Chapter Twenty-Three
After he’d lost everything, Seb had clung to emptiness like a lifesaver. He threw himself into activities that distracted him from his anguish and loss, structuring his life with few stresses on his emotional core. Over thousands of years, he’d built up his shield.
He’d mistaken it for peace.
From the first, Brie had chipped away at his carefully constructed calm. Taking her to bed had chiseled the first, long, painful opening in his armor. Tasting her had opened the second.
But it was hearing her aborted sob that cracked him wide open.
It thrust him toward her, to take her in his arms and never let go.
Owun stopped him. A youngster’s cunning had maneuvered Seb and Elias, two ancient beings who supposedly knew better, into a situation they should have been able to easily avoid. He feared for what was coming next.
Seb couldn’t, in all good conscience, tie Brie to him knowing he might die in the next twenty-four hours. Instead he passed her, going to his weapons case.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. It’s just…you hurt me. Am I that bad to love?”
He wanted to reassure her everything would be all right. But he couldn’t lie to her. He said nothing.
She threw words into the aching silence. “Look, I…I think I’m falling in love with you, too. And, yes, love can open you to hurt. When my grandparents died, it was the darkest, most awful time I’ve ever experienced.”
He glanced back at her.
Her fingers searched at the notch of her throat. Looking for comfort—perhaps the locket she’d worn there, torn from her by Cleomenes.
He looked sharply away. His heart, at peace for so long, woken such a short time ago, was breaking. He clutched the case as hard as biting a bullet and breathed through the pain. “I’m sorry. But I have a battle to fight.” Picking up a sword, he turned.
Her face was wet. She wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand.
He nearly ran to her then, ruined everything he’d done to give her the distance she’d need to forget him if he died. Instead, he set the sword back in the case and slid his phone out of his pocket. Steeling himself not to feel anything, he approached her slowly. Stopped barely within arm’s reach. “Take my cell phone. It has Zappman’s number, speed dial two. If you need anything.”
She tried not to take it. “What if you need him?”
A humorless laugh bubbled inside him. “Vampire politics are rather…archaic. No communication devices are allowed.” When she finally accepted the phone, he glanced at his guns and knives, then sighed again. “What the hell. I can’t take those, either.”
He stood there, not knowing what to do. He wanted to leave, needed to for both their sakes, yet his feet remained planted.
He’d had his one last time with her, loving her with his body, and it wasn’t enough.
It would never be enough.
But that might not be his call to make.
…
I watched Seb look around the room, his shoulders hunching more with every moment. He looked older. Drained.
Devastated.
This was bad, much worse than Derek’s pushing me away, which had only hurt me. From Seb’s slumped posture and look of utter wretchedness, something inside him had broken.
Loving me had really weakened him.
Something broke inside me, too.
He shuffled to me and for a moment hope beat a painful thump. Then he bent and gave me a peck on the cheek. “You take care of yourself, Brie.”
My lover left, a broken man.
…
Pain wracking him, Seb exited the B&BS, hobbling like an old man. Brie’s bright happiness lured him.
He’d had to push it away. Push her away.
He wanted to embrace her tight and kiss her and make up for all of it. Him, who’d stopped caring for anything and anyone. Laughable, though inside was only bitter pain. All these centuries, he’d prided himself on being detached, above and beyond it all.
Now, all it meant was that he couldn’t give his mate what she needed.
Elias was right. He’d mated with her, locked himself in for life. And worse, he’d shed his impervious heart for her, opened himself to her…falling in love with her. Perhaps looking to be filled with her bright, jangling joy. Denied to him by a strangely cunning youngling, perhaps forever.
Losing his heart had seemed the worst thing possible. He was wrong.
Now he was open. Weak. Vulnerable. Exactly when his mate’s life might hang on his ability to think. To fight. To act.
Roller-Blayd Hall came into view. He heaved a breath and stopped. He couldn’t seem to rid his lungs of the need to sigh. But the next hour would take every ounce of wits he had left. Vampire politics of any sort were savage and bloody. Just because weapons were banned didn’t mean Bargaining Rights would be safe. He needed to get his head on straight. Forget about Brie.
Forget about the painful, throbbing hole his life had become.
Groups of vampires stood outside the remodeled factory, checking each other for weapons. Seb recognized some of them as Alliance. More were Cleomenes’s males. Or rather, Owun’s now, at least until the fate of the Chicago territory was decided.
Seb dug deep for his self-discipline. Concentrate. Do the job. It let him put on a veneer of strength and assurance. He strode past the two groups to the door, which opened before he touched it.
