Shadow Rising

No. Not this time.



“Sammael, then,” Ariane allowed, trying not to say it through gritted teeth. “He said it was important to remember how to feel for the mortals. To not just watch but to be able to understand. He’s an ancient one too. Do you disagree?”



Sariel’s expression shifted quickly from insincere warmth to genuine displeasure. “Sammael has an… unnatural affinity for the humans. Always has. I’ve indulged him, but humanity is like a troop of bellicose monkeys. Understanding them is simple enough. It was a defective design, I’ve always thought,” he said with a small, cold smile.



Ariane never knew what to make of him when he said things like that. It was as if he had never been human, though more likely it had just been so long that he had no recollection of what it was like.



Sariel waved his hand dismissively. “In any case, Ariane, this is not an appropriate first mission for you. It’s too delicate a situation, and time is of the essence. One day,” he continued, stepping closer, his eyes glowing softly in a way that might almost be called warm, “I will make sure you get your chance to keep our watch. You have my word on this, d’akara.”



She stayed still, though his nearness had begun to make her uncomfortable. The visit itself was highly unusual. Sariel’s interest in her well-being was even more so. She couldn’t recall him ever paying much attention to her… though Sammael’s disappearance, and her connection to him, seemed to have remedied that in spades. She should have enjoyed it. And yet somehow it provoked nothing but a faint revulsion.



Another sign she was finally ready to go.



As though he’d sensed the direction of her thoughts, Sariel murmured, “I have no idea why your beauty has escaped my notice for so long. All these centuries, and you and I have never truly spoken.”



“That’s true,” Ariane agreed with a small nod, self-consciously tucking a lock of long, silvery blond hair behind her ear. Her hair was pale even for a Grigori, almost as silver as an ancient one’s. She’d always thought it made her more of a spectacle than beautiful… but the way Sariel’s eyes tracked the motion of her hand through her hair made her wonder if she’d been wrong about her appeal among her own kind.



She hoped he didn’t reach for her. What would she do then? Running was always an option, but a very poor one when your pursuer was a seven-foot-tall vampire.



To her relief, Sariel seemed to realize that his sudden attentions had surprised her. He came no closer, but the keen interest in his gaze was unmistakable.



“I would like to see you, Ariane. To spend some time with you. Tomorrow night, perhaps? We should get to know one another, after all this time.”



It was all she could do not to sob with relief. “Of course,” she replied, and even managed a small, demure smile. “I would enjoy that.”



It seemed to satisfy Sariel, and he nodded.



“Good. I’ll send someone for you then.” He turned and strode to the door, but stopped just before leaving, looking back at her. “Don’t worry about Sammael, d’akara. If he lives, he’ll be found, and he would not be so easily killed. Trust me… I’ve known him a great deal longer than you have.”



Ariane nodded. “Then I’ll just keep hoping for the best,” she said.



When the door shut and Sariel was finally gone, she expelled a long, shaky breath, her legs going wobbly. She bent at the waist, placing her hands on her knees and breathing deeply, trying to regain her balance. The visit had rattled her, even more than she’d thought. Why had he really come? Was he worried that she might do exactly what she was planning? And if he was, had he seen that he was right?



She didn’t think so. Whatever Sariel had come looking for, whatever he had seen, nothing had changed. For once she had a choice, and she chose to act. It was terrifying, yes.



But Ariane had faith it would also be freeing.



When she thought enough time had passed, Ariane moved to the bed and pulled a small beaded satchel from beneath the mattress. In it was the handful of things that held any importance for her. A sorry commentary on a life that had lasted so long and yet meant so little to anyone. She slung the long, thin strap of the satchel across her body, then moved to the window, her diaphanous skirt swirling gracefully about her legs.



She flipped a small latch, and the two panes of glass swung outward, revealing a gateway to the night. Ariane paused for only a moment, steeling herself. She had no desire to look back, to take in the pretty room that had been her safe haven for so long. It would be too easy to lose her nerve, and she would need all of that and more if she really wanted to find her friend. Not to mention evading her own capture. The Grigori did not take kindly to deserters. If she ever returned here, she doubted Sariel would be inviting her to his chambers again.



Not in the short space of time before she vanished forever.



No. That isn’t going to happen. I can do this. And if finding Sam doesn’t sway them, then I’ll stay gone and stay on my own. Make a real life. Somehow.



