Runestone (4 page)

“Who are you?” he demanded, staring into bulging black eyes.  The man wheezed around his grip, and Will lessened it to allow him air enough to answer. He looked deeply into this man, searching his soul as only another immortal could. He saw his Maker, centuries ago in a dank tomb as this man attempted to rob from the stores of jewels there.

“He’s. . . Lado. A Walker. From Marcus’s. . . army.”

Will’s gaze darted to the dying man, but his grip on the man was unrelenting. “Army with what purpose?”

The man called Amsdell writhed. One knee hitched up and his heel dug into the ground. “Please. . . blood.”

Will spotted a small gleaming shard of glass near the wall of the building. Shifting his weight, he strained to reach it. End a life. Save a life. Maybe both or neither. He could walk out of this alley and never look back.

But he wouldn’t.

Leaning an elbow over Lado’s throat and with all his weight locking the smaller, weaker man in place, Will slashed his palm. Then reaching for Amsdell, he clasped his fingers over his chest wound.

“B. . . brother,” Amsdell sighed as Will’s immortal blood began to re-Make him, knitting the wound, filling him with the glow of everlasting life once more.

Lado thrashed and nearly threw Will off. He repositioned his grip and forced the man to be still, choking him for long seconds, and then letting up to keep him alive a little longer. At least until he could get some answers.

In the back of his mind, a tickle began—Evangeline picking at the threads of their link, demanding entry. She Called to him, but he’d locked her out securely. Better that she remain ignorant of this situation until he felt it was safe to let her in. Still, it tormented him to feel her presence, and not drink her existence into his mind. A fresh wave of tremors passed through him.

“Your. . . Call. . . ing,” Lado croaked.

“Shut up.” Will cut off his air once again and looked at Amsdell, who was sitting up, backhanding the blood from his mouth. He swiped it on his pants, leaving a smear on one thigh.

“Thank you, my brother. My Maker. I am indebted to you.” The cadence of Amsdell’s speech was slow, with an old-world feel. A deep British timbre, but harking to medieval times, most likely. All of a sudden, Will felt like an infant amongst these immortals. And yet, he was the strongest of the three. He felt that as surely as he felt the throb of his blood in Evangeline’s veins.

Thinking of her tore aside a few fibers in the mesh of their connection, and he glimpsed her, surrounded by white roses, the scent dizzying, and Sean’s hand in hers, a modest rock on her finger. Will knew Sean would have pushed to buy her the bigger ring, but she was a simple girl.

“Dammit,” he growled, turning his face aside as he struggled to close the link again. The last thing he needed was for Evangeline and Sean to be involved in this mess—a mess he knew wouldn’t end when he extinguished the life of an immortal assassin in a dark alley.

The first heavy drops of rain began to fall, and people rushed by the head of the alley, calling to one another in their native Spanish. But Will only heard the thickened tones of Lado’s language—an Old World Spanish that could never fit in with modern society.

“Marcus will see that you die for this, immortal.”

Amsdell made a sharp movement, and Will realized he’d grabbed the handgun. He trained it on Lado’s head.

Will stared into the black eyes for a long beat. Rain soaked his hair and shoulders, and began to drip down the bridge of his nose.

“Tell me this immortal’s reason for killing you,” he demanded of Amsdell, keeping the weapon in his sight. He didn’t exactly trust this unknown man either, and yet he’d taken a chance on the pleading expression in his eyes and the unstained soul he saw within.

“He’s Marcus’s minion. A headhunter. Out for blood, and the colder the better. He’s been on my trail for close to a year. Only now have I been unlucky enough to cross paths with him.”

“What purpose does an army serve?”

“Marcus thrives on power.” Amsdell’s tone was almost resigned, certainly tired. “The army will rule the immortals. As I’m sure you know there are immortals throughout the world that act as guides and counselors to other immortals. It is Marcus’s intent to wipe them out and to rule all.”

