Silken Rapture: Princes of the Underground, Book 2 (6 page)

A caged animal,
Aubrey thought as he watched Blaise from where he sat sprawled on a couch. Aubrey had never ceased to enjoy the sight of Blaise. He relished it now like a connoisseur might sip the rarest of wine.

The object of his delicate aesthetic taste currently was wearing nothing but a pair of form-fitting black pants. Blaise must be planning on channeling his agitation over recent events in the work-out facility, for Aubrey knew he wore the simple garment for sparring. His gaze lingered appreciatively on the sight of Blaise’s long, well-muscled but exceptionally lean torso as Blaise ran his finger along a line on a map.

He’d grown used to the fact that he could not make love to Blaise, but that didn’t prevent Aubrey from desiring him. Blaise epitomized brilliance, loyalty, sex and strength, and those were the things Aubrey held dear to his heart.

Although really, they
all
boiled down to power. That was the quality Aubrey admired most.

A Londoner might have immediately recognized the familiar outlines of the Underground on the map where Blaise focused his attention, but then become confused by the addition of a number of anomalous tunnels and unfamiliar labeled landmarks. There was a world beneath the city streets that would amaze a typical Londoner. Sanctuary was the hub of that secret, subterranean world.

“Morshiel won’t bother to return to the British Museum tunnel. He knows I wouldn’t leave the crystal there. We’ll increase our guard along the Bakerloo line. My gut tells me that’s where Morshiel and the revenants will strike next,” Blaise said, giving the map a brisk tap with his forefinger.

“That quake we experienced weeks ago must have somehow loosened it from the deepest veins of the earth. You and I both know how much vitessence that crystal gives off. Morshiel would do anything to possess it. Surely he’ll send a scouting party to the British Museum at the very least,” Aubrey replied from where he sat on the couch, long limbs akimbo.

“No. He won’t.”

“How can you know that with a certainty?” Aubrey asked amusedly.

Blaise shrugged and turned to stoke the fire. Aubrey’s structure for evacuating smoke underground was the least of the wonders of his friend’s ingenious design of Sanctuary.

“Morshiel and I came from the same mother cell,” Blaise said flatly as he shoved the poker into the flames.

Aubrey made a predictable scoffing sound. “Perhaps, but you are as different as a human is to a raptor.”

Blaise glanced over his shoulder. “Which one am I supposed to be in your analogy. Both are deadly beasts, aren’t they?”

Aubrey rolled his eyes in exasperation. “You miss my point entirely. I’m just saying that you might not always perfectly intuit Morshiel’s plans just because you’re clones. You’ve had centuries to differentiate yourselves, after all, and have done so markedly. Consider this,” Aubrey said, holding up his hand in a bid for reason when Blaise tossed the poker into its holder with a loud clang and turned to his friend. “What if Morshiel suspects that you might leave the crystal in the tunnel in order to lure him? And he sacrifices a scouting party of revenants because he desires knowledge of the crystal’s whereabouts so greatly?”

“No,” Blaise repeated as he paced like a caged lion in front of the fire. “Morshiel knows I would never take even the tiniest risk in the matter. He knows I wouldn’t play games with that crystal. Have you been excavating in the vicinity where the crystal was found, like I asked?”

“Yes, the crystal definitely came from that location. It wasn’t relocated there by Morshiel.”

Blaise paused. “And is there any indication there could be more of them?”

Aubrey shook his head. “It is a single anomaly…a rare miracle. Have you spoken to Saint? Did he tell you how he knew the crystal would be there?”

Blaise shook his head. “He somehow sensed the unusual electromagnetic pulse. Or someone did.”

“What is it, Blaise?” Aubrey asked, his eyes narrowed.

Blaise shrugged. “Something is amiss with Saint. He’s not being honest.”

“You don’t trust Saint?” Aubrey asked, obviously stunned. Blaise understood why. All of the Sevliss princes were as close as brothers, despite the fact that they were scattered across the globe. Blaise trusted the five other princes more than any other creatures on the planet, for they were more than brothers. In a sense, the six of them were their own unique race. None of them were certain of their origins on this planet. All of them had come to consciousness as they were at present, recalling no childhood. Each of them possessed a Magian overlord, a super-powerful being who had created each prince—to what purpose, none of them understood.

