Sovereign

by Anne Schlea

  Stay. He wants her to stay down. The chaos around her pushes at her conscious; she took in too much energy, her body is drunk with it. She needs to help control the situation. The humans can’t find out. Willing more energy into her legs, she starts to stand.

  Then suddenly wave of exhaustion crashes over Runa and the darkness overtakes her.

  Chapter 11

  The soft rhythm of Tara’s breathing soothes Damian’s soul. After so many decades of loneliness, recent weeks have brought him a feeling of serenity for the first time since Violetta died all those years ago. Even in the years he’d been with Alexia, he hadn’t felt this kind of calm and solitude.

  It makes him nervous.

  The gods who allowed immortality are fickle. They don’t smile on happiness.

  A rush of static electricity caresses Damian’s arm, causing the hair to stand up.

  Alert, he looks around the room, searching for the source. There aren’t many creatures that can make themselves invisible, and all leave a signature – none of which he can see right now.

  The heavy brocade curtains hang unmoving against the window and his ears detect no movement against the thick carpet. There are no shadows passing between the walls and Damian’s eyes; the flat screen television mounted on the wall isn’t left on to cause the static electricity.

  He slides his right arm out from under Tara’s sleeping body, leaving her with a gentle kiss on her shoulder as he exits the comfort of their bed. She turns in her sleep, reaching out to pull his pillow closer. She looks fragile laying there, tiny in the large bed and pale against the dark red bedding.

  Damian reaches down to push her hair away from her face.

  She grounds him in a way no one has for centuries, his tiny violinist with a heart of kindness. They’d been married in a traditional human ceremony which he’d done to calm her misgivings of moving in with him. He can’t remember a time before she was part of his life, even though the ceremony had only been a few months past.

  Barely more than a heartbeat of time in the life of an immortal.

  A larger, more lavish event will be held when she makes good on their agreement to be wed in the ways of his people, but that will have to wait until she’s ready to be made into a vampire. It’s something he promised himself he would not press her about. The promise was made, the vows taken, now he waits on her timetable.

  He’s terrified of her fragility as a human, petrified that something could happen to her and take her out of his life forever. There are enough ways for it to happen even without a war among immortals brewing in the south.

  He hopes she doesn’t want to wait too long, but now with the reminder thanks to Stephanie and Arthur that vampire men can have children with human women, he wonders if she’ll want to have a baby before she changes. The idea excites him and terrifies him all the same. Making a child with her would be something he’s never dreamed possible; holding a life in his hands that came from both of them would be nothing short of miraculous. Leaving her human for another year could be deadly.

  Damian reaches for his pants and pulls them on. His Beretta comes out of the nightstand drawer, he checks it for bullets, sets the safety, and tucks it into the back of his pants. He’d refused to keep a gun so close to his bed until Tara came to live with him. Now, with someone as delicate as a mortal this close, he feels like he has no choice.

  This is why I’m a businessman, he muses. I don’t like waking up in the middle of the night to an immediate threat and I don’t like keeping loaded weapons in my bedroom.

  But prudence rules today. In a war among immortals no one is truly safe. Atlanta might not be his zip code, but it’s close enough for the war to make a visit. He’d be a lot more comfortable if there were more miles between Zartan’s war and Damian’s Charlotte home.

  On the nightstand, Damian’s cell phone starts to vibrate. He looks down to see Joseph’s name.

  It’s just after midnight.

  Strange.

  He reaches to pick it up, but the pain hits him before he can make it.

  Racing up his right arm, the light static electricity that woke him intensifies to a burn. The heat continues to strengthen until Damian wonders if there’s an invisible blow torch burning away his flesh.

  He collapses to his knees, his vision threatening to go black. He fights the urge to call out, to wake Tara who seems oblivious to his pain as she continues to sleep.

  After minutes or hours, Damian isn’t sure, the pain subsides. Black letters are burned down his arm from shoulder to wrist, the skin around the fresh tattoo red and angry. The letters, written in a long dead language, speak the lineage of his people.

