Storm (The Storm Chronicles Book 6)

by Skye Knizley

  “Have you felt her? I mean, through your familiar connection?” she asked.

  Levac fumbled for a bite of chicken. He wasn’t exactly an expert with the sticks. “I drew on it earlier, I know she is out there and alive. She tries to keep me blocked from anything else.”

  Sloan picked up the piece of chicken he was stumbling with and offered it on the end of her own chopsticks. “Why does she block you?”

  Levac ate the bite and smiled. “Because she respects my privacy. She made me a familiar to save my life, not to have me as her, I don’t know, property or whatever.”

  Sloan nodded and ate a bite of her own dinner. “That is almost unheard of in vampire society. Most vampires consider elevating a familiar to be the highest honor, not a lifesaving measure.”

  Levac shrugged. “Raven considers most vampire rules to be nonsense. She felt awful about the connection when she found out, but I know her choices were to let me die or make me a familiar and share her strength.”

  Sloan smiled. “I, for one, am grateful she didn’t let you die.”

  Levac leaned sideways and kissed her. “Me, too.

  Sloan gripped his tie and held him close, her eyes inches from his. Levac looked into her golden gaze, kissed her again and ran a hand through her hair. “Believe me when I say I love you, Sloan. Raven will always be in my life and would be even if I wasn’t her familiar, but it is you I am in love with, you I asked to marry. Not her.”

  Sloan traced a finger along his jaw. “I love you, Rupert.”

  She kissed him again and Levac forgot all about the meal she’d prepared for them.

  III

  Chicago, Tempeste Manor, 5:30 p.m.

  The sun had sunk low beyond the horizon and an evening snowsquall was looming on the horizon, a mass of black clouds shot through with grey and silver blown by the chill western wind. Sable flipped her coat’s collar up against the wind and hurried up the steps to the front of Tempeste Manor. Though she had only seen it in person once before, it was just as she remembered it, with its imported stone construction, high turrets and gothic archways it looked as if it belonged in a B-grade slasher flick and not sitting in a suburb on the outskirts of Chicago.

  She hurried up the steps and pushed through the door, only to be stopped by a short blonde woman in a diaphanous white gown. She stood barefoot on the marble as if oblivious to the cold.

  “Hello, Branwen.”

  “Hi, Dominique. Where is Mom?” Sable asked.

  Dominique’s face was as cold and impassive as the statue behind her. “The Mistress is preparing for court. She asked that you dress and await her in the ballroom. You can change in your room.”

  Sable frowned. “I have a room?”

  Dominique turned and lead the way toward the stairs. “Of course. You always have, though it wasn’t common knowledge.”

  “How did sis not notice that? Some detective,” Sable said with a smirk.

  Dominique paused. “She did notice. And she was told it belonged to another sibling, of which you both have many.”

  Sable snorted. “Mom lied. Like she always does.”

  “We all did, Branwen. To protect you. You seem to think this was all for her benefit. It was not,” Dominique said.

  Sable stopped. “Of course it was. Ravenel grew up with Mom and Dad by her side while I grew up with that psychopath Caderyn with only Francois to watch over me unless Mom deigned to visit.”

  Dominique spun and there was fire in her eyes. “Yes, Ravenel grew up here, with her mother and father. And she had most of her childhood ripped away. You had friends, played sports, went to the best school, yes?”

  “What, sis didn’t have friends? What a loser.”

  Dominique moved so fast Sable never saw the slap coming, she just felt the sting and heard the ringing in her ears.

  “Raven didn’t get the chance!” Dominique roared. “Raven was trained to be Fürstin, in spite of her father’s efforts. While you were out getting drunk and arrested when you were fourteen, Raven was learning the Totentanz. When you were attending hockey games in Boston, Raven was learning to fight!”

  Sable felt her anger boiling. “I was trained as well, Dominique. I learned the Totentanz, learned to fight, better than her.”

