“Since when does the Herald tell you what to do?” asked Nick. “You’re the Huntmaster. It’s his job to enforce your will, not the other way around.”
“If he proposes a reasonable security precaution, I won’t have any honorable basis to refuse. Besides, if I openly place the stockpile at risk and it’s destroyed, I’ll be signing my own death warrant. I’ll be deposed and executed for treason.”
“And when you get caught trying to destroy the depot on your own, they’ll kill you anyway,” said Rory. “It’s suicide—you know that!”
“I just have to get inside for ten minutes. Time enough to cast the spell. The bloodwine will break down, and no one will be the wiser unless they crack open one of the bottles and taste it. Ten minutes, and I’m out. I’ll have my AI wipe the security logs, and no one will ever know I was there.”
Nick’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Wait just one damn minute. You said you were going to destroy the bloodwine stocks. You never said anything about a spell to degrade it without breaking the bottles. That’s Scott’s spell. It nullifies the preservative cantrip that keeps the blood fresh. I gave that research to Ghian. Did he put you up to this?”
“I’ll kill him,” whispered Rory, his voice deepening in rage. “I’ll rip his fucking heart out and make him eat it. He may be the Wind of Earth, but he can’t fight someone he can’t hurt.”
“Enough!” shouted Lorcan. “Someone has to destroy the damn stockpile, and I’m the only one in a position to do it. Now back off!”
The three of them stood in the middle of the living room of the cabin, glaring at each other.
“Ruarc, don’t do this,” said Nick softly. “Please. We’ll find another way.”
“I’ll do it myself,” said Rory. “Just get me inside. What can they do to me?”
Lorcan and Nick both turned to face him, wearing identical expressions of fury.
“Are you deranged?” asked Lorcan. “If they capture you, the entire Nightwalker race will die. You have to be free to convert the ones that join us; otherwise, none of them will survive.”
“So you can take the risk, but I can’t?” asked Rory, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Nice double standard you have there.”
Lorcan snarled, his fangs extending in challenge. “You are not expendable.”
Nick raised his hand and stroked Lorcan’s cheek lightly with his fingertips. “I have never wanted to punch you as much as I do right now.”
Lorcan blinked. “What?”
“You think you’re expendable,” said Nick. “Like your life is a strategic asset to be used.” He stepped forward and cupped Lorcan’s face in his hands. “You’re wrong.”
Lorcan wrapped his hands around the back of their necks, pulling them closer. “I love you both, more than anything. But I have to do this, if only to keep my self-respect. Don’t you see? If I don’t, then how many of my people will die because of me?”
Rory laid his head on Lorcan’s shoulder. “I can’t lose you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Nick sighed. “No unnecessary risks. You get in, take out the depot, and get out immediately.” He reached back to grasp Lorcan’s left hand where it touched his neck. “Let me see your ring.”
Lorcan drew back his hand and stared at the gold band on his finger. “Why?”
“Trust me.”
Lorcan frowned, but removed the ring and put it in Nick’s waiting hand.
Nick held the ring in his right palm, then carefully pressed the claw of his left index finger into the flesh showing through the center of the ring. As his blood welled up and soaked the ring, Nick chanted softly. The blood flowed around the surface of the ring, forced by the magic into a series of glowing red runes. “Each of you, drip some of your blood on the ring, one at a time.”
Lorcan cut his fingertip with one claw, and held it over the ring, allowing three drops of his blood to fall on the metal before the injury healed.
Rory laid open his left palm and allowed his blood to pool in his cupped hand for a few seconds before the Grace repaired the damage. Then he poured out his blood onto the ring as well.
Nick began to chant again, and more of the glowing runes formed. The blood was absorbed by the spell, and suddenly, the gold band lay clean and quiescent in his hands, the runes fading away. Nick handed it back to Lorcan. “Never take it off.”
“What did you do?” asked Rory.
“I linked our lives to the ring.” He let his gaze rise to meet Lorcan’s. “A drop of your blood on the metal will trigger the spell and link your mind to ours. If you run into trouble, activate the spell and run. Don’t wait to finish the mission, just escape and keep ahead of them until we can protect you.”
Lorcan stared at him. “Protect me how?”
“Rory and I will wait for you in the catacombs outside the Council Chamber Complex. If things go bad, signal us, and Rory will use the Grace to take down the defense wards long enough for me to carpet the entire facility with Sigils of Purification.”
Lorcan’s face went slack with shock. “There are tens of thousands of Nightwalkers in the Complex at any given time! You’d kill them all just to save me?”
“Yes,” said Rory.
“In a heartbeat,” said Nick.
Lorcan looked from them to the ring and back again. Then he slipped the ring back on his finger. “With luck, that won’t be necessary.”
THE RING
CHAPTER 38
November 2142; Sanctuary, French Alps
Rafael couldn’t sleep. He paced his quarters like a caged panther in total darkness. What the hell am I thinking? He’s less than a third of my age. I’ve known him his entire life! Why am I even considering him like…that? He pushed away the image that leapt to mind immediately, a product of the intensely erotic and completely inappropriate dream that had left him awake and restless in the middle of the night.
