Shadowflame (15 page)

Gossip traveled with vampiric speed in the Haven, and by the time David reached the training room a sizable crowd of off-duty Elite, including Faith, had gathered to watch him go up against the Prime of the West.

Deven was already there, punctual as always, and David wished that Miranda had come—not because of his dread of the whole thing, but because she would have loved to see Deven out of his rock star apparel. Dev wore the same sort of black workout clothes as anyone else who practiced in the training ring; even without all the leather, though, he was still an impressive sight, as the shirt he wore revealed the full-sleeve tattoos he’d had as long as David had known him.

“You’re late,” Deven observed mildly.

“Prime’s prerogative,” David answered, shucking his coat and shifting his sword from its concealed sheath to one at his belt. Underneath the coat he, too, was dressed to fight. He gestured at Deven’s tattoos. “Did you get the angel touched up?”

Deven glanced down at his right arm. “The color was fading in places. Ironically the other side hasn’t changed at all.”

David smiled. “I don’t find that particularly ironic, Sire.”

Dev flashed him a blinding grin. “Ready to have your ass whipped?”

“Not in front of all these people,” David fired back with an arched eyebrow. It was easy, so easy, to slip back into the mildly flirtatious banter that had been a hallmark of their early years. It even felt good—but sex had complicated everything. It always did.

“You realize of course that you can’t possibly beat me,” Deven said, drawing his sword. The blade caught the light perfectly, and Deven raised it, then bowed, something he’d learned during his time in Japan when, legend had it, he’d studied with the samurai.

“You may be surprised,” David said, echoing the salute.

They circled slowly around each other for a moment . . . and then dove in.

David had no intention of losing easily, even though Deven was right—the Prime of the West had a number of advantages in this fight, even aside from his age and experience. Deven had two psychic talents, neither of which were terribly common: He had been born with healing ability, which differed from what Pairs shared in that he could use it on anyone, even humans; and he had a strange combination of telepathy and low-grade prescience that, coupled with his strength and agility, enabled him to anticipate an opponent’s moves. He had taught the technique to a few people, including David, but without the psychic gift itself there was a limit to how much one could learn.

David was not prescient—Miranda was, as Queen, but her talent was still new and undeveloped. If she were ever able to harness it, she might learn to power-dance the way Deven could. David, however, had to make do with his inhuman speed and grace.

The sound of sword against sword was sharp and rhythmic, the two Primes spinning around each other like twin stars, the training room’s simulated moonlight catching the steel with every slice through the air. With his Elite watching, David refused to embarrass himself; he threw everything into the match, letting his awareness of the room slip . . . then his awareness of himself.

Power flowed through him, liquid silver flame like the blade. He drank it in and poured it into his body. He could feel himself starting to tire, but he reached for more energy along the connection to Miranda.

Deven was clearly surprised at how much he had improved since they’d last fought, but he didn’t miss a strike, moving so fast he would be practically invisible to a human and a blur even to the gathered Elite. David had been his apprentice for years and knew his style as well as anyone could.

The room disappeared. David felt something in himself fly open, and he blinked. Suddenly, his vision seemed to double, but the two images were different—in one, Deven was in front of him, and in the other he was a scant inch to the right . . .

David realized what he was seeing just in time to counter the move and, when Deven swung his sword around toward David’s throat, David was no longer there.

The Prime’s shock was obvious, but it didn’t distract him long. Gradually they fell into a perfect rhythm, each knowing the other’s actions a split second in advance, neither able to gain the advantage. It was as if they were fighting with themselves.

At exactly the same moment, they both spun away from each other and stopped.

Prime and Prime, both wide-eyed and breathing hard, stared at each other.

They continued to stare at each other as the crowd burst into applause.

Eight

The worst part about unplanned pregnancy was that until she made up her mind what to do, Kat couldn’t even get wasted and forget about it.

