Master of Darkness (19 page)

When?

Belisarius pushed his face into the earth. The older, bigger cub's knee pressed hard against his
spine. The grass was sharp and spiky, wet from being recently watered. The fresh aromas of earth, water, and growing things did not make up for the pain and humiliation of having been caught outside the house again
.

Laurent stood up and turned slowly, taking everything in with all his senses—sharp vampire sight, hearing, smell, and the all-important psychic awareness. Echoes assaulted him, from a past mostly forgotten.

He knew this place.

And now he knew what wasn't right; the neighborhood looked all wrong. Everything seemed so much smaller, so much older. Of course, it wasn't so much that the neighborhood had shrunk, he'd just gotten a lot taller.

Laurent's lips lifted in a semblance of a smile, and he shook his head. He'd been to San Diego before as an adult, but this was the first time he realized that it was the place where he'd spent a good part of his childhood. Well, he'd spent a lot of time deliberately repressing memories. He couldn't blame himself for having been successful.

He shifted the computer case from one hand to the other, and squared his shoulders. He didn't need Justinian's beacon call anymore; he knew exactly which house to walk up to. He
pushed all the memories bubbling up firmly back down as he did so.

There were guards placed around the perimeter of the property, but no one approached Laurent as he walked up to the door. He didn't bother to knock, but the door was opened for him.

“Hey, Igor,” Laurent said to Justinian's human slave. “Long time no see.”

“It's been two weeks,” the man answered. “And don't call me Igor.”

A proper Tribe Prime would cuff the mortal for showing such disrespect. “Guess I know where I am in the pecking order,” was Laurent's response.

“You're keeping him waiting.” The slave turned and walked away.

Laurent followed down a long hall, and up a staircase, fighting dread with each step. “The place hasn't changed much, has it?” he commented, but got no answer.

Then again, the mortal hadn't been born the last time Laurent was in this house. Haunted house, he thought. He'd never encountered any real ghosts, but who needed them when memory served?

Before he could get any more morbid, they reached an open door at the top of the stairs. It
looked like Justinian had moved back into his old bedroom. The slave held out a hand for the case, but Laurent ignored him and walked inside. He already knew that Justinian was alone in the room. He hadn't expected Justinian to look so much older. As Igor had pointed out, it had only been a couple of weeks.

“Belisarius is dead,” Justinian said, as though in explanation. “You're all I have left.”

That was
not
the greeting Laurent had expected.

Laurent put the laptop case on the floor and shoved it across the tile floor with his foot. “This is what you want.”

Justinian was seated in a chair next to an unlit stone fireplace. The furniture was Stickley, but the arrogant attitude of the Manticore Prime made it seem like a throne.

“Thank you for returning the Tribe's property,” he said.

“Not
your
property?”

“Manticore is mine.”

Laurent wasn't going to argue with him, he didn't care.

“You came for the female,” Justinian said after silence dragged on for a while. “I knew you'd want a Wolf bitch. It's in your blood.” He smiled, his eyes full of dark memories. “In our blood.”

Laurent had never really wanted to kill him before now. He rubbed his tongue over emerging fangs, but kept the sharp points from showing.

“She was found almost by accident,” Justinian went on. “Roaming the streets as though she had a right. And I thought, Laurent would like a pet. I knew I could use her to lure you back home—though it took you long enough to understand my message. Perhaps you were having too much fun toying with the mortal bitch.”

“Home?” This time Laurent could not keep his contempt in check. He had no intention of discussing Eden, who was thankfully safely out of this.

“You know I've never wanted you anywhere but at my side. But since I've given you a few decades to see the world, it's time I called you back. You were eager enough to answer the call a few weeks ago.”

“I was eager for the fortune you promised me.”

“That isn't the true reason you came at my call. You crave my approval.”