Finally, he dropped into a chair and turned on the lights. His new quarters were relatively spartan compared to his old apartment at the Citadel. His personal belongings were still mostly in boxes, except for a few essential items and mementos he had set aside. His eyes drifted to the hologram on his desk.
In the picture, he had his arm around Antonio, both of them wearing their dress uniforms. His own was the solid green of the Spacer Guild, with five gold bars on his left breast to mark him a Full Captain. Antonio wore the gray uniform with green piping that labeled him an Academy Cadet, the brand new silver bar on his left lapel awarded on his promotion to the second stage of training.
Rafael got to his feet and walked to the desk. He lifted the framed image for a closer look, and tried to find a sign in the younger Antonio’s expression, some inkling of the feelings the Starchild said had always been there. He looks so happy. Jeremy was behind the camera, but no one else from the family had attended the ceremony.
For a moment, it was as if we were alone in the room, and he didn’t seem sad about that. More than that, he looked ecstatic to be standing there, in the shadow of Rafael’s arm. I am an idiot. How could I not have seen? I thought it was just hero worship, that he was grateful that I saved him.
He shuddered and put the photo down. He wrapped his arms protectively around himself against the memories that rose unbidden from that night, eight decades buried and forgotten.
THEN: August 2062; the Citadel, Lunar Farside; eighty years earlier
Rafael palmed the security sensor next to his door impatiently. The light flashed green and the door unlocked. He pushed it open, his eyes adjusting instantly to the shadows within his unlit apartment. Antonio was nowhere in sight, and he couldn’t hear a heartbeat anywhere in the room. He took two steps forward before the scent slammed into him.
Blood.
A lot of blood.
Rafael barreled forward, the Red Wind honing his senses to razor-sharp clarity as he pinpointed the source of the tantalizing aroma by the flow of air currents. Not bothering to turn on the lights, he leapt over the sofa and ran i
nto the library to find a huddled body in the center of the floor. Antonio’s scent was strong in the room, even under the overwhelming miasma of blood, and only his terror for his young friend kept the hunger at bay—prevented him from slaking his thirst from the pool of black liquid on the floor that he could see in the faint, blue light from his computer terminal.
No breath.
Rafael dropped to his knees in the sticky, cold stain and rolled Antonio over on his back.
No heartbeat.
Rafael tore open the Harbinger’s shirt and placed both hands on bare skin, drawing up his own raw life force and letting it spill into the limp form under his touch. Antonio absorbed the power like pouring water into an infinite well. Rafael continued to channel his strength into the healing, allowing Antonio’s natural regenerative abilities to take what they needed to repair the damage to his mangled wrists.
Rafael struggled to keep his focus. So much blood. His fangs extended as the hunger raged in his mind, magnified by the loss of his life’s energy, demanding that he feed to replace what he was losing. No! Please, just a little longer.
A faint vibration tore him away from his inner struggle. There! Weak, irregular, but still a heartbeat. Rafael accelerated the flow of energy, becoming dizzy with fatigue. Let me be strong enough.
Antonio took a shallow breath, and his eyes snapped open.
Rafael barely had a moment to whisper a silent prayer of thanks before Antonio’s fist slammed into his temple.
* * *
Rafael woke, finding himself lying naked in bed, a pile of fresh clothes on the nightstand. He inhaled deeply, finding nothing but the pervasive scent of bleach.
Nothing but that and Antonio, sitting in a chair across the room from him, dressed in one of Rafael’s cast-off t-shirts and a pair of track pants.
Rafael said nothing as he slipped out of bed and got dressed, not taking his eyes off the younger man.
Antonio remained slumped in his seat, not meeting Rafael’s accusing glare. “I tried to replenish a bit of what you lost, enough that you wouldn’t immediately try to eat me.”
Rafael buttoned his shirt silently, and then sat on the bed. “That was smart, knocking me out. It would have been a shame to go to all that effort, if the first thing I did afterward was kill you in a starvation frenzy. You'd better keep your distance until I have a chance to feed, though."
"I'm not in the mood for a hug, anyway."
“I was thinking more along the lines of beating the crap out of you, but I'll settle for an explanation."
Antonio raised his eyes to meet Rafael’s, and the Nightwalker quailed at the emotions boiling off the younger man’s psyche. Defeat. Hopelessness. Despair.
Rage.
“Why did you save me?” asked Antonio, lips white with fury. “Another minute or two, and I would have been free.”
“Free? From what? What the hell is going on in your head, Tony?”
Antonio collapsed farther into his chair, the faint spark of anger snuffed out. “How did you know where I was?”
“The passcode to the door I gave you automatically notifies me that access had been granted to a visitor. I came home to find out why you were in my room in the middle of the night. I thought maybe you had another argument with Nick or Layla.”
Antonio’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with terror. “You’re not going to tell them, are you?”
Rafael frowned. “I find you almost dead in a pool of your own blood, and now you’re worried about their opinion? Give me one reason not to.”
“If you tell them what I did, then next time, I won’t use your apartment.”