“Yes, I know of one.” Will thought of his friend Dante with mounting fear. That Marcus’s army might have descended on their sleepy town of Barre, Vermont and slaughter Dante and his immortal mate Maria sent a pang of pain through Will’s chest. Not to mention his other immortal friends Nathan and Lillian. Actually, the whole damn immortal world was mired in this idea of supremacy, and yet the man who’d started it all was dead.

But only three people on earth knew that—Evangeline, Sean, and him.

“It will never work. There are immortals more powerful than this man,” Will said, watching his captive’s face turn a frightening shade of dusky purple before he let up on his throat.

Lado gasped for breath, his legs kicking as if to generate more wind his direction and fill his lungs. “Not true. No one is more powerful than Marcus.”

“It is true,” Will said, pride suffusing his mind. Pride that he had defeated the man who had planned to bring down many with his schemes. The man who had abducted Evangeline and tortured her.

Lado smiled, his thin lips stretching tight over his crooked, yellowed teeth. “How does a lowly immortal like you know?”

Will crushed his throat for a final time. “Because I killed Marcus myself,” he said, and watched as the immortal glow fade, growing dimmer and dimmer, and winking out at last.

Long after the man’s legs ceased to flail and his bowels had let go, Will held him. He’d watched too many horror films for his mind to release the idea that the man wasn’t going to put up one last struggle.

Amsdell’s hand clamped on Will’s shoulder, tough fingers digging into the chords. “He’s finished, son.”

With a gasp of exertion, Will released the body, shoving it away from him. Suddenly, he felt tainted, as though the immortal’s sins clung to his very skin. He leaned against the wall and rubbed his bleeding palm over the knee of his jeans. The rain was falling in heavy sheets.

“Come.” Amsdell gripped him under the elbow and lifted him easily, as if he hadn’t just stood on the precipice of death five minutes before.

They left the body in the alley, knowing it was not such a surprising find in this part of the world. Amsdell led the way through a maze of streets. Will followed with his head down, squinting against the downpour. His clothes were soaked and hanging off his frame. The man in front of him now glowed. His slower steps were the only indication he’d almost lost his life.

At a series of archways leading into a courtyard, Amsdell paused to look around. Finding the street empty, he passed through the arch, heaved open a thick wooden door, and disappeared into the building.

Will followed. He blinked into the blackness, stunned by the sudden silence assaulting his ears. After the noise of the torrential rain, it felt like entering a church. Water streamed from his hair into his eyes and he palmed it away. “What is this place?” His voice was loud, and he hated how unsteady it sounded. Yet, if he held his hands out, he’d see them shaking, and not only from his separation from Evangeline. Killing a man could do that to a person. He knew all too well.

Amsdell waved a hand at the far wall where a fire raged in an enormous hearth. Above this were small squares cut into the stucco and little brown loaves of bread released their aromas. Will’s stomach growled. The scent of hops gave him a raging thirst.

“A pub, my friend. Come and sit.” Amsdell led him through the space, which was empty of visitors. Will found this strange, since the rain should have driven the people indoors. For the moment, he was happy to be out of the elements and away from Lado’s body, though he kept his guard up. Amsdell might not be what he seemed.

Will sank to a rough-hewn wooden bench. Amsdell sat across a rectangular table from him. Immediately, a serving girl appeared, a frosty pewter pitcher in hand. Will’s mouth felt desiccated and he wanted what was in that pitcher more than anything. Too well, he recalled this feeling of extreme thirst, extreme disgust, and extreme unease. This was how he’d felt after he’d taken other lives.

“You’re in a state of shock,” Amsdell observed after the woman had served them each a beer with a thick head.

Will gulped it, and then licked the foam from his lips. The cool liquid slaked his thirst, but also settled his stomach.

Amsdell’s pale gray eyes were fixed on him. Centuries’ worth of knowledge lived behind those eyes. And they saw too much.

One long hand reached across the table and rested on Will’s wrist. “Thank you, my friend, for saving me.”

Will nodded, and tilted more of the brown beer into his mouth. In the back of his mind, he felt Evangeline’s worry for him, but also her joy—she and Sean were joined as man and wife.