  Anger rushes through him, followed by consuming sadness. Only one thing could cause these markings to appear on his arm.

  What had Dinah gotten herself into? And why didn’t Zartan protect her?

  Weak, he reaches for his phone and stumbles into the hallway, careful to pull the bedroom door closed behind him. There’s no reason to wake Tara now; let her rest while she still can. They’ll need to catch a plane before sunrise.

  He pulls up his missed calls and hits dial.

  “Damian?” Joseph picks up on the first ring. He sounds out of breath. Not good.

  “Yeah.” He leans against the hallway wall, sweat running down his exposed skin and soaking the waistband of his pants. He pushes aside a wave of nausea. If this is what he thinks it is, he’s had his last good night’s sleep for a while. Maybe ever. Internally, he curses. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

  “Dinah’s dead.”

  No preamble. No gentle words or sympathy. His mother is dead, probably a casualty of a war she had no business being involved in. Like Damian, she isn’t a warrior. Wasn’t. Damn.

  “I know.” He looks down at his arm and curses, damn the fates and damn their pact with the vampires to choose their leaders. This isn’t his destiny. After a century of misery, he’s supposed to be happy. Life with Tara and managing his business assets should be enough. Leading his family in a time of war never should have been his job. “Tell Zartan I’m on my way. I’ll be there with my wife before dusk tomorrow.”

  “You’re bringing Tara?” Joseph sounds surprised. Does he hear sirens behind him? What kind of disaster has happened?

  “I’m certainly not leaving her here alone.” Damian rubs his eyes. He needs to focus and not allow the adrenaline to take over his decisions. If he lets himself descend into despair over his mother’s death, then he won’t be able to function. He needs to be able to function; hell, he needs to be ready to be a leader. “Tell Zartan the new Toiseach has already been called. I’ll need you to brief me on everything that happened. I’ll call you when I’m on the plane.”

  The elevator doors open on the top floor for Serene to step into the hallway leading to her office. The usual bustle of the workday is subdued, most of the cubicles empty and office doors open to empty rooms. Phones ring, but the admins answer them in hushed tones.

  What has happened in the world of fashion that could cause a complete stop of work?

  Walking with purpose, Serene heads toward her office. Jasmine will tell her why her employees have taken a day off.

  Her Christian Louboutin heels make no noise as they move swiftly through the office and barely pause when Jasmine’s desk and her own closed door come into focus. Careful not to show surprise or hesitation, Serene grips her laptop bag and cup of coffee a bit firmer as she approaches the crowd of employees standing in somber silence around Jasmine’s desk.

  “Would someone care to share with me what dire event has occurred that is important enough to stop work?” Her eyes rest on her personal assistant, waiting at the front of the crowd, a file in her hand. Eyes meet Serene’s, puffy and red. Jasmine has been crying.

  “Here.” Placing the folder in Serene’s hands, she retreats behind her desk where she slumps in the chair, eyes staring straight forward.

  Clicking her tongue, Serene sets her coffee down on Jasmine’
s desk to open the file. Her assistant looks sloppy and unfocused, completely unacceptable. No matter what the crisis. This is a professional office, not a therapist’s sofa; this is not the place for crying and rumpled clothes.

  The top sheet is a transmission from her nosferatu contact, the man who supplies security for the doctor’s experiments. All communication is sent through a secure, neutral email address that is printed out and brought to Serene. She never opens or touches any traceable computer the nosferatu have sent information to. It’s the best way to stay off the vampire’s radar. If someone takes the fall for Serene’s involvement, it will be her personal secretary.

  Target neutralized. Opposition destabilized. Acquisition of new medical facility necessary. Please proceed with real estate transfers.

  Target neutralized?

  Turning the page, Serene takes in a deep breath. In that moment, she’s grateful for her years as “entertainment” in the Blood Clubs. She’s learned to control her facial expressions well.

