Haunted Blade (Colbana Files Book 6)

by J. C. Daniels

  Bile rushed up my throat.

  At my right, Damon still stood. He’d been quiet for the past few minutes. Now he reached over and placed his hand on my shoulder, squeezing.

  “Master Albion Whittier was found at midnight by one of his men. He’d been murdered.”

  Closing my eyes, I drew in a deep breath.

  Then another.

  A low flurry of voices rose in the air beyond where we sat, but none of the people around me spoke.

  Nobody is coming for you…

  Jude’s marked you as his own little bloodwhore.

  Damon’s fingers tightened.

  I blew out another breath.

  Fifty years, Justin said.

  Silver box.

  He’d be locked in a box for fifty years.

  “I haven’t gotten my rocket launcher yet,” I said without thinking.

  Only two people in the room understood. Damon slid his hand from my shoulder to curve around the back of my neck, his long fingers splayed wide. The tip of his middle finger touched the bite mark he’d given me.

  A silver thread separated itself from Justin’s sleeve and drifted down to spin just above my hand in a ceaseless circle, his control over the metal flawless.

  I reached up and plucked the silver from the air, closing my hand over it as several of the people in the great hall looked at me. A few looked bemused by my comment.

  Others—most of them vampires—were offended. Because I’d interrupted? Or because I was talking about something that would kill any one of them?

  Too bad.

  When I didn’t explain, they all went back to gazing at Findlay, listening with rapt interest.

  I tightened my hand on the silver, wishing it was sharp, something that would cut into my hand. Some small pain to focus me—

  “—determined that it’s in House Whittier’s best interest if Master Jude Whittier is released.”

  As the words were left to hang in the air, every eye in the room turned toward me.

  Malcolm rose and gave a mocking bow. “As his…victim,” Malcolm said in a lilting tone. “We’re giving you a chance to speak and argue your case, if you feel he shouldn’t be allowed this chance to bring his former master’s house into order.”

  “I imagine any case I argue would be shot down, wouldn’t it?” I said after several heavy, weight moments.

  I didn’t bother to rise.

  Malcolm’s eyes flicked to the chair in which I sat, then back to my face.

  The wolf next to Findlay said softly, “We brought you here so we could hear what you have to say.”

  Slowly, deliberately, I rose, still staring at Malcolm, so the insult wouldn’t be missed.

  It wasn’t.

  Not by anybody.

  Once I was on my feet, I turned my attention to the wolf.

  She’d given her name, but I’d forgotten it. “Again, Speaker. I ask…what is the point? If somebody doesn’t bring House Whittier under control, the blood craze will spill onto the streets of Orlando, eventually to other houses. I’ve already heard the rumors that vampires outside our region are being attracted by the chaos, and that Orlando is being evacuated. If even one slips across the trenches into Orlando proper? If this madness breaks out into the human population? Somebody has quite cleverly arranged this…specific chaos and I can’t claim to understand the strategy at play, but there is a plan at work here.”

  I didn’t intend to look at Malcolm. I can’t say what even drew my attention to him.

  But something…did.

  His gaze no longer even appeared to normal.

  Nor did his visage.

  I wasn’t the only one who noticed either. For a brief, brief second—no, for blink of an eye, everything about him was different, pale golden hair that turned to long, tendrils of brown, skin that echoed that same shade, and eyes that glowed like rubies, blazing brighter than the sun as he stared at me.

  It lasted just a moment and I heard Justin draw in a breath through his teeth, while the hand Damon had on my shoulder tightened minutely.

  Who else saw it? Who else saw him?

  I had no idea.

  Malcolm blinked and the mask he presented to us settled back into place, a polite, attentive smile on his face.

  “This isn’t answering the question,” Malcolm said calmly.

  Findlay lifted a hand in his direction, but continued to watch me. “I’m curious, Ms. Colbana. Continue.”