One thing was a certainty—the biological mandate set into the princes’ very blood to control their bloodthirsty clones. They could not vanquish their clones, although their clones could murder them at any time. Every time Blaise fought Morshiel, it was a mortal battle.

Or at least it used to be a given for them that they could not conquer their clones. It had been a universal reality until Saint eradicated Teslar in some fashion that remained an utter mystery to the remaining princes.

“I do trust Saint. I just can’t understand why he’s being so secretive ever since he vanquished Teslar,” he said, frustration tingeing his tone. “We have always shared information on the best ways to control our clones. Now Saint has done the impossible and destroyed Teslar, but he won’t tell us how. It’s incomprehensible, not to mention frustrating as hell,” he muttered roughly under his breath.

“Perhaps he’s keeping other secrets as well. Like why you can touch the woman when none of us can?”

The logs in the fireplace crackled in the silence that followed.

“Perhaps Saint is being prevented from speaking on the matter. Perhaps the Magian are prohibiting it somehow,” Aubrey said thoughtfully.

“I’m starting to suspect the same thing,” Blaise replied bitterly. Like the rest of his Sevliss brethren, he didn’t appreciate being treated like nothing more than a lab rat for the Magian Council’s incomprehensible aims. He resumed pacing, his thoughts once again on the miraculous discovery of the crystal. “I can’t explain it. Ever since Saint vanquished Teslar, it’s as if…everything is changing among us.”

Aubrey leaned back on the couch, his expression thoughtful. “Morphic resonance.”

“Excuse me?”

Aubrey’s gaze sharpened on him. “Morphic resonance. It’s a theory put forth by a man named Rupert Sheldrake, concerning what he calls a morphic field, which each member of a given species can tap into for knowledge. A monkey learns to wash sand from a yam before she eats it on one island. The race knowledge is translated by means of the morphic field not just to the monkey’s brethren on her island, but to monkeys on a separate island. All of the monkeys begin using the same skill, even though they’ve never had direct physical contact. Most scientists think it’s a bunch of supernatural crock, but as I possess the major advantage of knowledge in regard to energy and the life force in regard to nature,” Aubrey gave a little flourish with his hand, “I happen to differ on the matter. You yourself have said the Sevliss princes are a singular species. Perhaps whatever happened to Saint and Teslar in Chicago can change the other princes, even if Saint is being prohibited from telling exactly what that ‘something’ is.”

Blaise thought this over as he paced, but was still left frustrated with his lack of knowledge. “I’m in Saint’s debt for tipping me off about the crystal, even if he isn’t being completely honest with me. Imagine the havoc Morshiel could have created with it. I will never let him have it.”

“Or the woman?”

Blaise glanced sharply at his friend. Aubrey sprawled on the couch, a knowing look in his light gray eyes, comfortable within the bounds of their friendship.

Too comfortable.

“Don’t speak of her.”

Aubrey straightened into a sitting position slowly. “She’s not Elysse, Blaise.”

“The crystal gives off enough vitessence that we need not feed off humans anymore,” Blaise said, determined to ignore what Aubrey had just said.

“You have never fed to the point of harm. None of the Literati do. Surely you’re not planning to play the martyr and never taste human flesh again.”

Blaise put his hand on the mantel and studied his friend. “You’ve grown callous, Aubrey. You’ve become too comfortable with your parasitic nature.”

“I am what I am,” Aubrey said, shrugging. “And I am so because you made me that way some three hundred and fifty years ago.”

“Perhaps it would have been better for the plague to take you instead of this complacency.”

“You don’t believe that. You salvaged nearly three dozen of the brightest intellectual stars of the age by turning the Literati. You wouldn’t allow this mind to grow dim under the influence of such a dirty, meaningless disease. You would regret letting this brain molder in some mass grave beneath Aldgate station. I was meant for much larger things than that.”

“Titurino is right. You are a strutting cock.”

Aubrey grinned dashingly. “I am what I am,” he repeated. He laughed when he saw Blaise’s expression. His gaze turned speculative. “Have you fed, my friend? I can’t help but notice that your mood is a bit…dark.”

“I told you, the crystal can sustain us,” he snapped. “Did you think it’s always just been words when I’ve said I despise living as a parasite off human beings for all these centuries?”

“We aren’t as yet entirely certain that the crystal can provide sufficient vitessence for long-term survival. I’m running experiments even as we speak, but I would prefer that you weren’t a subject. We need your strength, Blaise.”

