Everafter Series 2 - Nevermore (5 page)

“What is it?” His voice was quiet but urgent.

“Medical emergency, sir. On the second floor. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

That was all I needed to hear. I took off for the door, Sebastian’s footfalls pounding in counterpoint behind me. A few moments later, I burst into the club and shouldered through the crowd that had gathered. When I broke through into the space that had formed around the spectacle, I skidded to a halt, my confidence dissipating.

A pool of vomit at the foot of the bar. A man foaming at the mouth, convulsing, held down by two more of Luna’s security staff. His eyes had rolled up in his head. As I watched, his body began to shimmer and blur, its molecules defying the conventional laws of physics and biology. I hung back, knowing what would happen next. He would change into whatever animal lurked beneath his skin and psyche. The guards backed away and raised their guns—loaded not with bullets but with tranquilizer darts, to subdue the beast when it emerged.

We watched. We waited. But there was no transformation. After one particularly wrenching spasm that propelled him into a sitting position, the man vomited before collapsing back onto his elbows. I hurried over then, urging the guards to help me turn him onto his side lest he choke on his own bile. They hesitated.

“Do as she says,” Sebastian ordered from behind me. “What the hell is wrong with him?”

“No idea.” As I crouched and helped to hold him in position, snarls erupted from his throat, raw and menacing. But he continued to writhe without relief. Fully human. “Why isn’t he making the change?”

“I don’t know.” Sebastian’s voice was tight with anxiety.

“We need to get him to the Consortium,” I said, keeping one hand pressed to the sick man’s back. His face nagged at me. I’d seen him before. Somewhere. I glanced over my shoulder, my eyes meeting Sebastian’s as he flipped open his phone. When he nodded once, I turned back to my patient.

Wereshifter physiology was complex, but it was based on one principle that I had thought to be unshakable. Until now. When shifters were threatened, they transformed. Pain was an especially effective trigger, a fact I had witnessed many times. It had taken Alexa months of internal struggle against her panther before she had been able to endure my bite without shifting. The man who quivered and moaned under my gentle grip was clearly in agony. Either he had the most superb self-control I’d ever seen in a Were, or something was preventing him from making the change. I ground my sharp canines against my molars, frustrated by my own ignorance.

“Someone get me some towels,” I said as blood began to trickle from his nose. When several dark blue towels were dropped into my outstretched hand, I used one to cover the mess on the floor and the other to wipe the man’s face. He was pouring sweat now, even as his teeth chattered. I opened my mouth to reassure him and then shut it again. Any words of comfort that I offered would be hollow.

Under the buzz of the crowd, I picked up on the sound of quick footfalls on the stairs. A moment later, the crowd parted for two men carrying a stretcher. I had expected Harold Clavier, the head Consortium physician, to come himself—or to send his assistants, at the very least. But the two vampires who began strapping the Were man onto the board for transportation were from Helen’s security detail.

“Valentine,” one of them said. “What did you see?”

I frowned at the question. Why hadn’t he asked me what had happened, or what symptoms I had observed? Suspicion joined my unease.

“He was convulsing. He vomited. And he has a nosebleed.” I kept my answer as terse as possible.

“We’ll take care of it.” The guard turned away, and the vampires bent to the stretcher only to jump back in surprise as the Were bolted upright, snapping through two of the straps that had held him down. He looked right at me, his pupils so wide that his eyes seemed black.

And that’s when I recognized him. Vincent. I had only seen him once, in the dogfights at the first Red Circuit party that Alexa and I had attended. He had fought another shifter to the death for money and glory. I had watched him transform into a black wolf that had torn the opposition to shreds and eaten his heart in victory. Now he was helpless.

I watched the consciousness fade from his eyes—watched him slump back bonelessly against the rigid surface of the stretcher. One of the vampires checked his pulse. “Out but stable.”

“I’m riding with you,” I said. They both looked up sharply, and the one who had spoken to me seemed on the verge of protesting before he finally acquiesced with a nod.

Before I could step forward, Sebastian laid a hand on my shoulder. His palm was warm and heavy, and my needy skin hummed under even his touch. “Let me know, Val.”