“I—”

Laurent wouldn't let himself go on. Raving and ranting was no way to confront Justinian about the past. The way to survive was to figure
out the game, and either play, or figure out a way to avoid playing. He hadn't figured out this game yet. Justinian was acting like he was welcoming home a prodigal son. Was the old boy pretending to be feeling his years? For vampires were mortal, despite their long, long life spans. Was the scam to feign a sudden need for reconciliation to somehow gain Laurent's loyalty?

“Home?” Laurent repeated. “You've never acknowledged me, so how can your lair be my home?”

Justinian laughed, and looked very pleased with himself. “I'm granting you mating privileges, exclusive rights. That's a start.”

Primes could have as many mortal females as they pleased, but usually only the king of the lair had rights to one of their own kind. Rights he shared sparingly with his favored offspring.

Laurent let out a long, low whistle. “That is a generous gift,” he acknowledged. And this was no time to argue or show suspicion. “Show me the female.”

“On one condition.”

Laurent sneered. “Of course. It can't be anything so simple as trading a female for the Patron's wealth, can it?”

“Belisarius is dead.”

“We were both there when he died,” Laurent pointed out. “He lost the fight with the Reynard Clan Prime. If you're going to ask me to avenge his death, we both know you can forget it. No love lost between Belisarius and me. And it was a fair combat over the Clan brat's bondmate.”

Justinian nodded solemnly. “A fair fight,” he agreed. “But I still lost my heir. I lost my second in command. I lost the acknowledged continuance of my bloodline. You are all I have left.”

He didn't sound any more pleased about this than Laurent felt, but the older Prime did sound—weary. Maybe a little desperate and lost. Justinian was a traditionalist. His stubborn strength of will was the reason the Manticores remained mired in all the ancient, dark ways of the Tribes.

“Are you saying you want me as your heir?”

“You are all I have left.”

“So you've said.” Laurent felt as if a cold bucket of slime had just been poured over him.

Once upon a time, he would have felt gleeful joy at such acknowledgment from Justinian—if only for the chance of sticking his tongue out at Belisarius. Then the moment would have passed, and he'd have turned Justinian down cold. Lead a Tribe pack? No way in hell.

But right now was not the time to say no. He didn't quite believe Justinian, anyway. The old
boy was a master at holding out a carrot, then beating him with a stick.

“You are my son,” Justinian said. He said it through gritted teeth.

The words simply left Laurent empty. He glanced around the bedroom. “I don't see any witnesses.”

“Tomorrow night,” Justinian promised. “I will call you son before all the household.”

“Fine.” He was here on business. “I want the female now.”

Justinian seemed relieved to accept this as capitulation. “You'll be taken to her,” he said, and called for his slave.

He was taken to the room full of windows. Laurent recognized it with a painful twist of memory as he caught sight of the beautiful young woman seated on the bed. He was very glad that she wasn't naked.

She looked too much like Antonia, though her blond hair was short. And she was bound with the same silver manacles he remembered circling his mother's wrists.

She looked him over coolly, exhibiting not a bit of fear. He stood frozen as the door closed behind him, and her gaze traveled slowly from his feet to his face, until their gazes met and
held. Her eyes were the exact shade of blue-gray as his own.

“Laurent,” she finally said. “It's about bloody time.”

“You look like Antonia.” He knew he sounded like a child.

She smiled. “So do you.”

He shook his head. “I have a sister. How could I have a sister?”

“I'm Sid, by the way.”

She sounded calm, but he could feel that she was anxious, as afraid of this going badly as he was.

“I know. I've been Sid myself.”

Beautifully sculpted brows lowered over her familiar eyes. “What?”

“A long story. Something of a farce, really. With werewolves.”

“So you've met Joe. I hoped you would, when I let them kidnap me.”

While this comment was puzzling, Laurent wasn't ready to talk about the last few days. He came closer to the bed.

“How is this possible? How are
you
possible?” His voice was tight with pain.