  “I don’t have much else to say.” I gave him my attention, wanting to block out the image I’d seen when I’d looked at Malcolm. His true face? I had no idea. “But surely others have taken note of the oddity. One small house slaughtered. Powerful vampires were assassinated from nearly every house, save for one, and that threw the power balance into chaos.”

  “I hope you aren’t trying to paint House Whittier as the…mastermind behind this so-called plan of yours,” somebody said.

  I followed the voice and discovered it was Claude—not much of a shocker there.

  “After all, the head of our house was taken from us just this past night,” he said with a grand gesture.

  He must think he was on a stage.

  “Right.” I gave him a polite smile. “And vampires never lead coups within their own houses.” After a pause, I looked back at Findley. “No, I don’t think Whittier is behind any strategy at play.”

  Rana’s body tensed at my side and I felt a subtle pressure on my mind. You, Kit.

  That was the only thing that came through clearly and I still didn’t understand this odd connection, but I did get her message.

  She didn’t want me alluding to her in any way.

  “To be fair, I’ve only recently had time to slow down and breathe, to look at everything myself and realize there is something bigger going on.” If I could have pulled off a casual shrug, a laugh, I would have.

  But I kept hearing another voice in my mind, one much clearer than Rana’s.

  You cannot escape.

  He wouldn’t want you after what I’ve done.

  Jude’s words, still so clear in my mind.

  The man Jude had promised wouldn’t want me rubbed his thumb against my neck.

  My voice was rougher as I spoke but I forced the words out. “I don’t know what that bigger play is, but nobody would go to the trouble of assassinating master level vampires unless they had an end in mind.”

  “Perhaps the end in mind has already been accomplished,” Malcolm said, his tone bored. “Vampires are always fighting amongst themselves. And this, amusing as your prattle is, wastes time.”

  “Malcolm,” Findlay said. “I asked her to speak.”

  Ellen leaned forward, speaking for the first time in several minutes. “This is something I’ve been considering. No, it has no bearing on the immediate problem, but it’s something the Alphas and I will discuss later…and in depth. There is a great deal of strain being placed on shifters because of these events. While I run with no clan or pack, I look to the interests of the shifters in the Assembly and this is…unsettling. I wish to know more. Perhaps you’ll be available to talk, Ms. Colbana.”

  “Perhaps.” It all depended on whether or not I was hiding and blubbering by the time this was all said and done.

  Findlay touched her arm and she leaned over, the two of them speaking quietly. They’d mastered the art of doing in voices too low for others to hear. I wondered if that included Malcolm, but it was hard to say. His face remained impassive.

  “I won’t deny that your words cause concern.” Findlay gestured to the room at large. “I’m…aware of your reputation, Ms. Colbana. I imagine quite a few people here think you to be a pain in the arse, if you don’t mind me saying so—and you have the instincts of a master hunter. I would think that those who perceive themselves to be wise would also take this information into account and give it some thought. But…again, we are here for another matter.”

  He leaned forward, his matter oddly earnest, almost human.

  �
�You already knew what was afoot before you even came in here. Again, those instincts at play, I imagine. I wish to hear your thoughts about this matter.”

  “Why?” I demanded bluntly. “Do you want to hear that I wish I’d brought a rocket launcher so I could kill him the second I see his evil face? Or that some part of me wants to just disappear?”

  People shifted around me and I heard a few uneasy mutters. My bluntness, surprising people all over again. How was it even possible?

  I paused a moment, but only to gulp in air. “Just what is it you’re wanting me to say in front of all of these people? Many of them were present at the trial when I was still bandaged and broken from everything he’d done.” I wanted to scream at the memories, but I gathered that rage and whittled it down so it was a fine, compressed thing. “I heal fast—not vampire or shifter fast, but fast enough. Yet I had bruises that lasted for weeks. Broken bones that took nearly a month to heal. And scars…” I swallowed hard. “I carry them still.”

  Now even Findlay looked uncomfortable. But he didn’t look away when I held his gaze. Neither did Ellen. They stared me straight in the eye.

