Shadow Rising

“That,” Damien said, “is refreshing. What shall we torment them with, kitten?”



She surprised him by selecting something he knew right off the bat, a piece he’d often enjoyed at the gatherings and parties he’d attended as a mortal, and after. His fingers were rusty, but they remembered the motions well enough, and Damien got through the introduction with a minimum of clinkers. For just an instant, sitting at the piano with company and candlelight, he was back home, surrounded by people he enjoyed, his life, his real life, ahead of him. Before he’d really understood what darkness was.



Then she began to sing, and that first high, sweet note cut him to the quick.



Damien barely felt his fingers on the keys. Vlad’s dusty research had not done the Grigori’s gift of song justice. But then, he doubted the source of the knowledge had ever heard Ariane. She sang words, but all Damien could hear was her emotion. Her voice was full of more longing than he’d ever heard expressed, the sort of longing he’d foolishly thought did not exist outside himself. The song rose and fell, rose and then built toward a note that arrowed right through him.



Memory, so long suppressed, flooded him. Sunshine in the gardens, the kind voices of the many women who’d had a part in trying to raise him. The elusive ghost of the woman who’d birthed him, laughing as she danced with him in her arms. Music. Friends. Warmth. Light.



But with the good came the rest. And as Ariane’s voice slipped into a minor key, all Damien could see was his father, red-faced and corpulent behind his massive desk, calling him a disgrace to the Tremaines. Decrying Damien’s lack of shame when the old man had none himself. Comparing him to the brothers who were never bothered with him.



And finally, on the last night he’d ever set foot in Hawkesridge, recoiling in horror from what his youngest son had become.



That was the night Damien had looked into the darkness and discovered what he was really looking into: himself.



The final note was struck, Ariane’s song complete. There was utter silence for a moment as Damien struggled to compose himself. He hadn’t thought of those last months at home in years, perhaps even a century. What did it matter that he was lost? He always had been.



Except that wasn’t true. And he hated remembering the days before he’d understood he would never have anyone to rely on but himself. His innocence had died a hard and early death… but it had existed once.



The rush of memory left him shaken.



“Beautiful,” Vlad said.



Then Ariane’s hand was on Damien’s shoulder, bringing him back to the present, a small but important anchor.



“Are you all right?” The words were soft, breathed into his ear. He wished he could turn his head and bury his face in that glorious hair, could lose himself in her. But Damien knew that if he got too close, he would ruin her, and risk breaking the part of himself that had allowed him to survive this long.



“I’m fine, kitten,” he murmured, turning his head and finding her face just inches from his own. He breathed her in before he could stop himself, his head full of her scent. Her eyes glowed faintly, the color of storm light.



“You play very well,” she murmured, her eyes dropping to his mouth. He swallowed hard, flexing fingers that wanted to pull her against him. He’d warned her she was playing with fire.



“Your voice covered the considerable flaws,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t waver. “I’ve never heard anything quite so beautiful.”



When she realized he was being serious, she beamed. The simple pleasure he got from that blocked out everything else… except the scent of ancient spice carried on a breath of night air that might have drifted, hot and dry, from the desert itself.



His instincts, honed to a fine point over many years, were too strong to ignore, though when he broke the moment, it was with the sort of regret he thought he’d long since left behind.



“We’re being watched,” he said, his voice so soft and smooth he might have been baring a bit of his heart. Instead, he watched Ariane’s smile fade at the warning.



“Don’t look at the windows. Don’t say a word,” Damien said. “Leave the room and shut the door behind you.”



He watched her inhale, saw her draw in the scent of her kinsman. He expected to see the recognition on her face. What he didn’t expect was the sick fear that accompanied it.



“Oren,” she whispered, her eyes going blank for one horrific instant. Then she looked directly into Damien’s eyes, and he saw something that shook him even more than her voice had. Something that he had been well acquainted with, that he had learned to blithely ignore even when it came to himself.



Slowly, she shook her head.



“This fight is mine. He’ll kill you all to get to me. It’s his right. You have to go.”



And in her eyes, he saw death.



Chapter Twelve



ARIANE BARELY NOTICED Vlad and Diana rising from the couch, nor did she truly feel Damien taking her wrist with a grip that suggested he had no intention of leaving the room without her. All she could think, repeating on an endless loop inside her head, was:



It’s over. He’s found me.