A male met Seb at the door, six-three of Viking vampire strength, his body wrapped in jeans, a sleeveless vest, and weapons. Seb recognized him as Camille’s lieutenant, Thor. And mate to Brie’s friend, Sera. Seb suppressed the wave of pain almost before it began.
Almost.
The Viking nodded. “It’s clean. The traitor Owun and I spent the whole hour glaring at each other, but nobody did anything to the place while you were gone. He’s unarmed, by the way. I checked.”
“Good. Thanks.” Seb took a deep breath. At least one thing had gone right. Though vampire war still loomed if Lorenzo heard of the latest murder, one life-threatening catastrophe at a time.
Seb entered the building. Owun met him inside the door with a smile, all teeth, no eyes. The young vampire said, “We’re meeting in the control room upstairs. You know the procedure.”
“I do.” Seb misted, letting his clothes fall through, then reformed a few paces back. Owun checked each article of clothing before handing it to him. When he’d donned the last piece, the younger vampire stripped off his own clothes.
Seb filed that little fact away. More mature than his years would suggest, but still too young to mist. Though Thor had checked Owun already, Cleomenes’s treachery was fresh. Seb poked through each piece of clothing.
After he’d dressed, Owun, that crocodile smile still on his face, held his hand toward the mid-room stairs. “After you.”
“Right.” As Seb climbed the steps, his joints ached and creaked. Once Blackthorne returned his blood, he’d feel himself again.
If Blackthorne returned his blood. If Blackthorne wasn’t dead.
His joints creaked even louder.
At the top of the stairs was a platform. A glassed-in booth sat in the middle, leaving about two feet of catwalk all around it. It had been the overseer’s office when the building had been a factory. Inside, a small table was set with three chairs.
A male already stood waiting in the office. Since Julian Emerson wasn’t available, Seb was expecting Camille, or perhaps Emerson’s lieutenant Nikos, not the male who turned to greet him.
Kai Elias himself.
Damn, the Ancient One looked old. Seb had seen himself in a mirror, and he looked about a human’s forty. But Elias was easily ten or twenty years more.
Elias must’ve given Blackthorne a lot of his heart’s blood.
Seb opened the glass door of the onetime office and stepped into the cool, filtered air. “You’re representing the Iowa Alliance yourself?”
“Yes.”
“What if it’s a trap?”
Elias shrugged. That bare motion, the negligent strength, was unchanged. Aged, perhaps, but unbent. “Then who better to be here? I’ve survived all manner of nooses. Besides, perhaps it’s time I take a more immediate hand in events.”
Something about that made Seb shudder. He didn’t know which was worse, Elias attending despite being depleted or Pharaoh, again putting his hand into mortals’ affairs.
Elias caught the reaction, from the slight lift of a corner of his mouth. He indicated the small, cramped table with one elegant hand. “Shall we sit?”
Owun was fussing with something at the railing. Letting the door go, Seb went to his chair, automatically scanning the area. High-tech panels lined the booth’s walls. Walls were made of reinforced glass. An air ventilation system hissed through it all.
Satisfied with his initial survey, Seb turned his attention to Elias. “Speaking of taking an immediate hand—why the hell didn’t you do something about these people before it came to this?
Elias raised an eyebrow, Pharaoh’s old arrogance, except for the humanizing silver hairs threaded among the black. “Honestly? I kept hoping they’d get a clue and change themselves.”
Seb stared. “That’s not the answer I expected.” He frowned at the other male. “You’re not what I expected.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
“You’re here, negotiating. Before, well, you were always first into a fight, but diplomacy? You weren’t a luring-flies-with-honey kind of guy. More a punch first, negotiate later.” Seb struggled to put it into words. He’d mulled on it a lot over the centuries—at first Pharaoh had controlled his life, and then the Ancient One had. Like a parent, those formative years had a lasting impact. “You gloried in battle. Even if—especially if—the odds were overwhelmingly against you.”
“You mean I was reckless. And not only with my own life.” A sadness lurked in Elias’s black eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Everything.”
Seb drank that in, not realizing he’d been waiting for just this for four thousand years. He’d lost everything following Elias’s command. It was Seb’s job, his duty, and his Pharaoh technically didn’t owe him a thing.
But the apology certainly went a long way to soothing the pain of what was wrong between them.
Seb nodded, considering the other male. “You’ve changed.”
“Yes.”
“I approve.”
Elias sighed, a bushel of air in and out. “I’m not sure I do. There are drawbacks to diplomacy. To letting others find their own ways. Confronting every problem with violence—it’s simple, quick. Effective.”
