Authors: Naomi Fraser
“I can move a car.
A house?” An apartment. Land. Ideas rolled through her mind, and she straightened. The possibilities were endless. The thought scary and liberating—more freeing than anything she’d ever experienced, but with so much responsibility.
“Sure, but you might want to start out small,” he advised with amusement. “It takes a lot of focus to move larger objects to your intended destination. You will not be able to shift a mountain into your backyard just yet.”
She nodded, undaunted and intent to learn how. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
How clever of him to show her that trick and entice her to stay at Ravenkeep with the promise of learning from Radu. She tapped her fingers against her mouth.
There were no planes at either end of the airstrip. Juliun did a fast 180, and the Bugatti slid to a halt.
“Damn.” He gripped the steering wheel with tight fists. “We will
try the next one.”
Once Tammy was in the air, it meant she would be winging her way to the Drachyn stronghold, and Simone wouldn’t be able to stop them.
“Hurry.”
The familiar, fiery rush sluiced her skin before they appeared at the end of a different runway under the cover of darkness.
“Whew! Will I ever get used to that?”
Juliun revved the Bugatti and floored it.
A white dot appeared on the horizon near a cluster of trees, and the shape formed a small, carrier plane. Simone clutched the .44 and shifted to mist, appearing on the wet asphalt. She aimed the gun with both hands at the pilot’s seat.
The car screeched to a halt, the door slammed.
“Anyone there?” Juliun drawled. He stood so close to her his breath caressed her hair, pushing away the cold night air.
A shiver caressed her spine and moved to her fingertips. “Let’s find out.”
She flashed around the plane, studying every inch of the aircraft over the sight. “She’s not here.” Simone nearly screamed in her frustration. “No footprints. Faint smells. What the hell have they done with her? Is this even their plane?”
He pointed to a black dragon on the door of the aircraft.
“The Drachyn symbol. No, this is good. It means they are not in the air and taking her to Dravego’s lair.” Juliun glanced at the field around them. “They are on the road somewhere. We will have to hurry.”
Impatient fury slicked her palms with sweat. “If they hurt her, I swear they will regret it,” she promised. “Can you get rid of the plane?”
“I like the way you think.” Both he and the plane disappeared in a rush of thick black wind.
She waited five seconds, gun drawn and tense before he took form beside her again. He laughed, his teeth flashing. “Vaughn and Klaus want to thank you for their new toy. They have set out on an air search.”
The cold, night air flapped against his shirt, fluttering the material to the hard wall of his chest. “You were right to bring the car,” she conceded. “You were right about a lot of things. I guess I do need to learn to use the mist.”
He cocked his head and smiled, and then vanished to the passenger-side door, holding it open for her. “Climb in.”
Her stomach and chest tightened with each passing second, and she listened to the welcome distraction of Juliun explaining some of the finer points of turning objects to mist. He answered the odd questions she shot at him. They drove along the empty streets surrounding the airstrip for ten minutes and found nothing.
He drove further out into the suburbs. The car slid to a smooth stop. “Do you see that?”
She twisted around and looked to the far end of the street near a set of lights.
“What?” She released the seat belt and craned her neck to get a better look. She squinted. “Is that…?”
“Metal and glass.” He drove to the lights, pulling over onto the grassy curb. “No mist here,” he warned. “Too many humans.”
She followed his dark figure out the car and crossed to the obvious signs of an accident. Car debris scattered the road and grass.
Juliun picked up a larger piece of the metal and brought it to his nose. His eyes narrowed, and he hissed, nostrils flaring. “Vampire.”
He offered the piece to her.
She took it and smelled strong immortal blood combined with charred metal. That was the reason Tammy never made it to the plane. Simone sank to her knees. “They’ve had an accident,” she whispered. “Would she be at the hospital?”
“No. They would not want to be seen. Grandfather also sent guards to the hospitals. They would recognise Tammy.”
“Then where? One of the houses?” Simone turned to look up and down the street.
Juliun’s polished, leather shoes crunched on the glass.
“Beneath us. In the tunnels.”
Cold wind whipped her hair around her face. She stared at his flawless, strong face amid the changing colours of the intersection lights.
“Tunnels?
”
“It is how the immortals cross town undetected.” He twisted up a manhole lid with both hands and descended feet first, but his broad shoulders got stuck in the mouth of the manhole. “Can you stand between me and the houses, block the sight of what I’m about to do?”
“Sure.” She quickly stood and moved around him.
He faded and disappeared inside.
“Juliun?” She hurried to the edge, then peered down at his grey eyes staring back up at her, shining so eerily in the darkness.
“Hurry, love.
There is a lot of blood down here.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Carlo swore. He would’ve left a trail, but he couldn’t stop, and if he met up with the assassins in time, then it wouldn’t matter at all.
He extended his arm and licked the tear in his skin. The soft flesh tasted of plasma and dirty water. He laid the woman on the drain floor and grabbed hold of his arm. He yanked the bone back into place and panted for breath, wet hair hanging over his eyes.
His vision swam, and then the cold, liquid power of the vampire flooded his system. He straightened, licked his wound again and dragged the female over his shoulder.
A big stone archway loomed ahead. The closer he neared the main network of tunnels, the more a faint glow of artificial light permeated the passage. His tennis shoes scuffed smooth rock and compacted earth. Each tunnel ended with more arches and doorways. The curving brick roof and walls were coated with a strange white decay that muffled his acute sense of smell.
He turned right through a brick archway and came to a dead end. A rumble of voices floated toward him, a faint sound, but there. He sprinted toward his left and soon came upon the brighter glow of flaming torches.
