Shadowflame Part 11

The Consort nodded. "Many. Inside and out."

"How old is Deven?"

"We don't know exactly, because there's no record of his birth, but it was sometime in the early 1300s, in Ireland."

"He's seven hundred years old? Jesus!"

"One of the oldest living vampires on earth."

"And is he a d.i.c.k to everyone, or am I just special?"

Another smile, another swig of his Shiner Bock. "Isn't it obvious, my Lady? He's jealous."

"Jealous? Why?"

They had gone to one of Miranda's favorite spots in the Haven, or rather, atop the Haven: a rooftop nook near the Signet suite that offered a sheltered place to watch the night go by. When she needed a minute alone she often sneaked off to the roof, and she was aware that David did the same thing, sometimes to this exact spot. It was quiet and the view was spectacular. From here she could see the pasture, where Isis and Osiris were currently grazing in slow circles, and the gardens she and David had walked through when she first came to live at the Haven.

Jonathan, whose long legs were dangling from the eaves, said, "They never really got any closure on their relationship," he said. "David ran away-rightly so-and Deven did his best to atone for being such a fool, but until a few months ago they hadn't even been in the same room. They put aside their feelings in order to keep their friendship, but it was never truly finished between them. And as long as David was on his own, things could stay that way. Now, you're here, and like it or not that chapter has closed for them. They're going to have to work it out somehow."

"Does that mean they still love each other?"

"Oh, undoubtedly." He saw Miranda's face and added quickly, "But you needn't worry."

"Are you kidding?"

"Listen to me, Miranda, and remember this, because it will save you a lot of heartache as the years go by." Jonathan sat forward, holding her gaze, his usually cheerful expression gone grave. "You are his soul mate. You are bound unto death and possibly longer than that. No one, and I mean this literally, no one can usurp your position in his life or heart. He will love you until the sun burns to dust. But that doesn't mean neither of you will ever love anyone else or want someone else. Forever is a long time, and even mortal relationships evolve-so must ours, if we are to survive."

Miranda sighed and picked at the label of her beer. "So you share Deven with other people?"

"Dev? Oh, h.e.l.l no. He's not interested in extracurricular a.s.s. He shares me."

"Seriously?" Miranda gave him an incredulous look. "I would think he'd be the one s.h.a.gging every guy that moves."

Jonathan's smile returned, but she could feel something lurking beneath it that was all too familiar. "I won't go into the details of his past-that's for him to reveal. But I will say that when he and David first coupled, it had been over a hundred years since his last lover."

"Whoa. Really?"

"Yes. And our relationship isn't what you'd call pa.s.sionate. Every Pair comes together to complete each other, and in our case, what he needed wasn't someone to have s.e.x with, it was someone to love who would place no demands on him, just be a comfort and a companion who would never abandon him. We agreed early on that our s.e.x life would be somewhat sporadic, and that if I felt the need for more, I was free to seek it out. It's a perfect arrangement for us." He laughed again at the look on her face. "As I said, forever is a long time. The 'in love' stage of a relationship is fleeting. What you need are partnership and companionship, a deeper and more abiding love that transcends the physical. Sometimes that's romantic and s.e.xy, sometimes not. But over time you and David will find what works for you."

"No offense, Jonathan, but I find that kind of depressing."

He grinned. "No offense taken. I realize it sounds strange, especially since you probably spent your whole human life within the bounds of traditional human relationships. But we're not human . . . and the way we love isn't traditional. It can't be, when eternity is a factor. Not to mention, Dev . . . well, as I said, he has scars. And really, if he had it to do over again, he probably would have stayed out of Signet politics entirely and joined one of the Orders."

"Orders of . . ."

"Vampire monks," Jonathan explained. "Religious orders of immortals. There are several scattered around the world. Deven has connections with one of them, the Order of Eleusis-they're mystical metalworkers connected with the Eleusinian Mysteries of ancient Greece, and it's rumored they first forged the Signets themselves. Get Deven to show you his sword sometime; it was made by the Order, and it has their symbol, a waning crescent moon above the Greek symbol of infinity, worked into the blade's design."

Miranda had no idea what to think of that-it sounded so outlandish and unbelievable to think there were actual religions for vampires, although any race that had existed so long was bound to have its true believers. She wondered if David had looked into it, given how wildly curious he was about the origin of the Signet system. She'd have to mention it later.

"So, about Deven . . . what do I do when he gives me att.i.tude?"

"Give it right back. Show him you've got b.a.l.l.s and you're not going to back down, and he'll respect you. As soon as he feels like you're a match for David, he'll back off."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Why are you so free with the advice? Why don't you give me the same grief he does?"

Jonathan snorted. "In case you haven't noticed, we're not the same person. I'm a Consort, which means I read people very well, so I knew you were fantastic from the get-go. Deven tends to reserve judgment. But the worst thing you can do is let him intimidate you."