“Why did you change?” Seb was genuinely curious.
“It was…a journey.” The other male made a small gesture with his hand, palm up, as if words were inadequate. “I was a strong leader, but my people hated and feared me. I acted friendly to try to gain their favor. I became loved—to my face. But behind my back, it was a different story. Being friendly hadn’t really worked, and my enemies took my friendly overtures as a sign that I’d grown weak. For stability’s sake, I went back to my old ways. Still, I tried again and again, reinventing myself. Not friendly, exactly, but I tried very hard not to give my people a reason to feel anything but love. They went right on hating and fearing.”
“Some still do.”
“Yes. Now, I don’t bother with what people think. I do what I think is right.”
“I was one of those who hated you. For charging recklessly into the battle that lost me my legs. Even more after I became a vampire, for your brutal training.”
“I know.”
Seb stared at the other male. “Didn’t you care?”
Elias made an impatient noise. “Of course I cared. But I couldn’t let that stop me from doing what was right.”
His gaze cut away a moment, as if replaying that time. His black eyes were bleak.
Revealing Elias’s great loneliness.
For the first time in four thousand years, Seb felt sorry for the male.
The door’s latch clicked. Owun stepped into the booth.
He moved with a grace Seb envied. Even if Blackthorne never returned Seb’s blood, he’d eventually heal—vampires healed even old age—but it would take time. And in the meantime, he’d have aches and pains and creak.
Being old sucked camel balls.
He caught Elias’s gaze on him. The other male smiled slightly, as if he agreed.
When Owun had settled himself opposite Elias, he rapped for attention. “Bargaining Rights have been declared. The contested territory is that of Chicago and surrounds. Vying for that territory is the New York Cadre, represented by Seb Rikare, and the Iowa Alliance, represented by Kai Elias.”
His eyes had a strange gleam to them, resting on Elias.
Seb didn’t like it. Things felt…off.
“I call for the beginning of these negotiations by calling for a new hope,” Owun said.
Seb glanced at Elias. Shrewd black eyes met his. Elias gave him the barest of nods.
Owun was droning on. “This territory has belonged to Cleomenes from before the time Illinois was a state. Therefore, it must go to his successor—”
“I’m representing the Iowa Alliance,” Elias said. “But if my position wins, I will be handing control of the contested territory to the rightful winner—the Northwest vampires and Aiden Blackthorne.”
“Even if he lives, he is but a babe,” Owun scoffed. “Hardly old enough to tie his shoes, much less run a whole territory.
“And yet he’s running the Northwest quite successfully. And has been for five years.”
“A drop in the bucket.” Owun shifted forward in his chair, glaring at Elias.
“Time-tested and proven.” Elias raised a single silvered brow.
Tense silence fell.
A bobble in air pressure was so slight Seb almost missed it. He cast around for the cause. Everything looked normal.
“Why are we really here?” Elias’s coalmine-deep voice dropped into the tension like a boulder.
Raising his palms in appeasement, Owun eased back into his chair. “I think we can all agree, Cleomenes was a two-bit crook with too much cash. But he did do one thing right. He made me his second.”
“How did you manage that?” Seb said. “You’re not much more than a baby yourself.”
Owun smirked. “I have friends in high places. And I did a few…unsavory tasks for him, which cemented my loyalty.”
“You’re not referring to murder, by any chance?”
Owun only smiled, but it was irritatingly smug. Seb had seen that expression on far too many culprits not to recognize it. “You are the killer.”
“We aren’t here to squabble over mortal affairs, are we? Back to the matter at hand. I wish to put forth that this territory be made the dominion of the all-knowing, all-powerful Shadow Lord.”
“And just who the hell is that?” Seb was tired to his bones of these games. “I’ve heard the name several times now, and I’m beyond ready for an introduction.”
“I’m glad you asked.” Owun smirked. He reached back over to one of the electrical boards lining the booth and tapped a button.
A screen whirred down to cover the glass wall facing the windows. Simultaneously, it lit with a picture of an empty room with deep leather furniture and dark wood paneling.
The screen was a flexible wireless television or monitor.
Another bobble in the air pressure made Seb frown and check his surroundings. As before, everything seemed fine.
A robed male stepped into the picture on the screen. Tall and broad shouldered, his head was covered by a cowl like a monk. The hood obscured all but the male’s strong cleft chin.
Melodramatic but effective. Foreboding rippled through Seb.
“Thank you, Owun.” The robed man’s voice was deep and sure. “Greetings. You are met to decide the leader, and the future, for a large portion of vampire kind in the new world. I am here to tell you I am that leader.”