Damien stood slouched against the far wall of a room that at one time must have been a family room, but that now featured nothing but peeling wallpaper and scarred wood flooring covered in dirt and grime. A few wrappers and empty syringes littered the corners.
At the sight of him, all of her trepidation vanished in favor of annoyance. He’d obviously been waiting just to taunt her. She stepped away from the window and strode forward.
“Before you say a word,” she threatened, “remember I’ve brought along that sword you like so much. Now where is he?”
She knew even before she finished speaking that something was really wrong. The posture she’d initially taken for casual disregard was unnatural, like something was holding him by the—
Ariane’s eyes widened as his body swung, ever so slightly, as he tried to move. A soft, muffled gag reached her ears at the same time. And behind her, the window slid shut.
“So many sent for the hunt,” a voice said softly behind her. “The Shade matters little… but I will be sorry about you, sister of my blood.”
She spun, catching just a glimpse of violet eyes very much like her own before a blow to the side of her head knocked her off her feet and sent her crashing into the wall. Ariane thought she might have cried out. She wasn’t sure. Her ears rang, and in the precious seconds before she struggled to her feet again, there was the insidious feeling of something warm and sticky leaking from the ear on which she’d been hit.
It will heal, she told herself, even though the pain was excruciating right this second. It doesn’t matter. No matter how much it hurts.
Here was the familiar sound of wings, a whoosh of air as her adversary landed in front of her. Ariane couldn’t get her legs to work properly, even though she heard the scrape of metal that meant he was drawing his sword. He was a Grigori. She was going to be killed by one of her own, and she didn’t know why. Her people were not killers, they were not—
When the blade came down, she just managed to get her feet under her and push as hard as she could. She felt the rush of air pass less than an inch from her head as she lunged to the side, saving herself… for the moment.
“Stop this!” she cried. “I’m Grigori too!”
The voice, deep and sorrowful, spoke again. “I know. I regret I must do this. But I will not be hunted any longer. Not when the real danger waits to rise.”
The words chilled her, especially spoken in the emotionless tones she’d grown so accustomed to over the centuries. There was no reasoning with such a voice.
“I only want to find Sammael,” Ariane said, hoping she had enough time to draw her own sword. She had a better view of her assailant now, and seeing him knocked the wind out of her.
He looked like one of their ancients. Incredibly tall, broad, muscular, with braided white hair that fell down his back. He was as much cold perfection as Sam. But this one had steel in his eyes, and she knew he would kill her, kill Damien… and feel nothing.
The question was, why?
When the sword came down again, she wasn’t as ready. Pain ripped through Ariane’s upper arm as she fumbled to get her own sword out of its sheath on her back. This time she knew she cried out, but it didn’t stop her from rolling to one side and finally, finally getting up with her blade in her hand.
“We don’t kill! Especially not one another!” she shouted, the blade of her scimitar flashing as she swung it.
“I am honor bound. We do what we must, d’akara.”
The old endearment in the language of her people, so casually and callously used, hurt worse than her head. She staggered a little on her feet, both hands on the hilt of her sword.
“No. I’m honor bound to find my friend, whatever you’ve done with him! Sariel couldn’t stop me, and neither will you!”
Her words seemed to set him back. She saw some understanding dawn in those cold eyes, saw that she had startled him. Ariane summoned her strength, dredging it up from the depths, and used the moment to her advantage. She swung the scimitar over her head and brought it down. The other Grigori moved at the last second, but not quickly enough. She cleaved a long, deep gash in his chest, forcing him back. His wings flared out to the sides as he moved to balance himself.
Ariane spun and sliced into him again, a battle cry tearing from her lips that she barely recognized as her own voice. Once more, but this time her sword sang as it clashed against his. Blood poured down his chest, then slowed as his body began to knit together again.
“Tell me where he is!”
“No.” Still so calm when there should have been pain, but the Grigori’s breathing was uneven. It wasn’t enough.
“You will tell me.” Emotion, dammed up behind a wall she’d been constructing for centuries, found a crack and began to pour through. “He was all I had in that place. You will tell me.”
Her own strength surprised her as she pushed back against the bigger vampire’s blade. But at her words, there was another flicker of something in his expression. Uncertainty, she thought, or maybe just disgust that she would admit to having actual feelings. But his words indicated neither.