Rafael sat perfectly, inhumanly still. “Fine. I won’t tell them. On one condition.”
Antonio rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Well?”
“You swear to me that there won’t be a next time.”
Antonio opened his mouth, then closed it.
“Thank you for not lying to me.”
Antonio sighed, and stared at the discoloration at the base of his right wrist—the only sign of the scars that had already faded. “I don’t think I could do it again. Monofilament scalpels are supposed to be sharp enough that you don’t feel anything, but damn that hurt.”
“You’re stalling,” said Rafael. He folded his arms in front of himself and stared at the younger man. “Tell me why.”
“It’s never enough,” whispered Antonio. His expression grew haunted. “No matter how hard I try to live up to their expectations, I always fall short. They keep telling me I have a destiny to fulfill. Well, no one asked me whether I wanted it. It’s too much.”
“Tony, I know you’re under a lot of pressure…”
“Pressure?” asked Tony with a look of incredulity. “They want me to do an internship at the Court Embassy in Icehaven, to better understand the mindset of Nightwalkers.”
Rafael raised his eyebrows. “Granted, Icehaven can be a bit oppressive for the other races, but—”
“For a year.”
Rafael closed his mouth with a snap. “Jesus. Are they that obsessed with making you the perfect leader?”
“Of course they are. Haven’t you been paying attention?”
Rafael considered that for a moment. He had to admit that Tony had a point. From talking with Layla, he understood that she was deathly afraid that the White Wind might have some terrible plan in mind for her son, and was determined to make sure Antonio was prepared for every eventuality. Rafael’s friendship with Nick had also remained strong over the years, and he knew the Daywalker was inordinately proud of his nephew’s accomplishments, saying on more than one occasion that Tony was so incredibly gifted at everything he did, there was no limit to his potential.
Come to think of it, maybe that’s just what Tony wants them to believe. There’s been a certain lack of engagement in his behavior lately. He seemed less vital, as if something was missing. Rafael cursed himself silently for missing the signs of Antonio’s depression. He’d even mentioned it to Nick, that Tony seemed more tired and cranky than usual. Nick had laughed it off. I should have looked more closely.
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “All right, Tony. What can I do to help?”
Antonio straightened. “You’ll help me? Truly?”
Rafael nodded. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”
Antonio got to his feet and began to pace, nervous energy giving him the excitement that he had lacked. “You have to get them off my back. Tell them I need time away. No, that won’t work. They’ll just wait until I come back and start again. There has to be a clean break, someplace I can go that they won’t come after me, something I can do where they can’t interfere…”
He trailed off, staring at the winged arrowhead printed on the pocket of Rafael’s shirt, the seal of the Spacer Guild. A radiant smile broke through his expression of concentration, and for a moment, Rafael felt a kernel of hope in Antonio’s emotions. “Tell them I want to be a Spacer.”
NOW: November 2142; Sanctuary, French Alps
Rafael put the picture aside and went to the window to stare at the moon. The first time you stood up for yourself, and it was in the midst of your greatest moment of weakness. You always did keep me guessing.
The Spacer considered his life over the last century. He had believed that he’d been lonely since Toby died, but he hadn’t really. Layla had made him part of her family, and there was always work to do, either for House Curallorn or for the Guild.
And there was Antonio.
He remembered the bright, shining smile of the boy he had known, and thought about how everything would have been different if he had been too late that day.
He closed his eyes. I almost lost you.
He allowed himself to remember the dream from earlier in the night, the feeling of Antonio’s arms around him. It felt like…home.
He turned away from the window and walked back to the desk to tap the access key on his comm terminal. “Request access to the Sanctuary Nexus Hub.”
<
br /> “The Nexus greets you, Rafael Primogenitor Curallorn.”
“I would like to request an audience with Nexus Violet, if he has a moment to meet with me. My interest is personal and specific, so please spare me the usual crap about the Nexus having no individual voice.”
“Stand by, Primogenitor.” After a moment, there was a soft tone, and Revenant’s avatar appeared before him.
Rafael stared at the image of the man he had loved, and for the first time, felt nothing. “You’re not Toby.”
“You’re right,” said Revenant, shaking his head. “I’m not.”
“Then maybe we should talk about something else.”
Revenant gave a very human shrug. “Like what?”
Rafael smiled. “Tell me about Antonio.”
CHAPTER 39
November 2142; Northwest of Juneau, Alaska
Nick woke suddenly, wondering what had disturbed his sleep before noticing that there was only one warm body in the bed with him. He unwrapped himself from Rory, and slipped out of bed. Following the sound of the third heartbeat, he found Lorcan standing on the porch watching the eastern sky lighten. Nick silently stole up behind him, and slid his arms around Lorcan’s waist.
Lorcan leaned back into Nick’s warmth, as he covered Nick’s arms with his. They stood like that for another half an hour, watching the sunrise.
Nick sighed, his breath steaming in the air. “I wish Rory could share this with us.”
“Maybe he will, someday, after the Great Work is complete.”
“You heard what he told us about the Grace. The Great Work won’t end until he’s dead.”
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