"I hate to say this, and I hope it doesn't upset you, but right now I don't really care about his respect so much as I care about my foot planted on his a.s.s."

The Consort broke into a loud and contagious laugh that had her laughing, too. "All right," he said. "You kick his a.s.s, Miranda. He's earned it."

They clinked their bottles again and leaned back against the bricks to finish their beer as the cold night kept turning overhead.

Neither of them spoke for a while, but finally just to break the silence David observed, "You cut your hair off."

Deven lowered his gla.s.s. "Yes."

"How's being a roadie for the Cure working out for you?"

Deven shot him the finger, and they grinned at each other. "You're looking well," Deven noted. "Much better than last time I saw you." Crossing one knee over the other, he added, "Of course, now you have your lovely firebrand to keep you warm."

David's eyes narrowed. "Are you jealous, Deven?"

For once, Deven lowered his gaze first. "The Council is all atwitter about your break with the Northeast. I haven't heard much, but so far the gossip has been in your favor. Considering everyone hates Hart, it's not surprising, but still, the fallout is going to be interesting."

David didn't point out the change in subject. Deven had, without saying a word, answered the question. "I'm not going to lose sleep over Hart. Miranda's actions may have been rash, but they were right."

Deven smiled. "At long last you have a mate who shares your idealism. I hope that she doesn't become as cynical as I am once she's outlived her humanity."

"You're more human than you like to admit."

"There's no need to be insulting, David." Dev sipped his drink and added, "She has no reason to be threatened by me."

"Oh? After you show up and practically p.i.s.s on me, when I hadn't even told her about us yet-"

"You hadn't told her?" Deven sounded genuinely incredulous, a rarity for him. "We were together ten years, I was your first and only long-term male lover, and you didn't tell her? What the h.e.l.l have you two been talking about for the last three months, then? Horses and circuit boards?"

David had to admit that Deven was right, and saying that he'd expected Faith to have related the story to Miranda wasn't entirely honest . . . he had thought that, true, but knowing Miranda, if she had known, she would have wanted to talk about it with him as soon as she heard the story.

"I feel like a bit of an idiot about it," David said a little irritably. "I think part of me wanted to play it off like one of my many disastrous love affairs instead of what it really was."

Deven's eyes locked on his. "And what was it, David?"

David stared at him . . . G.o.d, he'd forgotten how good it felt to fall into those eyes, and how dangerous it was, for they went on forever and there was no way out. "It was a tragedy," David replied softly. "Perhaps the greatest tragedy of my life."

"Worse than Elizabeth?"

"Yes."

"Worse than Anna?"

David shut his eyes against the memory, stacking the pain of that loss against the pain of losing Deven . . . "Yes. You put me back together after Anna, but would you care to guess who put me back together after you?"

Deven sighed. "No one did. You were alone."

"Exactly. All those years on my own, living with your ghost, knowing you were happy with your new Consort and I had suddenly become useless to you, and you really wonder why I didn't want to tell Miranda about it?"

Deven looked like he wanted to say something, but paused, then told David, "You don't need to protect her from me. She's a strong, capable woman who can fend for herself."

"I know that."

"But she is young and needs to learn to pick her battles. She could have found a less combative way to help that girl, and you could have had time to find out what Hart was really doing here."

"I did, actually, or at least part of it. He's having a little a.s.sa.s.sination problem-he claims the Red Shadow is behind the deaths of several of his Elite."

Deven's brows knitted in surprise. "Based on what?"

"He found something-a silver earpiece. I tried to a.n.a.lyze it but it had a self-destruct mechanism and nearly put my eye out last night. Hart claims it's Shadow technology, but he has only hunches and hearsay to back it up. He also thought I had something to do with it because of my predilection for gadgetry and because Miranda learned to fight from a vampire claiming to have been a former member of the Shadow."

Deven looked even more dubious. "They don't have former members, do they? I thought joining the Shadow was a lifelong commitment."

"Faith said she met Sophie in a bar, and they hit it off and got drunk together. In the course of the night Sophie told her she was ex-Shadow."

"I find that unlikely," said Deven. "The girl may have been a h.e.l.l of a warrior, but if you were the Alpha, how would you react knowing one of your employees was spilling her guts in public?"

"There is that. I'm guessing that the Alpha would have killed her-but Sophie died in the battle here, months after she told Faith who she was."

"Not terribly efficient for an organization that's supposed to be untraceable," Deven pointed out.

"How much do you know about them, then?"

The Prime circled his gla.s.s around in his hand, the ice clinking. "I've heard all the usual rumors. All that can really be verified is that they're a network of operatives who hire out to human clients for insane amounts of money. They answer to a single individual called the Alpha. They always work alone, and I've heard none of them even know each other. Code names, that kind of thing, all very cloakand-dagger. I can't imagine why they would start picking off Hart's Elite, unless a human has a grudge against him and hired them, which I admit isn't impossible."

