Silk Over Razor Blades (29 page)

‘Stop hitting me.’

‘Sorry. Hold my hand, come on.
Stand up.’

As the dry heaves subsided,
Lenina allowed Jason to help her up, leaning into his grip.

‘How did I get in here?’

‘We moved you. Sorry. It wasn’t
safe in the hallway.’ When she didn’t answer, Jason licked his
lips. ‘You were thrashing around. Talking. You kicked the walls a
few times before we could move you. Punched me too.’

For the first time she noticed
the dark discolouration around his eye line.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know—’

‘No,
I’m
sorry. I
shouldn’t have touched you. It’s my fault.’

Still clinging, Lenina grabbed
her stomach through the borrowed sweatshirt. The fabric stuck to
her skin, peeling away with a faint sucking sound. Beneath it, her
skin was smooth.

‘You stabbed me.’ She looked at
Tristen.

He leaned against the wall near
the kitchen. Though he still held the wavy dagger, he seemed not to
notice it as he spoke. ‘It was the only way to know for sure.’

His blank, unfeeling tone cut
Lenina to the core. She tightened her grip on the fabric until
sticky blood oozed through her fingers. ‘You didn’t know if I would
live or die.’

‘Actually I thought you’d
die.’

‘Don’t you care for me at all?
How could you do this?’

‘I’m a watcher, it’s my
job.’

Lenina gritted her teeth. ‘Your
job is to watch me die?’

‘All vampires heal after their
first tribute,’ Jason cut in. ‘It’s the only power we all get.’

She hesitated.

‘Powers. Saar had five
different powers and he passed them to us through his blood.’

Mention of the ancient vampire
sent a charge fizzing through Lenina’s body. She moaned, clutching
her head with both hands. Like peeling the fragile shell of a
boiled egg, she felt Saar fold back the walls of his mental cage
and spring free. He billowed out like a cloud, filling her mind
with knowledge she couldn’t possibly have.

‘
Koach
,’ she whispered.
‘
Shalat
,
Tzuza
,
Okhel
,
Zakar.
’ The
words tripped off her tongue with ease. ‘Xamesh.’

Jason flinched.

Tristen gave her a shrewd look.
His eyes narrowed. ‘We don’t use them any more but those are the
old names. Physical strength which includes healing. Mind control.
Telekinesis. Sensuality. Blood recall. The Five.’

‘I know them all,’ she
murmured. ‘And I know what they do. It’s Pauline Lock all over
again.’

‘So that
was
your kill?’
For the first time Tristen displayed open surprise. He chuckled
under his breath. ‘At least that will be easy to explain to
Kallisto.’

‘I saw her entire life play out
in my head. I was living it.’

Jason tightened his grip on her
arm. ‘Memories. Knowledge. You’re talking about blood recall,
gathering memories from the blood you drink. Only Saar could do
that.’

Lenina tugged free and faced
Tristen. ‘Was it really the blood of a god in that bowl?’

Another searching look. His
gaze ran up and down her body and Lenina felt the heat of it
crawling over her skin. She shuddered. Her feet tingled with the
need to run, but she forced them to remain still while she
waited.

‘No one knows,’ he said at
last. ‘I asked once and he laughed at me.’

‘You knew him?’

Tristen gave a bitter chuckle.
His hand tightened on the dagger but he didn’t speak. That was
answer enough.

Lenina reached towards him.
‘What did he do to you?’

‘None of your business.’

But as he said it, she
knew.

She saw.

***

Saar stepped from the shadows, wiping
sweaty palms against his shirt. He felt lightheaded. Breathless.
For the first time in seventy years he recognised the presence in
his mind that belonged to his first child. His fingertips itched
with the need to touch him again. His lips burned with a desire
that two thousand years had yet to quench.

Two feet away, a tall, slender man in a
fine brown overcoat sprawled on the cobbles. Mud coated his back
and shoulders. His cravat and rumpled white shirt boasted several
damp spots, a pathetic combination of tears and rainwater from the
grimy street. Several feet away, a dented top hat rolled into the
gutter.

A second man stood above him, as shabby
as the first was fine. He held a dagger, long, with a wavy blade
and a pommel studded with blue and white gems. Though his hand
obscured it, Saar knew that the hilt was made of silver and
gold.

‘
Please!’ The man on the floor wept
and wrung his hands. ‘You need me. Don’t kill me.’