“Have you ever taken a life?” Amsdell asked, interrupting his thoughts.

Will drained his glass. “Yes. Have you?”

The immortal, who had clearly been in his forties at the time he was Made, took a long swallow of his beer and then set it down quietly. He leaned forward. “My son, I’m a Saxon. Of course I’ve killed. But I’ve never taken another immortal life. You have?”

He offered a crumpled pack of cigarettes, and Will took them, trying to still the trembling in his hands. He tapped one out, hung it from his lip, and lit it using the book of matches Amsdell pushed across the tabletop.

Drawing the sweet smoke into his lungs, he calmed a bit. “Yes, that was the fourth immortal I’ve killed, and I hope my last.”

At this, Amsdell started. His pale eyebrows shot up to his blond hair, which was kept short, but was sprinkled with gray. Despite himself, Will laughed. The sound spread into the still atmosphere of the tavern, and seemed to bring it to life. All of a sudden, the fire took on a cheery glow, and the tables and benches felt homey.

“This surprises you. So you didn’t assume I was a murderer.”

Amsdell shook his head. “You forget that I can read your soul.” He spent a long minute watching Will smoke and drink a second beer before he spoke. “If you intend to stick your neck into this war, you’re certain to take more immortal lives.”

Will set down his glass with a thunk. “Who says I am? I can walk away now.”

“You could, but that mark I see on your soul tells me you won’t. You have too much to lose.”

A shudder of fear ran through Will’s limbs. He was able to keep his link to Evangeline closed, but just barely. Everything in him screamed to Call to her, to sink into her beautiful mind. His soul felt so tainted, stained with blood, and she could dispel it. One sweet word from her lips would free him. And yet, it was not possible. The minute she sensed he was embroiled in a dangerous situation, she would run into it headlong.

Amsdell’s level gaze unnerved him, and at the same time set him at ease. Here was a man he knew—a man who shared his blood, as surely as Evangeline did.

But you shared Marcus’s blood. That didn’t make you kindred spirits.
This thought lifted in his mind and left an acidic taste on his tongue. Years ago, after a bus accident, Marcus had Made Will immortal.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. Useless reflections.
Stay in the present.

“You have an immortal mate,” Amsdell said, blowing a plume of smoke off to the side and lifting his glass for another beer. “Why don’t you tell me about her?”

Will hunched over his drink and squashed his cigarette in a heavy glass ashtray. He stared at the crumpled butt until his eyes blurred, but he only saw Evangeline’s glowing face, the violet streak of hair falling into one blazing blue eye, her rosebud lips upturned for his kiss. Impossible to think of her without his body stirring. His cock pressed into the fly of his jeans, and he shifted his hips ease it.

“I Made her,” he said, noting the waver in his voice.

“Where is she?”

He looked up into Amsdell’s face, and saw only concern and genuine interest. Not a malicious line marred his skin. His lips folded down at the corners slightly as he waited for Will’s response.

Will could trust him. He sighed. “It’s complicated. But she’s safe, and that’s the important thing.”

“It is. But you’re clearly suffering from the separation.”

Will closed his fists tightly. “I’ll be okay. I’ve endured it before, and it hasn’t been that long. Now tell me what you know about this army. Where is their headquarters, and how will they go about reaching their goals?”

The serving girl approached timidly. Amsdell waved her closer and ordered bread and meat and fruit for them, as well as a good bottle of rum. His gaze wandered over the soft curves of the woman’s hips as she bent to take away their empty glasses, and Will wondered that an immortal could Walk for so many centuries without finding his mate.

As soon as the mortal was out of earshot, Amsdell leaned forward. His deep voice was pitched low. “There is a cell here in South America, most likely in Colombia. The mastermind was Marcus. You really did kill him?” He looked anxious, eyes darting left and right as if the man himself was going to appear.

Will’s mouth set into a hard line. “I did. With help. He kidnapped my mate, tortured her. Her mortal lover and I finished him off and pitched him into a hole to rot.”