“Sometimes you are as insufferable as Usan and the Magian Council. My preference is a private matter, not data for one of your bloody experiments,” Blaise said, half exasperated, half amused. When he saw Aubrey open his mouth to argue, he added more firmly. “You have seen well to my needs over the years, Aubrey, and I thank you. I know you’ve done it because you believed it was best, and because you care. If it weren’t for you, I would have found a way long ago to overcome the mandate set into my blood by the Magian to control Morshiel.”

“By ending your own life by refusing to feed?”

Blaise heard the hint of incredulity in Aubrey’s tone. It was a long-standing disagreement between the two of them. As brilliant as Aubrey was, his friend never could quite comprehend Blaise’s longing to end this never-ending, gray torment called life. Elysse had lit his monochrome world, however briefly. Then she was gone. His need had killed her. No…he was being dishonest. His need hadn’t done it.

The truth of what he was had been what destroyed Elysse.

Now his world was ablaze again, more brilliant than ever before, and he didn’t know what do…didn’t know how to act.

He shrugged off Aubrey’s question. His friend had never seen the expression of horror on Elysse’s face when she understood fully what he was. That vision had been burned into Blaise’s mind’s eye. It would never be banished. Her shame—her disgust—had become Blaise’s own.

Aubrey sighed when he saw that Blaise would converse on the topic no further. “You say you don’t want me to speak of the woman. Aren’t you going to ask me what Michael discovered about her in his reconnaissance mission?

Blaise straightened. “Why didn’t you tell me Michael had reported in?”

“I was about to when you forbade me to speak of her.”

“Go on,” Blaise grated out.

“Her name is Isabel Lanscourt. She’s an American actress.”

He stepped toward Aubrey. “And?”

“She’s only played minor roles as of yet, but brilliantly. She’s managed to get into some major productions on Broadway. According to critics and general sentiment, she’ll eventually go far. Not too surprising.”

Blaise didn’t respond. He knew what Aubrey meant. Talented actors and actresses frequently had a forceful vitessence, although they weren’t typically aware of it. Humans couldn’t see the energy that surrounded all living things, but they reacted to it. For many actors, their powerful vitessences were made evident by their charismatic presences and instinctive ability to read and influence an audience’s energy.

Isabel Lanscourt was destined to become a magnificent star.

She would have been, anyway. If she hadn’t made the vital mistake of coming to London and having Morshiel take notice of her.

She would be destined for greatness if she wasn’t now Blaise’s prisoner.

He stifled his regret with the ability of long practice. That the trajectory of such a beautiful creature—the very essence of life—should be cut off in midpath pained him, but there was nothing he could do.

Nothing.

“Was she about to do a play in London?” he asked Aubrey.

“No. She was in London for something far more fascinating. Apparently, she was severely injured in a car wreck a year and a half ago. That’s part of the reason she hasn’t yet reached the apex of fame the theatre critics had predicted for her. She spent almost half a year in a coma. Apparently, after she left the hospital, she lived as a recluse in Brooklyn in a rundown boarding house.”

“Hasn’t she got any family?”

“No. She hasn’t. She was an only child. Her parents were a sort of oddment. A Stanley Kowalski and Mary Cassatt romance, if you take my meaning. Her mother, who apparently was a rather gifted painter, died when she was only two. Her father aspired only to work in the coal mines, and died of lung cancer at age thirty-eight. From all indications, her father’s death was a defining point in Isabel’s life.”

“Who will be looking for her?”

“A man named Lester Dee arranged her tour here of universities and colleges in the United Kingdom. Isabel gives demonstrations of her power and Dee lectures on the research he’s done on her. He’s already contacted the authorities about Isabel’s disappearance.”

“Her
power
?”

Aubrey sat forward, his gray eyes alight with intellectual interest. “Yes—let me get to the meat of things. Isabel Lanscourt is a psychometrist—apparently an incredibly gifted one.”

Blaise’s incisors were not extended, but he snarled at Aubrey nonetheless. Unfortunately, Aubrey was every bit as brilliant as he bragged. He had a nasty habit of getting swept up in that brilliance and talking to himself, since only he could comprehend his own meaning. He immediately interpreted Blaise’s familiar annoyance and hastened to explain.