“No. Not tonight… Ariane.”
He pushed away without warning, exploding upward in a burst of power that propelled him through the rotting wood of the ceiling and roof and out into the night. Ariane stared upward, gripping the hilt of her sword so tightly that her hand shook. He had known her name. And he had made the decision to back down despite having killed two vampires who would likely have done little more than point her in a direction.
For the wisdom of all the gods, why?
All of her fury and despair erupted in a single, primal scream that echoed up into the night sky. She was about to leap and follow, her back tingling where her wings lay furled, ready to burst forth and lift her after him, when she remembered that she was not alone.
She was torn, but only for a moment. If the Grigori was as old as she suspected, she would never catch him in the air. His liftoff alone guaranteed it. Damien, on the other hand, was suffering. And as conflicted as she was about him, there was no way she could leave him as he was.
Collecting herself as best she could, Ariane hurried to Damien on legs that felt dangerously close to giving out on her. All her life, she’d only ever trained for battle, never really fought in one. But tonight she’d drawn blood with intent to kill… and she already knew it wouldn’t be the last time. The image of the Grigori’s chest splitting open flickered in her memory, and Ariane felt nausea uncoil like a snake in her stomach.
No, she commanded herself. This was her reality now, and she was going to have to get it together.
“Damien,” she said when she reached him. “Can you hear me?”
He’d been used as bait, and that was exactly how he’d been arranged, hung by the neck with wire designed to cut deeply without actually severing his head… unless enough pressure was applied. His hands were bound to his sides with the same wire, blood seeping around the edges where it had sliced into his skin. His hair, once so perfect, was sweaty and mussed, and his skin had gone a sickly, corpselike shade of white. Dazed blue eyes rolled up to look at her, pleading wordlessly.
He looked helpless and wounded. And against her better judgment, Ariane felt herself softening toward him. He was an insufferable jackass… but he needed her. It was a role she was far more comfortable with than killer.
She freed his hands first, disturbed by how they dangled limply at his sides. Then she slipped an arm around him, bracing him while she cut the wire that ran from his neck to the ceiling. Damien slumped against her, weak from losing so much blood and being unable to heal around the wire. He made some sound, a pathetic gurgle that attempted to be a word.
Whatever it was meant to be, Ariane had a feeling it would spoil the tender moment, so she chose to ignore it. She needed to bank a little goodwill toward the mouthy Shade, because whether either of them liked it or not, they were now in this together.
“Come on,” she said, bearing most of his weight as she tried to get him upright. “I saved your life. You can at least try to help me get you out of here.”
She was unsurprised when instead he blacked out, slumping into her arms. She had to move fast to catch him. Then Ariane stood for a moment, holding his cool but thankfully alive body against her own, and wondered whether this had been inevitable from the moment he’d unwittingly tried to pick her up at the bar. One thing the Grigori believed firmly in was destiny, and Damien’s seemed to be intertwined with hers, at least for now. Part of her wished she could fight it—as attracted as she was to him, she didn’t actually like him much, and she wasn’t foolish enough to think Damien would be capable of thinking beyond his own wants and needs. Theirs would be a short, and likely contentious, allegiance.
Still, he needed her. And the way he’d purred… she would never forget it.
It was a start.
“And you think I’m difficult,” she told his still, accursedly perfect face. Then she wrapped her arms around him, lifted the wings that emerged from her back with the barest thought, and carried Damien up and out into the night.
Chapter Seven
ARIANE’S RENTAL WAS in a beautiful complex in South Park that featured high-rise apartments above an open-air, cobblestoned center of shopping and dining. It took its name, the Falls, from an ornate sculpture that functioned as the centerpiece for the public area. Strickland, cheap though Elena insisted he was, seemed to pay well for running herd on the rotating residents of his safe houses. Even with her limited experience, Ariane knew this was a pricey home… and Elena had indicated that this was one of her smaller properties.
It was a convenient, and high-class, hunting ground.
It was also the last place Ariane thought she should be taking a wounded vampire who was highly ranked in the most notorious guild of thieves and assassins, but she didn’t have much choice. For now, this place was what she had. She just hoped Elena didn’t decide to stop in… as she had every night this week since she’d moved Ariane in.