  Dominique shook her head. “You egotistical brat! You really have no idea, do you?”

  “I know Raven has what should be rightfully mine!” Sable screamed.

  She reached for Dominique’s throat and was stopped by a sword pointed at her heart. She stopped and glared at the newcomer, a vampire she didn’t know. He was short, perhaps a little over five feet tall, and dressed in black leather that could only be described as androgynous, from his tight leather pants to the blouse that resembled that of a Victorian doll. His face was heavily altered with cosmetics, but his soulpatch beard belied his gender.

  “You must be Branwen,” he said.

  “I must be, I am the only one unfortunate enough to have my sister’s face,” Sable snapped.

  She wanted to reach out and snap his neck, but the sword gave her pause. Rarely had she seen anyone move so fast.

  “I am your brother, Thaddeus Michael Arthfael Tempeste Von Strohm. Most everyone calls me Thad,” he said.

  “Great. Pleased to meet you, can you put the sword down, now?” Sable asked.

  Thad shook his head. “Not yet. You see, you were about to attack the head of the household and Mother’s partner. That is a no-no, and you wouldn’t dare try such a thing had you been through the training your sister has.”

  Sable clenched her fist and weighed her chances of drawing her revolver before he pierced her heart with the blade. The odds were not in her favor. “Fine. Swell, I’m not as good as my sister, happy?”

  Thad frowned and lowered the blade. “No one has said that, Branwen. To the contrary, you are both unique and special women. What Dominique is trying to convey is that your hatred and jealousy of your sister is misplaced.”

  Like hell.

  Sable opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by Dominique.

  “Thaddeus speaks the truth, Branwen. Ravenel was not separated from you by her choice, nor was she somehow treated better than you. She was given her father’s name and made Fürstin for one simple reason. To protect you.”

  Sable blinked and felt her anger melt away. “What do you mean?”

  Thad sheathed his sword and looked unhappy. “Raven was the bait while you grew up anonymous. She drew the ire of Strohm and his followers while you were blessed with a relatively normal life as Du Guerre’s ward. At least until Mason showed up on your doorstep.”

  Sable felt like the rug was being pulled out from under her. Du Guerre had always led her to believe that she was the one protecting Ravenel. She shook her head and glared at Dominique.

  “I don’t believe you. If she was the bait, how did she survive?”

  “If you were the bait, how did you?” Thaddeus shot back.

  “Enough!”

  Valentina stood on the stairs above dressed in a flowing gown of red leather and black lace, Her hair trailed down her back in an obsidian curtain and a rapier was sheathed at her neat waist. Sable tried to meet her gaze and found she couldn’t. Valentina was vibrating with fury. Sable watched as Valentina swept down the stairs and moved between Dominique and Thad. Valentina’s eyes flared blue and she glared at them.

  “Dominique, Thaddeus, it is not your place to discuss this with Branwen,” she said.

  Thad bowed. “Apologies, Mother.”

  Dominique did not follow suit. “Branwen needs to know the truth, my wife. Until she understands, she is a danger to herself and the house.”

  Valentina arched an eyebrow. “You speak out of turn, my familiar.”

  Dominique lowered her eyes. “That may be so, mi’lady, but I am not in error.”

  Val
entina turned to Sable. “This is neither the time nor place to discuss this, Branwen. But they speak truly. The intention was to protect you, the rest can be saved for another time. Get changed, I have need of you beside me at Court.”

  “Fine, Mom. But we will finish this discussion, and soon” Sable said.

  Thad smirked. “Won’t that be a barrel of laughs?”

  “Come with me, Branwen. I will assist you.”

  Sable followed Dominique up the spiral staircase to the third floor, where a balcony overlooked the grand hall below. Doors of antique wood led into separate chambers and it was to one of these that she was led. Dominique unlocked the door with a key from the ring around her wrist and pushed open the door.

  “This is your room, as it has been since birth. It was, of course, updated to reflect your chambers in Boston,” Dominique said.