"Do you think that an earpiece like that is something they'd use?"

"If the stories are true and they're all solo, with whom would they be communicating?"

"The Alpha?"

"Maybe. But it seems like it would be more efficient to use phones or, perhaps, something like your coms. An earpiece is too easily lost."

"That's what I thought. Plus, they're supposed to be the ultra-Elite; one of them just dropping evidence like that is pretty sloppy."

"And completely out of line with their MO," Deven added. "As I understand it, most of their work is totally covert, but sometimes people hire them not just to kill someone but to send a message. In that case they always leave something behind, a calling card of sorts."

"Which is?"

Deven knocked back the rest of his whiskey and reached for the bottle. "The victim's left hand."

David dropped his gla.s.s.

Seven.

For the first time in her memory, Cora was alone.

She sprawled on her back on the huge soft bed that was miraculously all hers-not only did she not have to share it, she could sleep there as much as she wanted, roll around and disrupt the covers, even jump up and down if she liked. It had thick blankets and velvety sheets that kept her warm all day long, and it was about the most wondrous thing she had ever seen.

She could sleep all day without the fear that sweaty hands would seize her and drag her across the room. She didn't have to listen to the other girls wheezing and whimpering. There was no screaming, no cursing, only the sound of the fire crackling.

Wonders were hardly scarce here, though. She had an entire room to herself! There was a guard outside, but he didn't bother her except to knock on the door and bring her blood.

All the blood she wanted!

She drank so much the first time, just because she could, that she was sick to her stomach, but after that she took things slowly and carefully and managed to keep down more and more each time she fed. She kept the leftovers in a small refrigerator in the room, and warmed them in the microwave as the servants had shown her, but if she had wanted, she could have requested a brand-new bag every day. Every day! Just for her!

Even that next night she felt stronger. Her limbs no longer shook. She wasn't freezing all the time. Her skin felt less stretched over her bones.

She spent hours in the large bathtub, just soaking and splashing like a child, or standing under the scalding hot shower spray and scrubbing herself over and over with lavender-scented soap. Then she dressed herself in the nondescript but comfortable clothes the Elite had brought her: black cotton pants and a short-sleeved shirt which were apparently standard issue for sleeping and working out at the Haven. She had never worn pants before, but she loved them. She had plush socks on her feet and a hairbrush all her own.

It was an unbelievable amount of luxury for a woman who had spent so many years sharing a room with eight other women.

Those few people she had encountered so far seemed taken aback by her naive appreciation for such commonalities, but for her they weren't common.

She had not yet seen the Queen again, which was fine by her; in person, the Queen had been terrifying, though she had swept in like an avenging angel-or G.o.ddess-and taken Cora in like her own fledgling. The Prime, too, had been frightening, but he had given her a rea.s.suring smile and spoken to her in her own language, a courtesy she would never have expected for a nothing like her.

Cora had been spared a last meeting with the Master, but she knew he was gone, just as she had known there would be consequences even before she found out what had happened to the other girls. He might come back for her, or kill her. He might simply abandon her and find another slave. But for now, at least, she was at peace.

Finally she began to get a little bored, or at least a little interested in what lay beyond her door. She didn't want to interact with anyone if she could help it, but she was curious about this huge place that was, for the moment, her home.

She poked her head out and saw that her guard had gone; it was shift change, so another would be along in a few minutes. She knew they would be unhappy if she wandered too far afield. But surely it wouldn't hurt just to walk down the hall and back again? She wasn't strong enough to get much farther than that anyway.

Cora took the hooded jacket that had been given to her and put it on to keep the late autumn chill off her skinny arms. She had no shoes, but she didn't intend to go outside, and the floors here were so immaculate she could have eaten off them. Certainly the Haven she had lived in was never this clean. Here there was no dust, no underlying reek of unwashed bodies and s.e.x. She smelled furniture polish, fireplace smoke, and candle wax.

She still had to move slowly. Years of starvation and abuse had left her weaker than a newborn barn cat, and sometimes her legs simply gave out beneath her and she toppled to the floor, bruised and embarra.s.sed.

The hallway turned out not to be terribly interesting. It was lined with closed doors, but she spent some time looking at the artwork and decorative objects as she made her way along the corridor. She peeked into a few open doors, finding a few unused bedrooms, a chamber full of antique weapons, and a study of some sort.

Finally she took a left-hand turn down a hallway that had far more light than hers. She realized what it was: windows.

Almost giddy with excitement, Cora made her way toward them, and her breath caught when she looked out. She hadn't seen the outside world in so long . . . she had had glimpses when the van carrying her and the other three girls arrived here, but before that, it had been years. There were no windows in the harem room. The Master hated natural light, even from the moon, and didn't want to give them any ideas about escape or suicide, not that they could have if they had been so inclined.