She couldn’t think about anything else. Sitting at her desk, wrangling funding for the new family shelter, she pictured herself as one of the battered women escaping domestic hell with a baby in tow. Talking to a teenage runaway—a pregnant one, of course—about her options, she was weighing those same options herself. Giving a talk on birth control to inner-city kids, passing out condoms and info sheets on local clinics that provided low-cost contraceptives, she felt like an utter hypocrite. Here she was, with enough money and education to know where babies came from and keep them from happening, and she was no better off than the girls whose eyes were filled with fear of parents, peers, and the wrath of God.

Kat glanced up at the clock, then shut down her computer and put her head in her hands. She wasn’t being fair. She was way better off than those girls—she had a stable home, a caring boyfriend, and the money to either keep or abort. She wasn’t hamstrung by supposedly celibate male clergy claiming to understand a young woman’s problems.

She was lucky.

If she decided to keep the baby, it wouldn’t be because of religious guilt or cultural pressure; it would be because she wanted to raise a child, to be a mother.

Mother.
She had thought that
Queen
was the most intimidating noun she’d ever come up against. Drew could be a great father, and would, if she’d give him the chance . . . but could she be a mother?

Drew seemed to think so. He already had stars in his eyes over the idea of them as a little family. Drew played five instruments and painted in his spare time; he was a music teacher and fabulous with kids. They were both bilingual and college educated. Kat had studied child psychology and development during her undergrad. They both had a lot to offer a child . . . even Miranda, who had the maternal instinct of a doorknob, had made noises that she thought having the baby was the right thing to do.

Kat’s inner rebellious teenager balked at the feeling that it had been decided for her, but she had to admit that bit by bit the idea was scaring her less and less.

She ran her hand over her head; it was getting stubbly and needed another pass with the razor. She’d have to do that tonight when she got home. Five o’clock shadow on your head was kind of ridiculous looking.

Kat was the last one to leave the office most nights. Sometimes she was stuck doing paperwork, and sometimes the clients who came to see her could make it only after regular office hours. She didn’t mind. She’d known when she left college that the reality of social work was gritty and thankless.

But today she had helped a fifteen-year-old decide to put her baby up for adoption and move into the shelter while her boyfriend was in jail. They’d lined up classes for her to get her GED and go to trade school after the birth. The girl had cried and hugged her, thanking her in two languages; the hardest thing was always that feeling of drowning, without anyone to help. Kat’s job was to throw the rope out and pull kids to the boat. Then she got to watch the best part: the drowning victim, armed with resources and with advocates on her side, saving herself.

Gritty, thankless, and worth every minute.

She switched off the lights and locked the office, then headed to her car, keys in her hand. East Austin at night could be hazardous for a lone woman, even if that woman was bald and tattooed and carried a gun. Austin was a relatively safe city—it beat the hell out of Houston, Dallas, and El Paso—but bad things still happened. She was up to her eyeballs in the aftermath of those things every day.

Unbidden, the thought of Miranda arose. Yes, bad things had happened to Miranda . . . and Kat hadn’t even known until months later. She still ached thinking about Miranda dealing with it all by herself, out there in the middle of nowhere surrounded by all those . . . people. It was a miracle she had come through it with any semblance of sanity, which Kat grudgingly admitted was at least partly David’s doing.

Damn it, she was starting to like him. She really didn’t want to.

She looked around as she walked, staying alert, but also wondering: Were any vampires nearby? The whole city was teeming with them, apparently, which was part of why Austin was safer than other Texas cities . . . ironic. There were fewer unexplained murders because the vampires here weren’t allowed to kill people. The Elite were under orders to intervene in human crime when they saw it, too, and although David had Elite outposts in all the cities and towns of his territory that had vampire populations of a certain density, it was safest to live in a Haven city, both for vampires themselves and for their human prey.

Not every Signet was so kindly disposed toward humans, though. Miranda had made that clear talking about that douchebag Hart and David’s ex-boyfriend—boyfriend!—Deven.

They could be watching her right now.

Suddenly nervous, Kat picked up her pace. Her car was a block from the building; parking was at a premium down here, and always an adventure.