Reassured, Ariane stepped onto the slim window ledge, glad that her room faced the desert and not the courtyard. Her only witness was the moon. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and summoned the gift that she had so rarely been able to use. She felt them rise from her back, sliding through her flesh as easily as water flowing from a stream. Her wings.



Ariane extended them, allowing herself only a moment to turn her head and admire the way they shimmered in blues, lavenders, silvers—twilight colors. And gods but it felt good to free them, to free this part of herself. She lifted her hands to her sides, like a child balancing on a beam or a dancer poised to begin.



Then she leaped into the darkness and, in a flutter of wings, was gone.



Chapter Two



DAMIEN TREMAINE LEANED A HIP against the Master Shade’s desk, made a show of examining the snifter of brandy in his hand for a moment longer, and then cocked an eyebrow at the man who’d been his employer for a good two hundred years now.



“A Grigori,” he repeated, knowing he hadn’t misheard his boss and wondering exactly how that could be.



Drake nodded, and the look on his face indicated he wasn’t really in the mood for Damien’s pithy commentary this evening. Which was a pity, since of all the things people said he was full of, pithy commentary was one of the few he could admit to and enjoy.



“Yes, a Grigori. And before you start bitching about how creepy they are, I’d like to reiterate that this is an opportunity I’ve been waiting for since I started this operation.”



Damien snorted. “Mmm. A thousand years without a single request from their dynasty for spying, killing, or general dirty work. That’s a hell of a snub. Why do you want to bother with them again? And for the record, yes, I do think they’re creepy. Bloody big buggers too. The combination isn’t one I fancy getting involved with. Can you imagine what their women look like? If they even have women. Or maybe some of the ones wandering around are women, and you just can’t tell.”



He grimaced at the thought, then downed half the brandy in a single swallow. It wasn’t nearly as satisfying as a pint of O-negative would have been, but he did enjoy the taste, and the memories. Well, some of the memories.



“Why do you always feed me the shit brandy and think I won’t notice, Drake?”



“You’re wrong. I’m well aware you’ll notice, Damien. And your reaction never ceases to amuse me. Now, to answer your question, new avenues of business are always good. And you, of all people, should appreciate that, since the fact that you opened one saved your ass not too long ago.”



Damien gave Drake a humorless smirk and then tossed back the rest of the brandy, figuring he might as well enjoy the buzz if he couldn’t enjoy the flavor. Gods knew the pleasure of his own little triumph had long since worn off, which was unfortunate as hell. But that was what happened when you lived on adrenaline. Each rush was somehow inferior to the last and became exponentially shorter.



The emotional numbness he had grown to feel between jobs was a strange blessing, but he had come to appreciate it.



Alistair Drake watched him from behind his monstrosity of a desk with eyes so midnight blue they were nearly black. His long fingers were folded in front of him, his sharp-featured face betraying no emotion other than the sort of low-level annoyance the man always seemed to exhibit. In his charcoal-gray suit, Drake could have passed for a young executive, with his eternal air of deadly seriousness indicating he held a position of some power.



One would never have guessed he was a master thief and assassin, and the head of a tightly run network of purveyors of exactly the same sort of work he himself had long plied as a trade. A powerful vampire indeed. A man to be feared.



Or he would have been, if Damien hadn’t ceased to be afraid of anything. One had to care about the future to be afraid, and he’d learned long ago to live in the moment. There was little worth worrying over in the long term, especially now that he looked to be gainfully employed for whatever remained of his increasingly long life. Apparently there was a lot to be said for helping the heiress to a long-dead vampire dynasty… even if his aid hadn’t been given entirely willingly. And to his surprise, he’d actually come to enjoy the vampires he’d met and reconnected with through Lily MacGillivray, ruler of the reborn Lilim.



Of course, it hadn’t hurt his standing with Drake that these friends were all very powerful vampires—Vlad Dracul; Ty MacGillivray, Lily’s husband; Jaden, who’d gotten himself involved with a bunch of werewolves and managed to work it to his and the Lilim’s advantage. The wolves of the Thorn didn’t seem a bad sort, if you could get past the doggy smell.



“So are you going to take the job or not, Damien?” Drake said, leaning back slightly, his entire affect one of cool disinterest. It was an act, Damien knew, and a good one. But they’d known one another too long. Drake needed the best for a delicate job like this. And despite the missteps that had led to his involvement with the Lilim, Damien was still considered such.



Damien sighed, put his glass down on one of the many stacks of paper covering the expansive desk, and gave a careless shrug.