, he hadn’t pressed. He hadn’t wanted to see her downfall.

  She’d been pregnant.

  The possibility should have occurred to him, but most magical beings didn’t get with child so quickly. So easily.

  “It has been a while since we last stormed a castle, has it not?” he asked Victoria, his thoughts turning to action.

  “Yes, sir. Far too long for my taste.”

  “I agree. Ready the forces. There is not a moment to lose.” He strode for the door. “We will retrieve my daughter. And call the vampire Vlad. This calls for a war, I think. The elves can expect no less, after this.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And let my subjects off their leashes. They may tread wherever they will. No more restrictions.”

  “And the fog, sir?”

  He paused at the door. “Keep the fog. I do not want my enemies knowing what sort of forces I’ve been preparing these many long years.”

  “Everyone likes surprises, I hear.”

  He tilted his head. “I guarantee they won’t like this one.”

  Epilogue

  Cahal moved quickly, pausing beside a stone column as an elf flounced by, an absurd waste of movement for any creature, but ridiculous in a guard. It was no wonder he’d infiltrated the dungeons with very little effort. The elves had been mighty at one point. Fearsome but fair. He’d snuck into this place plenty, but it had never been this easy. No one had sensed his magic or his presence. Not one guard had so much as stiffened in unease.

  Sheer numbers were the only reason they’d been able to capture a woman as promising as the heir, especially with those natural dual-mages at her back. It was the only explanation. The elves were ill-prepared for what they’d set in motion.

  He slipped over to a shadowed doorway as his senses went on high alert. A smell reached his nose, coming from the way he was traveling—ancient but familiar, although he couldn’t exactly place it. His small hairs stood on end, and he knew it was someone with power. Someone dangerous.

  Using his tools, he quickly and silently unlocked the nearest door and slipped through, leaving it open a crack so he could peer out. He wanted to see who haunted these halls.

  Magic swirling, blocking his presence, he waited patiently. Reagan had been locked up for nearly four days. If she was going to crack, she would have done so already. She could handle a bit more pain so that Cahal could do the smart thing and see who or what was dogging her heels before he showed himself.

  The being’s shadow announced it before a shape filled the archway leading to the cells within the bowels of the castle. It stalled, as though it sensed him.

  He waited. It waited.

  Finally, a shoe slid across the ground, a foot pivoting, grinding straw into stone. Light steps announced the being was moving forward, but it quickly stalled again. Flickering fire from a nearby iron torch holder illuminated a slight frame. Short, thin, petite—the woman stayed still again, unbothered by the patrol that should’ve been walking through about now. The elves were ineffective, but at least they were punctual. It was nearly all they seemed to get right.

  Cahal recognized her about the same time as she clearly recognized the presence she felt.

  “She has mighty friends, it seems.”

  He remembered that silky voice, dripping lust and passion and things humans could not resist. Thankfully, he was not human.

  “Ja.” He didn’t bother moving from behind the door, and she didn’t turn in his direction. There was no need. “You are not someone I would’ve expected to see down here.”

  “Nor I you. You must have a fascination with the heirs of the Underworld.”

  “For the magic.” Specifically, he liked watching the heirs learn to use the full range of their magic, but she didn’t need to know that. Knowing her, she’d somehow figure out a way to make that work against him.

  “Yes. It is magnificent,” she replied. “As is its origin.”

  “Is that your play in all this, then? You hope to regain access to one of your homes?”

  “We all long for our homes in the end, do we not? Except for those of us without homes, of course.”

  It was a dig at him. This vampire had always been one of the most cunning power players in her species. She’d navigated times that had made a quick end of other strong people, magical or otherwise, a journey made harder by being female. Sometimes the social realities of that had slowed her, but they’d never stopped her.

  “And what is your play, Mr. Shadow?” she asked. “Or do they call you Eliminator now?”

  “I have many names.”

  “So you do. As do I.”

  He paused for a moment, carefully collecting his thoughts. “You have set me on this journey, by contracting me to her friend, and allowing me to witness, firsthand, her power,” he finally said. “The power of Lucifer’s heir. I am bored with my long years. I might as well walk the path for a while.”

  “The path of the righteous?”

  “The path of the forsaken. It’s more interesting than that of the righteous.”

  She laughed. It was an answer she might’ve given herself. When Ja had approached him, he hadn’t needed to do his homework on her. Before she’d semi-retired, he’d watched her maneuverings, surprised when she’d taken a step back, not at all surprised when she’d burst back onto the scene.

  “Why are you here?” he asked her. “She is not with you, so clearly it is not to let her out.”

  “Oh my, no. If I did, how would she learn?” She laughed again and continued forward. “Good luck, Mr. Shadow. I’m sure I will see you again.”

  He rather hoped not.

  He shut and locked the door behind him and then hastened down the hall, flitting through the shadows. A guard lay dead in the center of the floor behind two cells, the prisoners within long since dead, nothing but bones now. The neck of the guard had been torn out. Ja had wanted to make a show, ensure the elves knew a vampire had been down there.

  He slowed for a moment.

  Had Ja known he would be coming to rescue Reagan? If so, she might be trying to set the stage to make it look like the vampires were the ones who’d broken in, killed everyone, and then rescued the prize.

  No, that couldn’t be it. She hadn’t known right away who was waiting in the shadows. If she’d been expecting him, she wouldn’t have paused for so long. She was not a showy vampire, like Vlad, but all vampires liked to play with their food. It was in their nature. She wou
ld’ve made a quip or two about being way ahead of him.

  …how would she learn?

  He shook his head and continued on. He was not clever enough to figure this out, not with so little information.

  A man sat in the last cell on the right, ribs clearly showing and wiry muscle lining his nude form. He sat hunched over propped-up knees, his head hanging low.

  Another guard lay half in and half out of the doorway up ahead, the door standing open. Heavy wooden doors lined the other side of the hallway, closed off, darkened, single-person cells designed for confusing the mind. Food would come at random times, sleep would be interrupted, random water tossed in, and the prisoner would be kept in continual darkness unless he or she was being tortured. That treatment would break someone. Most of the time, anyway.

  “Hey,” Cahal whispered, revealing himself to the man in the cell.

  The man didn’t move, staring at nothing.

  “Hey,” Cahal repeated, raising his voice.

  Still the man didn’t look around. Spit dribbled out of the side of his mouth. His mind was gone. He wouldn’t have noticed the vampire, probably, and if he had, he likely didn’t have enough sense to coherently remember what she’d done here.

  Cahal moved on, stepping over the guard and quickly checking behind him. There shouldn’t be a change-out for another hour, at least. Food had come not long ago. The torturers had already been here twice. He should have a big window here, but one could never be too sure.

  Within the second part of the dungeon, he had to but smell his way to the cell he needed, following the scent of fresh blood in the stagnant air. Last door on the left, charred and leaning awkwardly, with a few chunks taken out at the bottom and a hole burrowed through the top. They didn’t look like escape attempts, but the result of a temper.

  “Reagan,” Cahal whispered, no idea what he might find beyond that door. Not really wanting to find out, if he was being honest. He’d been tortured for a year, but never with such vigor. He didn’t know if he could stand seeing her like the man in the other cell. “Reagan?”