  Sable looked down the hall to another room that seemed to be calling her name. She could feel it as if it were her own room, a place she’d loved. “That’s Raven’s room, isn’t it?”

  Dominique nodded. “It is, though she hasn’t stayed with us in almost two years. The staff keeps it clean and ready for when she comes home.”

  “May I see?” Sable asked.

  “Perhaps later. We must get you ready. Please?”

  Sable slipped past Dominique into the chamber beyond. It was indeed similar to the room she’d grown up in. The walls were decorated with posters of such bands as Metallica, Judas Priest and Disturbed mixed with photographs of her with Francois, Didi and of course, her father, taken all over the world. The furniture was new, but similar in design to the contemporary king-size bed and black lacquer she preferred. The family antiques were too stuffy. A black leather dress matched with stiletto heels hung from a hanger beside the sunken tub at the far end of the room. Sable picked it up and held it to her. It would be difficult to move in were it not for the hip-high slit. It was beautiful and had gone out of style in 1865.

  “You’ve got to be kidding! Raven wears this?”

  Dominique closed the door and smiled. “It is not hers, but yes, it is the garb of a Fürstin.”

  Sable felt the old anger in her stomach. She’d been told all her life about the position of Fürstin and how it was not hers.

  “I am not Fürstin,” she said.

  Dominique started the bath water. “No, you are not. Like Pandora, you are acting in Raven’s absence. The Mistress expects you to dress befitting your place in the family.”

  Sable tossed the dress aside. “I don’t have a place in this family, of that I’m certain.”

  Dominque straightened and Sable could read the genuine astonishment in her eyes. “Of course you do!”

  Dominque stepped close and looked up at her. “Branwen, that is what we have been trying to tell you. You are part of this family, so much so your mother did what she could to protect you as a child. To let you be normal.”

  She turned away and added a cup of something to the water that made the room smell like vanilla.

  “The position of Fürstin is only coveted by those who do not know what it requires. When you can, ask your sister if she enjoys the position. I daresay the answer is no. Come, off with those clothes and into the bath, quickly!”

  Sable was confused. She’d always thought that her sister lived a spoiled lifestyle with perks she didn’t have, now here were people who should know telling her that wasn’t the case. There was little evidence to either, but maybe she had been wrong. Maybe Raven hadn’t been any happier than she had.

  Sable undressed and slipped into the bath, letting the warm water spill over her while she thought and Dominque shampooed her hair. Now that was a luxury she could get used to!

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The North Atlantic, Aboard Crescent Star: Time Unknown

  Raven frowned at the man next to her. He was dressed in a Crescent Star uniform with black pants, white shirt, white military-style jacket with Navy markings all topped by a white sailor’s hat. He also had Levac’s ever-present five o-clock shadow, intelligent eyes and mop of hair. But Raven knew by scent that he was not Rupert Levac. She pulled away from his hand and glared at him.

  “What are you?”

  Levac tucked his hat under his arm. “Ensign Rupert Levac, at your service, ma’am. Can I help you? She’s a big ship and you look a little lost.”

  Raven shook her head. “You aren’t Rupert. So let’s try again: What are you and where is Aspen Kincaid?”

  Levac extended a hand and reached for her. “Ma’am, I am Ensign Levac, I just want to help, let’s get you to your room—”

  Raven grabbed his hand and pulled him into an arm-bar that left her behind him with his head pointed at the floor. “You are no such thing. Tell me where Aspen is or I will pull your arm out of the socket!”

  The creature laughed, a dark, angry sound that could never have come from Rupert Levac’s mouth. His skin rippled and stretched like taffy until he was free, then he turned to face her. The skin of his face was flowing away, melting to reveal a sharp-toothed maw and insectile eyes. It raised its claws and Raven squeezed the shotgun’s trigger. The Levac-thing’s head exploded in a spray of goo; the second shot ripped through its chest and sent it spinning into the wall where it vanished, leaving nothing but a red smear. In the echo of the blast Raven heard a hellish voice intone “hic non morietur!”