  So, disturbingly enough, did Malcolm. But he didn’t look uneasy. He looked interested.

  “The vampires here, those from House Whittier…” I paused and looked at each one of them. A few of them barely met my eyes. Others, like Claude smirked at me until it was clear I’d stare them down. After a few moments of that, they grew aware that others were staring, learning their faces. Others like Findlay, Ellen, Dair…Damon. “They still think I’m broken. Do you want me to say he shouldn’t have even been locked up? He should have been killed on the spot?”

  Findlay inclined his head.

  There were murmurs coming from House Whittier but one quelling look from Ellen silenced them.

  “The options are rather limited right now,” I continued. “Something has to be done to keep his house from completely going into chaos and the factions here are already struggling to keep the city from devolving. It’s not like I have a choice here.”

  “No.” Findlay shook his head. “You don’t. Neither, I hope you understand, do we.”

  Some part of me had hoped I was wrong, that I was being paranoid. His words dashed that slim hope. They were serious. They were really doing this.

  I lifted my chin. “I have a choice in how I feel about it. I have a choice in how I deal with it. And if anybody expects me to play nice with the son of a bitch, they are out of their fucking minds.”

  “You are a terribly rude child,” Patel said from his seat in the farthest corner.

  “She’s hardly a child.” Maxine took two steps out and turned to Patel, blocking him from my view—and me from his. “She’s a woman who dealt with a monster and those in power decided all he needed was a slap on the wrist. Don’t expect her not to be pissed off by this.”

  “I’d watch my tongue if I were you,” Patel warned. “Your house is much weakened and you haven’t the allies your maker had.”

  “Neither do you,” Icarus said from my right, his tone bored. “I’m not as likely to sit out on harsh judgements like my master was. Do not expect my backing, Patel. You’ll be disappointed.”

  None of the interplay taking place around me made sense. Nothing did right then and I reached up to rub my forehead.

  Abraham caught my eyes, inclined a brow. I had the sense he was offering…something.

  I had no idea what, but I didn’t care.

  I just didn’t care.

  “Enough,” Findlay called from his seat. He rubbed his fingers together, thoughtfully studying the crowd gathered in the room. After a moment, he looked back at me. “You owe him nothing, Ms. Colbana. That’s a matter of record. He will be the master of House Whittier, but you owe him absolutely nothing—no formalities, not even those afforded one in his position. You might even consider yourself his superior, if you wish—one he may never call out or challenge, unless he wishes an immediate death sentence.” Findlay flicked a negligent hand in the air. “If you pass him on the street and he calls you by name and you wish to spit at his feet…feel free. If he wishes to hire your services, you may ban him from your offices and if he refuses to leave, call the enforcers I’m certain Alpha Lee will have watching close by.”

  At that, he glanced toward Damon.

  A low growl rumbled out of the man next to me and he flexed the hand he had laying protectively on my neck.

  “Should he refuse, he’ll be inciting a conflict between House Whittier and the Cat Clan, I believe.” He paused and looked at the shifter who at his side. “Wouldn’t that be protocol as these two clearly seem quite…entangled?”

  “It would.” Ellen’s lips curved in a predatory smile.

  Malcolm cut in before Findlay could speak, his silken tone lazy. “There were matters we have been discussing, fellow Regents. Before we issue public decrees that could have a lasting impact, such as giving a simple mercenary leeway to disrespect a master level vampire, shouldn’t we bring that matter to a conclusion?”

  “I’m sorry, Malcolm.” Findlay didn’t look sorry at all. “Perhaps I was unclear when we discussed it earlier—there is no matter to discuss, nothing to conclude. As Head Regent, I believe the final decision is mine. Now…as I was saying…”

  His gaze came back to mine.

  I breathed. I stared at Findlay even when I sensed movement at the doors off to the side.

