To distract myself, I looked out at the city. Ashael’s condo had a great view of the many high-rise buildings in Taipei. Here and there, glimpses of green peeked out from the urban landscape, but more natural formations like gardens or parks were few and far between.
I doubted I’d ever outgrow my dislike of high-rises. They still felt . . . wrong, probably because for most of my life, structures hadn’t been much higher than the ziggurats that used to dot ancient Mesopotamia when I was human.
I stopped before I allowed myself to lament the other changes the industrial age had wrought, but kept pretending to be interested in the city. It gave me an excuse to stay in the sun’s rays. Ashael sat on a sofa in the darkest corner of the condo, which was decorated all in marble, sleek metals, and wrought iron. The only nod to any formerly living organisms was the silk cushions and silk covering on the silvery-gray couches.
“Why would a group of vampires choose an underwater structure to hide a relic in?” I asked when I could no longer stand counting the minutes since Ian had left.
“For one, it’s demon proof,” Ashael replied, a smile curling his lips. “We can’t teleport through significant amounts of salt water. Did you know that?”
I didn’t, but I’d be sure to remember that. “What’s the other reason?”
A shrug. “It was forgotten by history for thousands of years. Divers stumbled upon it a few decades ago, but none of the humans can agree if it was a man-made structure or a natural formation, so it’s not being excavated. Its remote location, strong currents, and sharks also keep most humans away.”
No wonder a group of vampires had repurposed it as a vault. It now also made sense why Ashael was so eager to send Ian after the relic. Any other vampire would have to beat their way through the thick stone, alerting the guards. But Ian could teleport in, get the horn, and teleport out. A simple smash-and-grab, if Ashael was telling the truth.
I still didn’t trust that he was. Call me jaded, but the last time I’d trusted a demon, I’d ended up ritually murdered for two decades.
“Care for something to drink?” Ashael asked, pouring himself a glass of triple-malt Balvenie scotch.
“No thanks.”
A silver knife appeared in Ashael’s hand. I tensed, but all he did was press its tip to his wrist. “Something stronger?”
I gave him a level look. “No.”
Ashael leaned back, toying with the handle of his knife. “Your concern for Ian is wasted, you know.”
From his tone, that wasn’t an endorsement of Ian’s fighting skills. I let out a short laugh. “Won’t you be surprised when he shows up with that relic, then? If you don’t already have a spot picked out for it, might I suggest shoving it up your ass.”
Instead of being offended, Ashael laughed. Then his chuckles died off and he gave me a sardonic look. “I’ve seen many women and men smitten by Ian. They all believed they were special to him, too. He’s talented that way. He doesn’t even have to lie. They simply infer what they want to hear from everything he doesn’t say.”
“Speaking from experience?” Ashael was gorgeous, dangerous, and powerful; a combination Ian would have found enticing.
Ashael let out an indulgent laugh. “No. My relationship with Ian was strictly business. He’s shrewd about not mixing the two. You should have kept it strictly business with him, too.”
Why did men always feel entitled to comment on a woman’s sex life? “You must have me confused me with someone who gives a shit about your opinion.”
The red lights in Ashael’s dark brown eyes began to glow. “You might not, but Ian makes you reckless, and you have far too many secrets to be reckless if you want to survive.”
I hadn’t been lectured this much since my sire Tenoch was alive. “Once again, how is that any of your concern?”
He only smiled. “Have you figured out the real curse of longevity? Boredom. The monotony just wears at you, doesn’t it? If you’re lucky, every several thousand years or so, you’ll find something that rouses your interest. If that something happens to be forbidden, well, all the more exciting, then.”
Is that what he thought Ian was to me? An escape from boredom? If I cared, I’d correct his misassumption, but I didn’t, so all I did was laugh. “As the kids say, whatever.”
“I wasn’t talking about you.” Ashael’s tone sharpened. “I was talking about your father.”
Now he had my attention. “What about my father?”