The largest archway led to two doorways. On the thick stone wall in front of him, wooden arrows pointed right and left with place names carved on them:
Vampire Sanctuary and Hall; Finfolk and Creatures from the Sea; Forest Path; Entry to the Sea; Centre of Town and Marketplace.
He followed the direction to the marketplace. The tunnels twisted; the path complex enough to confuse any mortal. Faintly glowing
bulbs that were strung from the curved roof lit the way. The damp, mouldy smell of the drain vanished from his nostrils, overridden by the scent of immortal blood. He didn’t bother going through the vampire domain even though he was sure they wouldn’t attack since all immortals had right of way through the tunnels. There was no need to arouse more suspicion.
The passageway widened in certain places and fires blazed in deep, steel barrels. Goblins, fae and nymphs huddled by the barrels, drawing on the warmth of the fires. He slowed as their gazes travelled over the female in his arms. The goblins chattered and pointed at the woman. Carlo stopped, directing a killing glare at them. When they didn’t look away, he pulled down his collar. On his neck was the insignia of the most dangerous psychic vampire who’d ever lived.
The black dragon; the symbol of The Drachyn.
The goblins’ eyes widened and they hissed, but after a moment, their gazes shifted back to the dancing orange and red flames. The leprechauns would be more trouble and not so easily fooled, but Carlo counted on them being far away from the centre, knee-deep in shady trades.
A black dog slinked past him, sniffed his leg and kept on going. He wasn’t pleased by the lone skinwalker’s interest. He’d be tracked, and the scent of the female who was sick with the mist would be of utmost curiosity. His heart pounded with urgency.
He hurried past the murals of the Great War depicted in brilliant colours over the tunnel walls, and once he got to the great beasts carved from stone, he ran down a tunnel and climbed a flight of stairs.
The network opened up before him in a bustling and energetic trade centre. Fairies played their harps near fountains where bright fish dipped and leaped from sea water. Veils on the smooth stone floor were filled with golden tokens and wares.
The sound of their voices calmed his senses. The fairies were welcome and paid handsomely for dulling the excitement of the species.
He tucked the female under his shoulder to make it look as though she walked across the stone floor by his side. “Not long now,” he whispered. “And Master shall have you.”
He recognised Merle from the assassin initiations, and Blake sat beside him on a stone bench. Blake gestured for Carlo to follow
them through a tunnel, and he hugged his captive’s limp body. Then the soothing sounds of the fairies tweaking their harps were drowned out by the clatter and clang of the marketplace.
A gnome sold bags of gold ingots with hoarse shouting, “Gold here! Get your gold!” and the centaurs clip-clopped their way through, picking up the odd weapon, the rich smell of the forest fresh on their coats.
The elves grouped together in a tight-knit circle. He skirted them, making sure to not glance their way. A feral, hungry gleam shone in the assassins’ eyes, and Carlo recognised that look from old. He sighed and strode toward them past a table overflowing with blood donor bags.
Twenty assassins crowded one of the tunnels leaving the marketplace. Carlo’s mouth dropped open. There were too many. Obviously, Master did not want the mission to fail, but controlling this many immortals, an assorted mix of vampires, half-breeds and violent rogue skinwalkers was not going to be an easy task.
“Is she the one with the mist?” Blake reached out for her eagerly.
Carlo growled, showing his fangs. “Get back.” He stalked through the middle of the group. The assassins barely made enough space for him to squeeze past.
Ungrateful bastards.
He entered a secondary network with arrows pointing the way.
The Python; Sin Tin; Leprechaun Alley; Basker’s Cauldron; The Abbey and Cemetery, Werewolf Compound.
“Did Master tell you where to go? Has he changed his plan?” he asked.
Blake smirked at him. “I thought you were the one in charge? Don’t tell us you need help?”
“We don’t have time for this shit,” Carlo said. “Tell me or I’ll call him myself.”
Merle laughed. “Good luck getting reception down here.”
The crowd of assassins shifted behind them. Anger fired in Carlo’s belly, and he barked, “She has the mist, and we’ll be lucky if we make it to the stronghold before she dies. Once she
is
dead, the mist dies with her. Imagine Master’s anger when he finds out who slowed us down?”
“Keep your shirt on.” Blake rolled his head and shrugged his beefy shoulders. He hunched his arms forward. “Hand her over.”
Carlo glared. “Get out of my way.”
“Fine.”
Blake shrugged. “How about we go through here?” He pushed open a wooden door, and the passageway gleamed with flaming torches, then he entered.
Carlo huffed and ducked through the unfamiliar entry. It had been a while since he’d passed through the marketplace, but once every last vampire was inside, he continued through to a larger set of tunnels, then realised exactly where he’d been led. His nose told him, then the sight of twenty or so fully-formed werewolves that formed a semi-circle over a ripped and bloodied dead vampire.
“What happened?”
Blake raged forward before Carlo could pull him back. “You assholes are going to pay for killing one of us.”
“It’s Greg.” Carlo stepped back.
The leader of the pack roared, black fur bristling all over his body. His long tongue flicked out, moistening his snout and exposing sharp incisors dripping with fresh blood. His eyes glowed feral red in the half-light.
The tunnel seemed to reverberate under Carlo’s feet with the noise of that roar. He had to get to her safety before it was too late.
“You fool.”
He glared at Blake. “Why the hell did you bring us here?”
Blake flicked him a glance tinged with uncertainty. “It was a joke. Don’t worry, we can take them. They’re not supposed to eat us.”
Carlo pushed his way to the back, uncaring if Blake and Merle got chewed up and spat out. That werewolf roar was a call of the night—the sound they made during a full moon when dinner walked its sweet ass in front of their face. There might only be twenty werewolves now, but more would come up from the tunnels, following their hearing and smell. Five wolves clambered to the back of the assassins and crowded them in.