  The second item in the file is the first of a series of photos. Dinah of the Silverblade Clan leaving the vampire’s summit in north Georgia. Dinah arguing with a second vampire. Dinah getting into her car. Dinah’s car in flames, debris scattered around.

  My god, thought Serene, they’ve killed Dinah. If there was any doubt about the vampires being at war before, it’s a certainty now. They may have just as well bombed a shelter for abandoned kittens. Dinah was… sweet. Innocent. Not any kind of military target worth exploiting. There’s only one reason to kill someone like her – to make the rest of them hurt.

  Judging from the photos, it was a car bomb. What were they thinking? Draw as much attention to the secret society they live in as possible? How in the world do the nosferatu think they’ll cover that one up? She closes her eyes and counts to ten. This isn’t good.

  Serene opens her eyes again and moves her gaze to Jasmine’s. “This was never the agreement.”

  “Dinah was always good to us.” Jasmine’s eyes stay focused straight ahead, her back rigid. “She helped us find a home when we escaped Dimitri. She didn’t tell the rest of the vampires about us. Killing good people isn’t why we’re here, Serene.”

  Serene fights her body not to take a step back. Jasmine seems to have found her voice and her strength. What unfortunate timing.

  “As I said, this was never the agreement.” She straightens her back and looks around the room. “We’re a fashion house and a real estate company. Unfortunately, some of our business partners are at war with Dinah’s people. Casualties happen.”

  “Casualties happen?” Her eyes move from Serene to the rest of the gathered staff. She shuts her mouth and takes a breath through her nose. The stunned numbness seems to bleed from her body to be replaced by something else. Is it fury?

  “Go about your business.” Serene looks from one employee to another, most sirens, some other creatures mixed in. All beautiful. All indebted to her for one reason or another. Loyalty should never be a question. “Today is a normal day in our world. You can mourn Dinah later. None of your tears will bring her back.”

  The crowd disperses, most heading to their desks to continue their day. Serene waits for them to clear the space before she turns to Jasmine. “In my office.”

  Jasmine stands and follows her into the office, closing the door quietly behind her.

  Remembering to hold her temper, Serene counts to ten before she continues. “What’s going on with you? Dinah is not one of us. Yes, I’m sad she’s gotten herself killed. She’d always been good to us, true, but she didn’t raise a finger to help us when we needed it most. She only came to our aid once we were free of the Blood Clubs.”

  “But she helped us.” Jasmine’s voice is angry but controlled. If Serene hadn’t known her as long as she has, she wouldn’t have noticed. She rubs her hands down the front of her pencil skirt in a nervous movement. “When we got free of Dimitri she didn’t ask where we came from or if we were on the run. She helped us find food and shelter. She helped you find work where you could grow powerful. How can this not bother you?”

  “Her death isn’t on our hands.” Serene sets her laptop down on her desk, the file on top of it. She then paces around to stand in front of Jasmine. “My fight is not with the vampires. I only want some of their land so we have a place to establish ourselves. Do you not think the sirens deserve a homeland of their own?”

  “Of course I do.” She snaps. Serene’s charm isn’t going to work on her today, making this situation even worse. Today, Serene needs someone who will just say yes. There are much bigger fires to put out than an upset secretary. “We may not fight the vampires, but we help the nosferatu. They never would have advanced so far without our assistance. Their medical experiments alone… how many other women have they killed or destroyed? We shouldn’t be a part of this.”

  Serene closes her mouth. Jasmine isn’t wrong and she isn’t going to back down. Right now, Serene leads the free sirens because she’s financially stable, she provides them jobs, and, with her help, they all have a place to stay. But Serene can’t protect them. Sirens are not warriors and never have been. They need a stronger, more militarily minded race to help keep them secure until they have their own land to call home. Right now, the nosferatu fit that bill.

  However, Serene is smart enough to see she’ll lose her position among the sirens if she’s not careful.