The shabby figure raised his arm. The
dagger glinted in the light. ‘The others are dead. Only you and I
remain. We can weaken him like this.’ His voice, so familiar,
weakened Saar’s knees until he feared he might fall. The thought
that this whole scene was simply a means to bring him down made
Saar’s blood run cold. He rubbed his chest, wishing he could ignore
the pain of the old wounds reopening.

‘
Mosi.’ He took another step
forward. The scene before him froze.

The man on the ground slumped back into
a puddle. His pleading dissolved into desperate, mumbled
thanks.

Saar ignored it, focused instead on the
first man he’d ever loved. As he took in the long, tangled beard
and dirty skin, he felt a pang in his chest. ‘What have you done to
yourself? You’re a disgrace.’

‘
I much prefer to look a disgrace
than be one. I wondered when you would come.’

‘
You wanted me to, or else the link
would be closed.’

‘
I want? Saar, I want to die. No man
should live as long as you or I.’ Mosi looked away, his fingers
slackening around the dagger hilt.

The man on the ground looked up. Hope
bloomed in his eyes. ‘Saar? Lord Saar, help me. Please. I’m your
servant, I beg you, don’t let him kill me.’

Saar glanced down. ‘Who are you?’

‘
Tristen Blake, Master. Please, save
me.’

‘
Why? What are you worth?’

Tristen flinched. His gaze darted back
and forth as though seeking answers. ‘Mosi killed all his children.
I’m the last. He hopes to weaken you before you fight.’

Growling, Saar looked back at Mosi and
tried to find the truth. Though the link was there, he felt Mosi
form a barrier against him and block the way. Blindly, he groped
through the darkness of Mosi’s mind. He found no clues.

‘
Is this true?’ he said at
last.

‘
You no longer care for my privacy,
I see.’ Mosi’s lips twisted in a ghost of a smile. ‘The years have
changed you.’

‘
Of course they have. But not
everything. I still love you. Abandon this foolish plan of
sabotage.’

Mosi shook his head. His face,
unchanged but for tiny lines about his eyes and lips, was as
beautiful as it had been in Gyasi’s whorehouse.

‘
Please.’

‘
I remember this conversation. Your
plans still bring death to those around you— in that you’re
unchanged. I want no part of it.’

‘
This time is different.’

‘
Really? Monsieur Bonaparte won’t
slaughter hundreds in his quest to conquer?’

Saar sucked in a sharp breath.

‘
Yes. I know your plans. And like
before I’ll be on the opposite side. Duke Wellington invited me to
join him in laying plans of defence and I was pleased to accept.’
He stroked his chin. ‘Obviously I’ll shave first.’

Tristen Blake crawled across the
cobbles. He pawed Saar’s boots while blinking sweat and tears from
his eyes. ‘I told you! He betrays you. Your love for him is
legendary and yet he deserts you when you need him most. But I
won’t. I never will. I’ll help. Please! Save me and I’ll tell you
everything.’

Snarling, Saar jerked his foot away. He
snatched the smaller man by the scruff and drove his face into the
cobbles, again and again until blood mixed with the puddles.

‘
I have no time for weaklings.’ He
spat, releasing the sobbing form with a flick of his wrist. ‘It is
not my job to save you. If you survive, seek me out. I may have use
for you then.’

With a last, lingering glare at Mosi,
Saar turned on his heel and stalked away.

***

Gasping, Lenina jerked free of
the memory. She stared at Tristen and shivered as the last traces
of Saar’s scorn faded. ‘It wasn’t you. It was Mosi. He wasn’t angry
with you.’

Tristen bit his bottom lip. In
that moment he looked far more like the broken man from Saar’s
memory. Almost childlike. ‘You saw?’

She nodded.

‘Then you know. It doesn’t
matter who he was angry with, you saw how little he cared. Nothing
mattered but his own goals. I had no immediate use so he left me to
die.’

‘But Mosi—’

‘—wanted me dead.’ Spittle flew
from Tristen’s mouth. The lost look vanished. The skin around his
cheeks and neck reddened. ‘He wanted all God-Touched dead. He spent
years tracking and killing the others and I was the last of his
line. He hunted me down to finish the job.’

Though this insight into
Tristen’s life was new, Lenina found herself remembering details.
Details only Saar and Mosi themselves might know.