“I will.”

But when the Consortium’s black Suburban pulled up to the curb of Headquarters—a tall, concrete building on the East River—the guards ordered me to remain outside. Harold Clavier stepped out from under the awning over the back door as Vincent’s body was carried into the facility.

“Hello, Valentine.”

“Dr. Clavier.” I tried to peer surreptitiously over his shoulder but only caught a glimpse of the doors swinging closed. “Do you know what’s wrong with him?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll take it from here.”

We were almost the same height, and I stared hard into his deep brown eyes, refusing to back down. His evasiveness wasn’t surprising, but I felt disconcerted nonetheless. “It looked like he wanted to change but couldn’t. Does that mean anything to you?”

Frown lines developed across the bridge of his nose. “Interesting. I’ll be sure to investigate.”

“I want to help.” It wasn’t an idle offer. As a second-year medical student, I was at least somewhat qualified.

But Clavier shook his head. “I have everything under control, Valentine.”

I hesitated, wavering on the edge of saying more to argue my case, but the knowledge that my words would be futile killed them before they could leave my burning throat. I nodded once before spinning on my heel. For now, I had to walk away, if only to make my capitulation look convincing.

For now.

Chapter Four

Sebastian insisted on sending a limousine to collect me. I had the champagne open before the dark car pulled away from the curb, and I perversely hoped that traffic would be heavy enough for me to kill the bottle before the driver could reach Sebastian’s Upper West Side apartment. Of course, there were probably several more bottles stashed away somewhere in the vehicle.

It had been a while since I’d ridden in a limo. As I sipped at my Dom Perignon and stretched my legs out in front of me, I felt regret at not ever sending a car for Alexa, especially during our courtship. While I would never inherit the trust fund left to me by my grandfather, with the stipulation that I marry a man, I had several other bank accounts to draw from. I preferred to leave them untouched and simply live on what I earned, but once in a while they came in useful. Alexa’s engagement ring was a perfect example—the beautiful Etoile band that had been taken from me by the Missionary and later returned to me by Helen. The ring that was still languishing in my safe deposit box. Someday, at the right moment, I would use it. Perhaps I’d splurge for a limo on that day.

By the time the car pulled into a space between two idling taxis, I had managed to drain the Dom down to half. Resigned, I poured a glass for Sebastian and then peered out the window at his building. Its baroque façade gleamed in the molten light of the sunset, and I found myself speculating on what the inside looked like. Did his décor match the ornate exterior? Or did his tastes run more to the Spartan aesthetic?

He slid into the car and looked me up and down, his expression inscrutable. I wondered if he was disappointed that I hadn’t worn a dress. I didn’t even own
one anymore. My sleek black slacks and matching short-sleeved jacket were far more rakish than feminine, and he was just going to have to deal. Silently, I held out the champagne glass.

“You certainly look happy to be here.” His voice was dry with irony.

“You’re the one who bullied me into this.” I downed the rest of my glass and poured another. “And if
any
of my family members were going to be at this event, no debt in the world could have moved me.”

“They want to see you with a man.”

My heart constricted in memory of the pain of a hundred heated arguments. “More than you can imagine. And my father in particular takes his anger at my ‘choice’ out on me in any way that he can.” I laughed mirthlessly at the memory of one particularly unpleasant confrontation. “A few years ago, he made a donation to one of those right-wing religious groups in my name. I insisted that he either withdraw the money or change the name associated with it, but he refused until I threatened to expose his campaign finance law infractions.” Twirling the champagne flute between my fingers, I watched bubbles rise to the surface. “We’re at war.”

Sebastian was silent for a moment. “I think you’re right,” he said, “about our fathers being cut from the same cloth.”

“Tell me more about yours.” After our enigmatic conversation a few nights ago, I was curious.

Sebastian turned his head to watch the cityscape slide by. “He is old and very cunning. We’re estranged—if that’s what you call it when he doesn’t give a shit about anything except the beast he put under your skin.”

“What do you mean?”