“Our mother was rescued. I'll let her tell you her story. But the problem with being rescued by her protective Clan was that she ended up in another
sort of prison for years. She wanted to march out and find you; instead she was sheltered and counseled and kept in the Clan citadel for her own good. She did need to be loved and cherished, but she was stronger than they would believe. She eventually formed a relationship with a Corvus Prime, and I was the result.

“Now, I have a question for you.” Her expression turned stern. “I want to know whether all the time and effort I've gone to, looking for you, was worth it. Are you a Tribe or a Clan boy?”

Laurent shrugged. “I'm Prime,” he answered. “That's the only thing I'm really sure of.”

“That's not encouraging.”

“It's all I've got for you at the moment. It's been a rough week.”

She lifted her manacled wrists. “Tell me about it.”

Laurent smiled. It seemed his sister shared his sense of humor.

He had a sister. Whoa.

He hoped this bittersweet pleasure wouldn't fade.

She studied him carefully. “You're thinking that the old bastard could convince you to take a tribal view of the matter.”

“It's happened before.” He looked at his
watch. But he knew when the sun would come up, and how then the room would be full of light. “I'm supposed to be raping you right now.”

She bared fangs at him. “You could try.”

“Nah. I've already got a girlfriend,” he answered. Though Eden was well out of this, he missed her. “If she saw me here, now, she wouldn't agree about the girlfriend description.”

“Girlfriend. Now, isn't that an odd term for a Tribe boy to use?”

“I have a lot of identity issues.”

He finally managed to walk up to the bed, but he could not bring himself to even sit down on it.

“I—Antonia—” Laurent cleared his throat. “She used to be kept in here.”

“So the bastard gleefully informed me.” Sid lifted her manacled hands to grasp his fingers. Her touch felt like Antonia's, as well. “He's trying to use your identity issues against you. Controlling you is essential to his game plan.”

Laurent cocked an eyebrow at his newfound sibling. “Aren't you doing the same thing? Didn't you mention something about
letting
yourself be captured?”

She lifted an eyebrow back. “I acted on intuition. Also, I was way outnumbered when the
fight started.” She laughed. “From all the yelling around here the last few days, I believe that you and—your girlfriend's a hunter?—have reduced the Manticore population. And this knockoff drug they take isn't helping their cause any.”

“They have a supply of Dawn?”

“Laurent—” She reacted sternly to his enthusiasm. “You do not want to start taking that shit.”

“Easy for you to condemn. When the sunlight comes through those windows, you can just work on your tan.”

“I'm not condemning; I'm saying that Dawn isn't safe. Justinian's boys are getting twitchy. He doesn't want them taking it, but he can't stop them.” She squeezed his hands. “That's one of the reasons he wants you back. You're going to lead his tribe into the future.”

Laurent stepped back. “I'm no leader. No alpha Prime.” Which was the last thing a Prime would normally confess to. He gave Sid an ironic smile. “I be a lover not a fighter, sister mine. So you might not want to count on me to come to the rescue.”

“You're here,” she answered. “I'll count on you being cunning and resourceful.”

He didn't feel like he was either. After all, he was here, precisely where Justinian wanted him
to be. He'd given up his one bargaining chip. His sister was in chains. He wasn't completely certain Justinian couldn't talk him into anything he wanted. The Dawn was tempting.

Nobody was safe, or saved.

Still, he said, “I'll think of something.”

Sid glanced out one of the many windows. “It's going to be dawn soon.”

Laurent backed toward the door. “You'll be all right? Nobody's going to come in and—”

“Justinian won't let them lay a finger on me. He still has that much control of his pack. I'm supposed to be your private sex slave.”

These words wouldn't have turned the stomach of a proper Tribe Prime. Incest wasn't really an issue for them.

He turned away from his sister, but waved a hand before reaching for the doorknob. “I'll—be back later.”

Out in the hall, with the closed door between them, Laurent leaned his head against the wood, lost about what to do next. It was so much easier to be one of the bad guys. Maybe he should just go with that.

Then a commotion at the front of the house drew his attention, and a familiar mortal presence registered itself on his senses.