His smile said he knew he’d scored a hit. “Did you never wonder how the embodiment of the river between life and death found himself acting as a lowly doorman by assuming the role of Warden of the Gateway to the Netherworld? Or did you truly believe your mother was the first to rouse his interest enough for him to stray where it was forbidden?”
The embodiment of the river between life and death . . .
Was that what my father was? Ancient Sumerians had worshipped him as Enki, the god of water. Egyptians had revered him as Aken, custodian of the boat that carried the souls of the dead to the underworld. Greeks had called him Charon, the boatman of the river Styx, and every time I’d seen my father, he’d helmed a boat on a river made of pure darkness.
But if that’s what my father was, what did that make me? The supernatural equivalent of a Netherworld side creek?
I gave Ashael a measuring look. “How do you know so much about my father?”
Ashael flicked that knife across his wrist, filling the empty glass I’d ignored with his blood. When it was full, he filled another crystal glass with his blood. And another.
“I told you: I’m not drinking that.”
“I thought you’d want to check in on Ian,” he replied. “He isn’t wearing a body camera, so this is the next best thing.”
With that, Ashael’s power blasted out and his blood rose into the air. It stretched into impossible quantities that took up half the room before forming into a red-coated image of Ian walking down a narrow hallway. From his movements, Ian wasn’t underwater, so this part of the monolith’s interior must be dry. Unlike with Yonah, Ian didn’t seem aware that we were watching him. With his every stride, the blood changed, showing a real-time image of Ian and his immediate surroundings. It was breathtaking—and frightening.
Ashael could spy on anyone this way. Or was he limited in what he could see? Either way, it explained how Ashael knew the location of the relic and how many vampires were guarding it.
Two blood-coated figures suddenly formed and jumped Ian. “Eh, more of you?” Ian said in annoyance before he conjured up a tactile spell. Flung backward, his attackers twitched when they hit the ground as if severely electrocuted.
Ian stepped over them, pausing to kick one that reached out weakly for his ankle before he continued on.
“He didn’t kill them.” Ashael sounded surprised.
“Why would he?” I asked without looking away.
“They attacked him,” Ashael pointed out, as if I hadn’t noticed.
Did I really need to explain? Of course I did, mercy was an unfamiliar concept to demons. “They’re defending their vault. Ian wouldn’t take that personally. He also wouldn’t kill people who’ve done him no wrong if he can defeat them by other means.”
Even now, Ian’s fingers were moving, forming another tactile spell. When he rounded a corner, another duo of guards lunged at him. This time, he knocked them unconscious before they even touched him, whistling as he hopped over them, too.
I’d worried for nothing. Ian wasn’t being hampered by a new memory or overwhelmed by greater-than-expected opposition. He hadn’t even bothered to draw his borrowed weapons yet.
He went through another five guards using magic before he entered a sacramental chamber. I’d been murdered on enough altars to know one when I saw it. This was on a raised stone dais, with a mummified-looking body on top of it. A black horn as long as a broadsword rested on top of the remains. Its tip was sharp while its hilt was as wide as my forearm. African bull kudu, I guessed, j
udging by the horn’s double-curves in the middle. In ancient cultures, they’d often been used as weapons.
A quartet of new guards sprang out from the back of the altar. They circled Ian with the precision of hardened soldiers. Ian raised his hand, fingers weaving another spell. They must have realized what he was doing, because they abandoned their formation to lunge at him.
Ian flung the spell, then stopped, knocking only three of the four guards down. He stared at the fourth with his hand still raised.
“Timothy?” he asked in disbelief.
All I saw was a muscled male form coated entirely in Ashael’s blood, but when he spoke, he also sounded stunned. And British.
“Ian? That you, mate?”
“A better question,” Ian said, sounding angry now, “is why you’ve let me and the rest of your mates believe you’re dead!”
Chapter 20
Ian and Timothy’s forms suddenly disintegrated as the blood Ashael had used to form them splashed onto the condo’s floor.
“Wait!” I cried out.