‘1809, September 29. He took me
and made me believe it was what I wanted. Mosi stole everything: my
life, my family . . . I had a wife! But he used me to travel around
the world, finding his other children while she grew old waiting
for me. When they were dead, he turned to me.’

‘But you got away. How?’

Tristen’s knuckles whitened.
Another lost expression crossed his face before he tamped it down.
When he looked up again, calm filled his features. He wiped his
face with the flat of his hand. ‘You don’t need to know.’

She closed her eyes. ‘I see
smoke. Fire. Gunpowder. It’s muddy. Guns firing. Men are
screaming.’

‘Mosi used Wellington to battle
Saar just like he did with Octavian. They both died in 1815.’ He
gave a bitter chuckle. ‘Though I’ll give Mosi credit for a job well
done. He was very good at picking the winning side. Lucky for the
rest of us. If Saar had won that day . . .’ Sweat glistened on his
upper lip. ‘I’m glad he’s gone. Both of them.’

‘You don’t mean that.’

‘Don’t I?’ With that, Tristen
opened his mind to her.

She felt a space in her mind
bend, then give under the force of Tristen’s entry. Her legs
buckled. Slumping to the floor, she gasped and struggled to think
past the sheer weight of his hate. It filled her senses, clogging
her throat, stuffing her nose until the air itself became too thick
to breathe.

She gagged. ‘Stop it!’

‘I don’t mean it?’ Tristen
threw back his shoulders. White light filled his eyes again. ‘How
would you know? What do you know about running for your life?
Scared to step outside because someone you love wants to kill
you?’

Lenina choked. Clutched her
chest. ‘How can you do this? I’m not linked to you.’

‘Of course we’re linked,’ he
snapped.

And through the gagging
sensation of hate, Lenina felt lust. Her fingertips itched with the
need to touch his face, and deep between her legs, an answering
tingle. Peppermint scented the air. She whimpered and closed her
eyes. She shook her head from side to side as the truth became
clear. ‘That’s why you slept with me. You needed a way in.’

‘An old trick, but it works. My
skill in
Shalat
is unparalleled. If it makes you feel
better, you’re not the first to fall for it. You’re so young; you
may as well be human.’ Having made his point, Tristen tilted his
chin. The white glow faded from his eyes. The weight of crushing
hate vanished.

Slumping against the wall,
Lenina clutched her chest. As her breathing steadied, she watched
his face. She saw the struggle in his eyes as he stared back.

‘Two hundred years we’ve been
safe. Red Fang searched but they couldn’t find anything.’ He
pointed at her. ‘And now you’re in my living room. Tearing the
scabs off old wounds.’

‘I didn’t mean to.’

‘Of course not, but this time
you’re right, it’s not your fault. It’s in your blood.’

She touched the raw wound on
her cheek.

Jason shifted. ‘Sorry, Tristen.
I know what this means to you but—’

‘You don’t know! I’ve always
looked after you even if I don’t love you. When I Kissed you it was
because
you
asked. I’m better than either of them. Mosi
Kissed me for money and convenience. Saar did everything he could
to find strength and power. You do know Bonaparte was god-touched,
don’t you?’

His expression said he clearly
didn’t. Neither did Lenina, though as she lingered on the idea, she
saw hazy images of a slim, sandy-haired man in red military uniform
licking his blood-caked lips.

‘It could still be a mistake,’
she murmured.

Tristen glared at her and began
to recite, ‘“The Vessel will be marked with blood, by blood. From
blood comes all power. Born from one of The Blood, the Vessel will
awaken Saar and guide his children to ultimate glory in the new
world”. It’s not a mistake.’

In her mind’s eye, Lenina saw
the underground temple again, and Kazemde’s twisted, furry body
speaking similar damning words. ‘I don’t want this. It’s not fair.
Don’t I get a say in this?’

‘No, you were chosen.’

‘By what? Who? Why me? How can
you stand there and expect me to just accept this?’

‘I don’t
expect
anything
from you.’ His upper lip curled back into a snarl. ‘The facts
haven’t changed. You’re the Vessel. From the moment that dagger cut
your face.’

‘I’m a museum curator.’

‘Not any more.’

She sniffed, brushing her eyes
as tears threatened to spill forth. ‘Please, I don’t know anything
about blood and God-Touched. My dad’s a bus driver. I won’t want
this.’