Part of her had known he would. And still she was surprised, unprepared. It was so much sooner than she’d expected. She wanted to believe that simple bad luck had put her and Oren in the same place at the same time.



But she knew it wasn’t true. Was her final humiliation truly so important to him that it overshadowed even the needs of the ancient ones? It made no sense… and it didn’t matter. He was here.



“Come,” Diana said brightly. “There’s something I want to show all of you.”



When Damien dragged her out the door, all she could do was follow numbly. Of course, he wasn’t doing what she wanted and leaving her here to fight, to die. And part of her was absurdly grateful that he never did as he was told, even though her confrontation with Oren was now inevitable. He’d been waiting centuries to finish this.



Diana shut the doors to the conservatory, but Ariane could still smell him, the scent now seeming to pour into the hallway from other rooms, other windows. He would know she sensed him, would be taking pleasure in it.



“I think,” Damien said flatly, “that you’d better explain why a bunch of Watchers feel perfectly justified in trying to kill us. Because this is a hell of a time for them to decide to stop standing around staring at wreckage and doing nothing useful.”



Ariane sighed, rubbing her hands over her arms and thinking about the small dagger sheathed against her thigh. It should have been reassuring. Instead, it only made her think that no amount of weaponry would be enough to stop Oren.



“It’s very simple,” she said, her voice surprisingly even. “I left without permission. That changes the rules. It’s me they want, but that won’t matter if you get in the way.”



Vlad made a soft noise of understanding, and Ariane looked at him, unsurprised. He was a dynasty head. Of course he would know.



“A friend of mine has gone missing,” she explained to him. “I felt I had more to contribute than just sitting in the desert. So here I am.”



“Ah. Sammael. Diana mentioned someone was looking for him. I hadn’t realized it was you. And that you were here without permission,” Vlad said.



“Neither had I,” Diana added, sounding less than pleased.



Guilt coiled into a knot in the pit of Ariane’s stomach. She had put these people in danger.



“I knew,” Damien said, sounding as though he thought the others were a little slow for not having caught on. “But between last night and now this, I’m beginning to think that someone forgot to mention we were operating under an entirely different set of rules.” His eyes narrowed. “So why don’t you explain just what it is this Oren will do to get you back where he thinks you belong? The look on your face tells me he won’t just be lecturing you.”



His eyes, so warm only minutes ago, had gone arctic. He thought she had lied to him. He was no doubt used to being lied to. But he was giving up on her awfully easily.



She pushed her frustration at that aside and tried to make him understand. “We are Watchers when it comes to others. But we’re all trained fighters, Damien. The Grigori take care of our own.” She looked away. “At any cost.”



“If any of us stand in the way of this Oren retrieving her, which I’m sure he was ordered to do at the behest of Sariel, he’s within his rights to kill us. The Council would agree. This is a dynasty matter, and in the eyes of our law, none of our affair,” Vlad said. “He could knock on the door and demand her… but my guess is he’ll bide his time outside to avoid a larger scene, if possible.”



“He knows I’ll face him,” Ariane said. “Whatever else he thinks I am, he knows I’m no coward.”



Damien looked at her sharply, but she couldn’t hold his gaze. Instead, she slid the small dagger from the sheath on her thigh. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. She should never have left her sword in the car.



Likely it would make no difference anyway.



“Why haven’t I heard about this rule?” Damien snapped. “I’ve never heard of a Grigori killing anything!”



“Because no one is stupid enough to fight them, and none of them ever flee the compound. The Grigori are very disciplined,” Diana said, looking at Ariane thoughtfully. “It speaks well of you that you’d risk so much for your friend.”



“That’s debatable,” Ariane said, looking around. “Look, I’ve put you in enough danger. I didn’t think he’d make finding me a priority, and that’s my fault. I should have known. Oren has a… a problem with me.” She looked at Diana. “I’m sorry.”



Diana shook her head, her smile troubled. “No apologies. He’s no danger to me or mine, Ariane, unless we fight for you. And I know you understand why I can’t do that.”



Ariane nodded. Provoking a conflict with the Grigori would be a huge mistake with the Empusae so weakened.