He crossed one leg over the other and rested his head against the plush leather to stare out the limo’s moonroof. “I began to change when I was fourteen. The month after it first happened, my father showed up on my mother’s doorstep: unexpected, unannounced, unwanted. He took me deep into the Adirondacks, then told me that I had to live as a wolf for an entire month—to survive on my own until the next full moon. And that if I turned back before the time was up, he would kill my mother in punishment.”

I couldn’t help it; I gasped. “That’s barbaric!”

Smiling grimly, Sebastian met my gaze. “From what I can gather, he considers that one task to be his sole paternal duty: to force each of his offspring into some kind of harmony with their animal half.”

“But why does he care about that so much?” I asked, trying to figure out the logic behind such an extreme stance. While I was happy that Alexa had begun to find common ground with her panther, I had also seen just how difficult any kind of equilibrium had been for her to attain. To force a mere boy
to subordinate himself to the will of his beast—to struggle to retain enough of his own essential self so that he could return to human form after an entire month of living as a wild creature—seemed far more cruel than wise.

“There are several schools of thought on what, precisely, a Were is,” Sebastian said. “Are we genetically altered humans? Schizophrenic animals? Or are we an entirely different species?”

As I mulled this over, I realized that I was getting a crash course in Were politics. Alexa had decided to infect herself with the virus for me. For us. In so doing, she had joined a community divided on the most fundamental question possible: identity. I wondered how Alexa saw herself, and whether her time in Telassar had changed her perspective.

“My father is a rabid champion, pun intended, of the third position. He believes that Weres represent a step up on the evolutionary chain, and that to subordinate ourselves in any way to ‘mere’ mortals is to deny our very DNA.”

“He can’t be happy about the Consortium, then,” I said. “Given that the alliance’s main purpose is to help our kind live under human radar.”

“Oh, he isn’t. And while he considers vampires to also be an evolved species, he thinks that they are flawed. Weak. Unfit partners for Weres.”

I thought of Alexa—of our best moments together. Waking up entwined to a new morning. Laughing as we walked the city streets, hand in hand under the sunlight. The loving triumph in her eyes as I confessed how much I needed her—blood, body, and soul. The sensation of her naked body rising sensually beneath mine as I slid my teeth into her neck. Unfit partners? We were perfect together.

I held Sebastian’s gaze. “What do you think?”

He laughed again. “Like you, I have serious political dis-agreements with my father. By celebrating my humanity and associating with members of the Consortium, I turn my back on everything that he stands for.”

“My family battles seem paltry compared to yours.”

Sebastian threw back the rest of his drink and stowed the flute in a side compartment as the car pulled up to the Mandarin Oriental. “Paltry? No. But at least you have bargaining chips to use against your father. I have none.”

He offered me a hand as I exited the car, and just this once, I allowed the chivalrous display. His stories had roused my sympathy. But when he would have retained my hand to escort me into the hotel, I pulled away.

“Not a date, remember?”

He rolled his eyes. “How could I forget?”

We were directed to a large room overlooking Central Park South, and I paused to admire the view while Sebastian went to the bar. My gaze followed the march of apartment buildings up along the borders of the trees, their lights twinkling in the summer dusk. Someday, perhaps Alexa and I would splurge on a penthouse apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows and a roof deck. Her panther would love the airy feel of such a place, and I had no reason to fear the sun while she was with me.

The daydream shattered as I was engulfed in a bear hug from behind. Exerting a touch of my vampire strength, I spun in my assailant’s arms, only to feel a smile break over my face. Bryce Nealson—Olympic ski champion, gay activist, and the eldest son of my father’s chief of staff—grinned back at me.

“Val! It’s been for-ev-er!”

My smile widened at Bryce’s hyperbole. I didn’t use that word casually anymore, and it was somehow refreshing to hear him do so. As children, Bryce and I had naturally gravitated toward each other, perhaps out of some instinctual recognition of shared difference. But we hadn’t done a good job of keeping in touch since then, and it was nice to forget Consortium intrigue for a few minutes as I caught up with an old friend.