  She tightens her lips and looks at Jasmine. “Fine. I’ll cut the nosferatu’s medical doctor loose. Better? And I’ll tell them no more experiments on women.”

  Jasmine narrows her eyes, looking at Serene like she’s trying to see through her. She doesn’t believe her. Finally, conceding this battle, she nods once.

  “Good. Then let this be done.” She doesn’t move, still looking over Jasmine. The assistant that would barely meet her eyes only a few weeks ago. “What changed? Why are you arguing with me now? You’ve never done that before.”

  She takes a breath, her shirt expanding and then contracting. Finally, she replies. “Dinah gave me something to fight for.”

  Taken aback, Serene frowns. “You would fight for Dinah?”

  “Yes.” Jasmine doesn’t look away, her sense of self growing. “None of us were alive the last time the sirens were a free race. None of us remember what it is to be confident and stand on our own; we have always had masters or protectors who become jailors. I may not want to be part of the vampire war, but I do want what Dinah and Antonia, and even Runa have.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Strength to be who I want to be.” Jasmine’s eyes are cold as they meet Serene’s. “Strength to stand on my own and not bow to a stronger bully. Now, may I leave? I have work to do.”

  Serene looks at Jasmine for a long time. Finally, she nods once. “You may go.”

  Turning her back on her boss, the younger siren leaves the room without another word.

  With a deep breath, Serene returns to her desk to retrieve her laptop from its case. She needs a new assistant. Clearly, Jasmine doesn’t see what’s at stake here. No more reports can cross Jasmine’s desk lest her actions cause Serene any more problems.

  Dinah, Antonia, Runa – none of them ever raised a hand to help the sirens. Not once did Antonia, the leader of a powerful clan, even think to seek the release of hundreds of siren slaves; many of those slaves are still being held in clubs and private collections around the world. None of the vampires cared enough to say anything at all about the way they were treated, how they were sold for blood and body, how many of them were killed when they wouldn’t or couldn’t give any more. And how many vampires fed on sirens in those years?

  Damn Dinah and damn the rest of them. Let the women of other races feel the sting of the master’s latest toy for a few decades.

  No one helped Serene get free. Why should she care what happens to them?

  Picking up her burner phone, Serene sends off a text to her nosferatu connection. They’ll have dinner tonight and Jasmine will be
taken care of by tomorrow. She’s a weakness Serene can’t afford.

  Kristoff waits patiently for the steps to descend from the private plane that just landed at the smaller of Atlanta’s airports. A weaker man would have been uncomfortable out in the open like this, a clear shot could be made in his direction from a dozen angles, but he welcomes the chance to face his enemies. Let them come.

  Kristoff isn’t going to hide.

  Standing next to him, sunglasses covering her eyes and her hair tightly braided back, Runa looks as calm as he feels. At least on the outside. He imagines the open space of the airport terminal isn’t the most comfortable place for her to be, but she’d refused when he suggested she stay at the hotel. Now, next to him in sleek black dress pants and a soft, silk shirt, he’s grateful she’s here. She helps ground his anger and sadness, something none of them have time for right now.

  He reaches out and takes her hand, thankful she doesn’t pull away. Her fingers curve around his, holding tightly.

  The stairs finally descend, and a moment later, Damian appears at the top.

  Tall, well built, and dressed in an immaculate suit even Kristoff can find impressive, Damian seems to scan the area for a threat. When his dark brown eyes detect none, he moves forward to allow his wife to follow him in exiting the plane.

  Kristoff has never met Tara before. Tiny, she would barely reach Damian’s shoulder without tall heels. Dark hair, only a shade or two darker than Damian’s, reaches past her shoulders. Where Damian is perpetually tan, she has pale, cream colored skin, with striking gray eyes. She looks nervous, her eyes darting around the open space nervously. When she spots them waiting, her adrenaline seems to spike more, causing Damian to lean down and whisper something to her.