Ashael gave a diffident wave. “I’m not going to weaken myself by holding that up any longer. Besides, if this is Ian’s friend, then he’s in no danger, although if he tells Ian what they’re guarding, you’ll really never see him again.”
“Is irritating me your version of masturbating?” I snapped. “Or are you this much of a bastard to everyone?”
Ashael gave me a genial smile. “I’m being nice. You don’t want to see what I’m capable of when I’m being a bastard.”
“Back at you,” I said, using one of Ian’s favorite lines.
“Oh, I know what you’re capable of,” Ashael said in a silky voice. “I’ve felt it both times you released your full power.”
What? “How can you feel my other nature, let alone know how many times I let it take control?”
Ashael’s smile widened. “You haven’t guessed?”
Guessed what? Ashael knew what my father was and he knew my true name. The first he could have gotten from Dagon, but I had no idea how he’d learned the second. He could also see the origins of people’s magic; something I didn’t know any demon could do, but what did that tell me? Damned if I knew.
He could feel it when I used my power from my other nature. Odd, but I could also feel his power, so we were even there. Drinking his blood hadn’t intoxicated me as much as it should have. What would cause that?
Maybe he was a hybrid. If he was a vampire-demon one, that would explain his power-filled aura and less-intoxicating-than-it-should-be blood. What it wouldn’t explain was how Ashael could manipulate blood with more skill than I could manipulate water. That wasn’t a vampire trait. I owed my affinity with water to my other nature . . .
Ice suddenly skittered up my spine.
Did you never wonder how the embodiment of the river between life and death found himself acting as a lowly doorman by assuming the role of Warden of the Gateway to the Netherworld? Or did you truly believe your mother was the first to rouse his interest enough for him to stray where it was forbidden?
No. No. He couldn’t be. Could he?
I bent down, dipping my finger in one of the many red splatters that coated the floor. This time, when I tasted Ashael’s blood, I didn’t focus on its less-than-expected inebriating effect. I pushed past that and the noxious taste of demons to search for something else. Something familiar.
When I found it, I closed my eyes with a mixture of despair and wonder. I’d always hoped there might be someone else out there like me. Now I knew there was, and he was a demon.
Or, more accurately, half a demon.
“Brother,” I said, opening my eyes.
Ashael’s smile turned into a smirk. “Little sister.”
I didn’t speak. Oh, I had a million questions, but who knew if he’d answer them, let alone honestly? Demons weren’t trustworthy . . . and there was karma to bite me in the ass again. Out of every species, I had to be related to this one! It proved there was no point being bigoted. Whatever you looked down upon would eventually end up in your own family.
“When did you know?” I finally asked. “When you saw me at the mine earlier today? Or, like dear old Dad, have you known about me my whole life, but decided to ignore me anyway?”
He inclined his head. “When Dagon started telling stories of a Halfling with silver eyes that ripped the blood out of his fiercest soldiers, I wondered, of course. But I only knew for certain when I saw you earlier today.”
“I ripped their water out, not their blood,” I corrected.
He grunted. “Blood is over ninety percent water, so you ripped out both.”
True enough. I searched his features, looking to see if we had any in common. He didn’t have my gold-and-blue-streaked silvery hair, but he might have dyed his into showing only its pitch-black curls. His skin was rich dark brown, whereas mine was golden bronze, and his eyes were a deep walnut shade, while mine were silver. But he had our father’s striking beauty, and Ashael didn’t try to conceal his with glamour the way I did. No, Ashael flaunted his looks much the same way that Ian flaunted his.
Men. They had many strong suits, but subtlety was rarely one of them.
“Show me your real eyes,” I said. All the facts pointed to him being my brother, but I still wanted proof.
“Untrusting,” Ashael said, approval clear in his tone. “Good to know you’re cautious about some men.”
Another Ian reprimand. I was about to tell him where to shove that when the red glow in his eyes turned to piercing silver. Darkness also bloomed behind him, covering the condo’s furnishings with a swath of fathomless obsidian—exactly how Ian had described my transformation. I’d never seen it as I didn’t pause to stand in front of a mirror when it happened. But it proved Ashael was who—and what—he said he was.