  The sounds died away, leaving Raven alone in the corridor. One by one features and lights faded and she turned to see the corridor as it was in present day; dirty, dingy and streaked with blood. As the last of the flickering lights faded, the doll the little girl had been holding dropped to the floor. Raven knelt beside it; though it looked new, it smelled of death, age and decay, something no parent would ever want their child to hold. She considered picking it up, but thought better of it. She instead added two fresh shells to the shotgun and strode to the next section, where she could see lights sputtering fitfully in the damp. From ahead there was a sound, a repeated squeal followed by a thump and Raven approached, weapon ready. She rounded the corner and saw that the door to the next section was swinging in the wind and rain was pouring through the gap, mixing with the blood on the floor and making it a thin, pinkish trail on the stained carpet. Raven squatted and sniffed at the blood. It wasn’t Aspen’s, but it was fresher than most of the ship, perhaps from one of her team.

  Raven straightened and pushed through the broken door and out onto the deck. To her left was a series of numbered doors, all painted white and flecked with spatters of blood, while to the right were windows that overlooked the ocean. Most of the windows were broken inward, with strands of flesh and what looked like feathers stuck to the broken shards. Beyond them, a storm raged; lightning flashed and rain fell with such fury that the ocean looked as if it was boiling.

  In the middle of the room were the carcasses of several feathered creatures of a kind Raven had never seen before. She bent to examine the nearest one and found it had been roasted from the outside. It’s feathers were charred to a crisp and its over-sized eyes had exploded from the heat.

  Aspen

  Only her flame spell or a flamethrower could do damage like that, and Raven would bet on Aspen over the flamethrower.

  She stepped past the ruined carcass and stared down the corridor wondering if the team had taken solace in one of the staterooms or continued aft. She walked past scattered ash and more dead creatures then caught a faint scent, a scent she both hated and loved. She looked down and saw a spatter of fresh blood near the wall. A trail of drops led down the hallway toward another arch.

  Raven didn’t need to taste it to know whose blood it was. It was Aspen’s. Raven would have staked her life on it. She started following the trail and reached for her earpiece.

  “Francois, do you read?” she asked.

  “I am here, Ravenel,” he said a beat later.

  For once, Raven foun
d his presence comforting. “I found a blood trail. It’s dry, but I’m positive it’s Aspen’s. She can’t be far, where are you?”

  “Above the ship. The weather has gotten dangerous, but we are still here. How long to find her?”

  Raven was about to answer when she heard a strange cry from outside. She turned to see more of the creatures, birdlike things with black wings and wickedly curving tails. Their eyes were blood red, their beaks black and serrated, like knives. The closest opened its mouth and emitted a cry, like the scream of a frightened child. Raven felt the cry wash over her and knew if she hadn’t been a dhampyr, it would have chilled her to the bone.

  “I’ll call you back,” Raven said.

  As one, the creatures rose and attacked, flapping toward her like death on silent wings. Raven raised the shotgun and flicked it from single shot to burst fire. When the creatures were close enough she squeezed the trigger and the high-powered weapon bucked in her hands, sending a chain of silver, lead and holy oak into the creatures. The first six exploded in a rain of black ash that fell around her. A beat later the weapon clicked empty. Raven dropped it and rolled out of the way of the remaining three, who dogged her heels as she ran back the way she’d come. She leapt through the doorway and felt their claws rake at the back of her vest, tearing at the thick Kevlar. Then they were past and she was on her knees, Automag in hand. She aimed and squeezed three shots in succession and two of the creatures dropped, shedding ash and feathers. The third rounded the corner and Raven heard it’s cry again. The sound shattered the light fixture nearby, covering Raven in bits of broken glass, but she didn’t move. The creatures were snake-quick and smarter than they looked. The glass in her hair and eyes could wait.