  “Back to what I was saying, Ms. Colbana…you owe Jude Whittier nothing. Spit at his feet, if you wish. As long as you do not raise a hand to him in challenge, he can do…nothing. And if he lifts a hand to you, even just to offer greeting? Feel free to cut it off.”

  Then he slid a look at Damon. “I believe you heard when I said he must take charge of House Whittier. There is none other who can do so. Albion guarded power like a greedy child. There were none close to him in strength.”

  “I got the message.” Damon’s response was short, just short of rude.

  Apparently it only amused Findlay. Mouth curving in a faint smile, he nodded. “While Ms. Colbana owes him nothing, there are certain rules faction leaders must all follow. You are not excluded from this, Alpha Lee.”

  “That means he isn’t either.”

  “Quite.” Findlay’s smile widened as he said it, then his attention slid toward the doors.

  I didn’t look away from the dais where the Regents sat.

  Murmurs rippled around the room and one by one, people turned their heads to stare.

  But I didn’t.

  I wouldn’t.

  There was no need.

  I already knew who was there.

  Waiting. All but willing me to look at him.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Darling Kit…

  I focused on my blade. My hand heated.

  He didn’t break you, Kit.

  A rush of voices rose in my mind to drown out the echo of his, and above those, I could hear the murmur of my blade. Her music.

  I am here.

  Darling Kit…

  SHUT UP!

  Blocking everything out, I focused on Findlay so hard, my eyes started to pulse and ache.

  “The Charter was written so that we might live in peace with humans—and ourselves,” Findlay said, lifting his voice and making it clear he wanted silence. The ripple of whispers that had risen in the past few moments went abruptly silent. “None among us are meek or passive, a people ready to accept the absolute authority of another telling us how we are to live. But the majority of those who are no longer, even those who have never been human, abhor the thought of another war with mortals.”

  At that, he paused and turned his head to study Malcolm for a long moment.

  Then he went back to speaking to the room in general.

  “We do not want to see the children of shifters hunted down and slaughtered in the night, or live feed of suspected witches gunned down. We don’t wish to revisit a time when the homes of hidden vampire houses were burned to the g
round, killing all the newly turned while those strong enough to escape faced gunfire.” He settled back in his chair, elbow propped on the arm. His eyes met mine and I had the odd feeling his words were meant for me this time. “Few of the ancients remain among us now, but those who live in peace should be able to continue. Should they be ever-watchful of a wood from a foreign forest piercing their heart…death by drowning in salt water?”

  There was a message there, but I was too busy trying to hold the pieces of myself inside. I couldn’t think about double-speak disguised as rhetoric.

  “Millions of humans died in the war between the species. Hundreds of thousands of our kind were killed as well, more dying even after the treaty. The Charter was crafted for several purposes—one of those purposes was to prove to humans what we have always known—we are not mere animals to be guided by base instincts. We lived thousands of years policing our own. We will continue this fragile peace. That means we must take control when chaos threatens.”

  Now he looked back toward the door.

  At Jude.

  I made myself think it through, made myself acknowledge just who he was looking at—he was looking at Jude. Jude Whittier stood there.

  The man who’d once saved my life—and the man who’d then pushed me to the brink of ending it.

  They’d let him out and now he was here.

  Reaching for Damon’s hand, I closed my eyes and told myself I had to do it. In the next few moments, I’d have to look. I had to. Sooner or later, I had to look.

  Damon’s hand tightened gently over mine and I felt the warmth of his power roll over me, settle around me like a blanket.

  It was as comforting as the murmur from my blade.

  “It is unfortunate that sometimes chaos forces one in my position to take actions I find repugnant.” Findlay paused and in the long, lingering interim, I forced myself to open my eyes. Findlay had a look on his face that one might expect had he stepped in a big pile of dog shit.

  Personally, I’d rather have stepped in the dog shit than have anything to do with what was going on.

  I had the odd feeling that Findlay would have stepped in fecal matter over this as well, had he been given the choice. That was…puzzling. He didn’t know me from Adam. What should it matter to him?