Then the silver glow in his eyes darkened back to their natural color while that otherworldly swath vanished, all without the schizophrenic battle I would have had to wage first.
“How do you lock that half of you away without a fight?”
His brows went up. “You’ve kept your other nature locked away?” At my nod, Ashael began to laugh. “No wonder I felt it the two times you finally used your full powers! They must have had to explode out of whatever cage you’ve put them in.”
I opened my mouth to reply—and Ian teleported into me, knocking me over because I hadn’t braced for a large male body suddenly occupying the same space. He caught me using his right arm. His left arm was extended out and away from his body.
“Here’s your sodding horn,” Ian snapped at Ashael.
His head and clothes had gotten bloody since I last saw him. His shirt was also torn from shoulder to wrist, revealing that the formerly stiff horn had now curled itself multiple times around Ian’s left forearm. How? Kudu horn didn’t bend!
Ashael stared at the relic as if he, too, couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Then he laughed, a sharp, grating sound.
“I fail to see anything funny,” Ian said coldly.
“I do,” Ashael said, still chuckling. “And the joke is on me. Clearly, the horn agrees with Veritas about you.”
“I have nothing to do with this,” I protested.
“You and the horn both think Ian is special.” Ashael stopped laughing to give Ian a hard look. “I disagree, but magic as old as that horn chooses its wielder, and only rare, raw power plus the potential for more draws it.”
Chooses its wielder . . . I’d heard of such objects, but had never seen one before. “Are you saying this horn was made?”
Ian looked at me as if I’d recently been hit hard in the head. “It’s a ram’s horn; a bloody ram made it.”
“That’s not what she means.” Ashael’s gaze held mine, confirming my suspicion. Then he turned to Ian. “Most weapons were forged by man, but a select few were made by the gods. You’ll have heard of famous ones like Thor’s hammer, Arthur’s Excalibur, Poseidon’s trident, and Apollo’s bow, but there are lesser-known one
s, like Hang Tuah’s dagger, Ninurta’s mace, Huitzilopochtli’s ray . . . and Cain’s horn.”
Ian grunted. “Don’t tell me you believe that dried-up corpse is Cain, too? Can’t fathom how Timothy was deluded into joining a crazed Cain cult, but then he always was a dreamer—”
“The skeleton on the altar is Cain?” I interrupted, astonished.
“So my mate claims,” Ian replied, derision coating his tone. “But even if that was the fabled first vampire cursed to forever drink blood as punishment for slaying his brother, Abel, he’s now as dead as my virginity. Still, Timothy wouldn’t leave him even after I took this”—another shake indicated the horn wrapped around Ian’s forearm—“and this apparently has value.”
Ashael arched a brow. “His acolytes think Cain will rise again, given the right mixture of blood. I’ve seen vampires regenerate from a skeletal state, so I suppose it’s possible.”
I stayed silent. Ashael didn’t need to know that Ian was one of those rare vampires who could degenerate to bones and then regenerate. He knew too much already, family or no family.
Ian’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, the right mixture of blood?”
A shrug. “His acolytes have tried many varieties. Blood of a virgin, blood of the slain, blood of the damned, blood of a vampire, blood of a ghoul, blood of a demon, blood of a demigod—I sold them that one—and countless combinations of all the above. Nothing worked. Some believe only the blood of a tri-bred will raise him since Cain also created the first ghoul.”
I stiffened, then forced myself to relax. Good thing Ashael hadn’t been looking my way. Ian hadn’t moved so much as a muscle though he had to be thinking the same thing I was.
“A tri-bred?” Ian’s voice was smoother than water. “You mean part human, part vampire, and part ghoul, like the little girl the vampire council executed recently?”
Ashael gave us a knowing look. “They were quick with that, weren’t they? Almost like some on the council knew the rumor that Cain could rise if given that child’s blood.”
“Why wouldn’t the council want a vampire with supposedly unrivaled powers like Cain back among them?” I countered.
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