It was a cold, clear night, and a few brave stars even peeked through the urban haze overhead. The temperature had dropped early this year, which was fine by most people who lived in Austin. Texas was pure hell in the summer and dreary in the winter, but spring and fall were gorgeous, with sunny days and brilliant blue skies . . .

. . . blue skies that her best friend could never see again . . .

Kat sighed as she walked. Her breath came out in a cloud. She had to stop worrying about Mira; she could take care of herself, obviously. Still, it was such a violent transition into such a violent world. Kat couldn’t imagine dealing with it. It was hard enough to deal with one step removed.

She snorted to herself. She would much rather think about vampires than being pregnant. Awesome.

As she reached her car, she saw a shadow move across the lot and frowned, staring at it hard. It could have been anything, anyone; it was far enough away not to be a threat.

Right?

Kat unlocked the car and cast an anxious glance around her, her heart suddenly in her throat. Some instinct she couldn’t name made her slide her hand into the flap of her purse and close around the grip of her gun.

Was something over there? Had she imagined it?

The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and she broke out in gooseflesh. She should have worn a hat and scarf, this weather was bad for her scalp . . .

Were those footsteps?

Kat took a quick look in her backseat, then all but scrambled into the car and locked it, panting.

There . . .

She stared into the darkness, her eyes picking out the silhouette of a figure in the alley beyond the parking lot. It looked like a woman . . . a woman who was watching her.

Kat’s stomach churned with acid as she got a feeling . . . barely restrained menace, even hatred, aimed at her, an oily black desire to drain the life from her, leave her bleeding on the street . . .

Kat jammed her key in the ignition and started the car, at the same time groping for her cell phone—should she call 911, or Drew, or Miranda? Was it a vampire or a mugger? Could the cops do anything if it was a vampire?

But when she looked up, the woman was gone.

Relieved, somewhat, Kat threw the car into reverse and pulled out of her spot, not caring one bit that she squealed her tires around the corner as she floored the gas pedal and headed home.

Miranda did not react well.

“I want her under surveillance twenty-four/seven, and under guard from dusk till dawn. Why the hell isn’t the sensor network catching this bitch?”

Kat, who was curled up on her couch drinking a cup of chamomile tea, shook her head. “I don’t want to be watched all the time, Mira.”

“Too damn bad,” the Queen snapped. “If she’s after you, it’s because you know me, and I’m not going to get you killed.”

“Miranda,” David said evenly, “Kat’s safe for now. That’s what matters.”

Miranda shot him a distinctly uncalm look. “But what about tomorrow night? And after that?”

“No surveillance,” Kat said firmly. “I’m serious.”

Kat had to hand it to David; the Prime had listened to Kat’s story without interrupting and was considering it from all sides without reacting emotionally. He practically oozed confidence and security, and he neither coddled nor silenced Miranda but tried to calm her down without discounting her fears. He was either a born leader or a master manipulator; the two weren’t mutually exclusive.

It was weird having him in her house, though. It reminded Kat of the night he had shown up on Miranda’s doorstep while Kat and Drew were there and swept into the room like Death popping in for a game of chess.

As if summoned by the memory, there was the sound of a key turning in the front door lock, and while Miranda spun toward the entrance with her hand already seeking beneath her coat for a weapon, David reached out and touched his Queen’s arm, shaking his head.

Drew burst into the house in a flurry of coat and briefcase and clarinet case, all of which he dropped by the door so he could be at Kat’s side in a heartbeat. “Are you okay?”

Kat smiled and took his hand. “I’m fine, honey, I told you I was.”

It wasn’t until she glanced up at Miranda that Drew seemed to realize they had company. He looked up at the Pair and went just a little pale before taking a breath and saying, “All right, what are we going to do to make sure this doesn’t happen again?”

David regarded Drew much the same way he had the first time they’d met, as if he were some sort of curious creature in a zoo, but when Drew didn’t avert his eyes, the Prime gave a measured nod. “You will do nothing,” David said firmly. “There’s no need to risk your own life.”

“Bullshit,” Drew countered, and Kat felt a little tug at her heartstrings at the way he refused to be cowed by a being who could quite obviously snap him in half like a twig.

David raised an eyebrow, and Drew just glared at him. Kat found herself smiling.

“Here’s the thing, Drew,” David said. “It’s entirely likely that whoever was watching Kat was, in fact, one of our kind. If that’s the case, there’s nothing you can do to protect Kat. Even the weakest vampire could tear you apart before you could draw a gun . . . assuming you’re armed, like Kat, and have impeccable aim. Even then, bullets cannot kill a vampire. They only piss us off.”

“So how do we kill a vampire? Wooden stakes?”

Miranda snorted quietly. “Drew . . . you don’t. Unless you have specialized weaponry or arm muscles like a wrestler, you wouldn’t be able to get a stake through the sternum into the heart. You’re not a vampire hunter. Giving you weapons you can’t use would be stupid. It’s better to concentrate on staying alert and keeping in contact with us until this all blows over. You have to use the resources you have—like your brain. You can watch and listen and remain aware of your surroundings at all times. Leave the killing to us.”

Drew took a deep breath, weighing his protective instinct with what Kat knew was the truth. David and Miranda were both right; if they were dealing with vampires, vampires were their best shot at staying alive. “Okay. What can
you
do, then?”

David returned his attention to Kat. “During the day you’re typically surrounded by people, yes?”

Kat nodded. “Even on weekends. The office itself has security and cameras, but the parking lots don’t.”

He said, reasonably, “We can’t be absolutely sure yet that we’re looking at a vampire, but regardless, it’s unlikely you’ll be attacked during daylight in a public place, so there’s no real need for daytime surveillance. I would like to put a night guard on you, however, until we figure out whom exactly we’re dealing with. Just one, at a distance, strictly non-interfering.”

Kat started to protest that it sounded like surveillance to her, but for some reason she didn’t want to disagree with David. He seemed like he’d be hard to argue with. “Okay. But it’s only temporary.”

“Absolutely.” David reached into his coat pocket. “May I have a look at your phone, please?”

Nonplussed, Kat handed it to him. He had pulled out his own, and he fiddled with the settings on hers for a second before taking a thin cable and connecting it to both phones.

“What are you doing?” Kat asked.

David ignored her, absorbed in his work. Meanwhile Miranda was pacing up and down the living room, making Kat faintly seasick, and Drew was squeezing her hand so tightly she was starting to lose feeling.

She looked at him. “Honey, you’re cutting off my circulation.”

Sheepish, he let go, nervously wiping his hands on his jeans. “Sorry. I just don’t like feeling so helpless.”

“It was probably nothing,” Kat ventured, but she didn’t believe it and neither did they.

“Whoever it was didn’t show up on our network,” David said without looking up. “That means it was either a human, which is easily dealt with, or the assassin who came after Miranda . . . and that’s a much thornier issue. We can’t track her and we don’t know why, but she’s already made an attempt on Miranda’s life.”

“Seriously, though, why me?” Kat asked. “I get that I’m connected to Mira, but if this chick has already been after her, why come after me? I’m not standing between them. I’m not a threat.”

Now David looked at her. “Do you really want to hear my theory? I doubt it will make you feel better.”

Kat pursed her lips. “Don’t sugarcoat it, Count. Just tell me.”

“I would guess that this isn’t about killing Miranda . . . or, not
just
about that. There may be a personal feud involved. Someone who wants to hurt Miranda, not just kill her. The best way to do that is to start with her friends, particularly the human ones who are weak and vulnerable.”

David saw their faces, gave a one-shouldered shrug, and unclipped the cable from the two phones. “As I said, it’s just a theory.”

He handed Kat her phone back. “Your signal is now coded onto our network,” he told her. “Keep the phone on you at all times, and we’ll be able to find you anywhere in the city at a second’s notice. More important: I’ve set up a panic button. Hit star-one and it will trigger an alarm; a patrol unit will be sent to your location immediately and you’ll get a call from me within thirty seconds to check on your safety.”